Authors: Jimmy Cryans
C
heryl completed her education at school and did really well. Both Lesley and myself were so proud of her. She decided to go to college for the next three years to become a beautician. She had been working part-time for the last couple of years as an Avon rep, selling cosmetics locally, and this had fired her imagination. We were all so pleased to see Cheryl wanting to do so well for herself and we supported her in every way.
During that summer Lesley and I made a trip to Newbury and spent a long weekend with John Renaldi and his wife Ann in their beautiful little riverside apartment. The temperatures were into the 90s that summer, some of the hottest on record. Really, it was too hot, at least for me. The trip coincided with my birthday and Lesley bought me a really nice gold ring with diamonds. John and Ann bought me a hip flask engraved with my initials. We went out to celebrate and we had a smashing night.
I had recently had to attend the funeral of one of my oldest
and closest pals. Billy Blair had died from liver disease. I went to the hospital just a few hours before his death and it was a very traumatic experience. Billy was in a private room and by his bedside was his wife, the lovely Donnette. They were divorced but Donnette was just so loyal to Billy and stayed right to the end. It took bundles of courage to do what she did and I have nothing but respect for that lady.
I arrived at the hospital after being informed by Billy’s son, Derek, that his dad was on the way out. I had prepared myself for the worst but I was still shocked by the appearance of my old friend. Billy had been such a strong and powerfully built guy but now he was a bag of bones on his deathbed. It was terrible to see a guy I loved reduced to this and he was only 54 years of age. The funeral was held the following week and, as you would expect for a man like Billy Blair, there was a very large turnout. I know that Billy is now at peace but I miss him. He was a real man’s man and one of the best pals I ever had. God bless you, Billy Blair.
It was at this funeral that I received the devastating news from my oldest and dearest pal, Billy Robertson, that he had been diagnosed with terminal bowel cancer. The doctors had given him less than 18 months. The news that I was now going to lose my old sparring partner shattered me, but Billy was OK about it and never spent a second feeling sorry for himself. He handled it in the way that you would expect from him, with dignity and courage. I would call round to his house and always made sure I had a bottle of good quality malt whisky. The two of us would reminisce about old times and some of the outrageous things we had got up to. I was just thankful that Billy had made me aware of his situation and that we could have this time together. I would also take up some of my homemade soup for Billy but as time went on
it was becoming more difficult for him to eat as he just did not have any appetite.
Flex Conlin was also a good friend to Billy and I know that having his old pals around was a great comfort to him. I just could not imagine Billy not being around. He had always seemed indestructible, yet paradoxically I was amazed he had lived so long. I could remember having conversations with him about neither of us living much past 50. Billy was 69 when he broke the news of his illness to me and I wondered if he would make it to his 70th birthday on 6 March 2005. He did make it, but it seemed that I was starting to lose my old pals very quickly. First Gordon Ross, then Billy Blair, and now it looked like I was about to lose my oldest and most loyal pal. I have never had a fear of death but it did bring home to me that we only have a set time here on this earth and, really, we should make every second of that time count. This not a rehearsal and once you’re gone there is no coming back.
Ma’s health was also not getting any better and she was finding it increasingly difficult to get around. The family chipped in to buy her an electric wheelchair. She was very apprehensive at first but I think it was more that she finally had to acknowledge that she was just getting old. Once she had come to terms with that then she was much more at ease with herself, although she never fully accepted that she needed help from anyone! She could be a very stubborn woman, could my wee mammy. The wheelchair gave her back her sense of freedom and she loved being able to go out to the shops on her own again. But I still went up to see her almost daily, using the excuse of bringing her some of my homemade soup so I could check that she was OK.
It was around this time that I met a guy who was to become one of my closest and most loyal pals and someone I
have bundles of respect for. His name is Michael Connor and I met him through his girlfriend, Marie Eadie, who has been part of our family for almost 30 years. She is like another sister to me. Her brother Davie married my niece Shona in the early 1980s and they had a beautiful baby girl named Nathalie who is now a grown woman and one of my favourite people. Michael is my kind of man, an ex-Royal Marine commando who now does the all-in type of ring fighting. I have seen him in action and he is fucking awesome. But like nearly all of the truly tough guys I know, Michael is a complete gentleman and such a modest guy. Both he and Marie visited me and kept in touch during my last sentence and their love and support humbled me. I love the pair of them and I count myself very fortunate to have them and so many others in my corner. Michael and Marie were married in August 2011 and I could not have been happier for them.
Lesley and I had been together for 12 years when I realised she was changing and now seemed to be a wee bit distant, as if she had retreated into herself. I tried to find out if there was anything bothering her but Lesley would never open up to me, or anyone else for that matter. She was not the type who wore her heart on her sleeve and she had never really been what I would call affectionate in a showy way. I had grown to accept that that was just the way she was. I found this quite difficult as I am the type of guy who, if I am in love with you, I let you know it. I don’t mean in a clingy, needy type of way but I would put my arms around Lesley, squeeze her and say, ‘I love you, Lesley,’ but she never seemed able to show her emotions in that way. I did believe she loved me, but at the back of my mind was a niggling doubt that all was not well. My instincts were rarely wrong and maybe I should have heeded the signs.
The end for Billy came in July 2005. Just a few hours before he died I made my way to the high dependency unit at Hairmyers hospital, arriving just after midnight. Billy was flickering in and out of consciousness. I stood and held my old friend’s hand and said to him that the fight was over and he should now just let go. It was a very emotional moment. I stood and just spoke to Billy, thanking him for always being there for me and for being such a good pal. Finally, I said my last goodbye, kissed his forehead and walked away with tears streaming down my face. I was going to miss Billy even more than I realised. He had been so loyal to me over the years and I knew that I would never meet anyone quite like him again. He was unique, a one-off and I miss him to this day.
Billy’s funeral was a very sad affair, but he had a great turn out and I am sure he would have been pleasantly surprised by how many people came to pay their respects. Flex Conlin and I travelled in one of the funeral cars to the Linn crematorium where just a year earlier I had attended Billy Blair’s funeral in his company of Billy Robertson. His words came back to me – he had told me that he would be the next one ‘burnt’. And that really had been a self-fulfilling prophecy.
About three months later I arrived home one afternoon to find Lesley and Cheryl very upset. When they told me what had happened I was fucking raging. They had just been dropped off by Lesley’s mum and dad when another car pulled up and the three guys in it had started to shout abuse at them. I asked if they knew who the guys were and Cheryl told me that two of them were Kevin and Danny but she did not know the other guy. She told me that they had gone to Danny’s on the top floor of the block of flats across the road.
I wasted no time, despite Lesley telling me to let it go. I went over to the flats, quickly made my way up the stairs and
when I got to the slag Danny’s door I almost put it in, I hit it so hard. When they found the bottle to answer the door – after I shouted through the letterbox that if they didn’t, I would kick it in and batter every slag in the flat – I grabbed the first one to show his face by the throat. It was the Kevin fella as the other one, Danny, ran back into the living room at the sight of me.
The pair of them were snivelling fucking cowards, pleading with me not to hurt them. I did know them, just a couple of local wannabes. I assured them that if they even so much as looked at either my Cheryl or Lesley then I would return to cut the pair of them and their pal a new face each. Kevin almost macaronied his pants. I guess I must have gotten a wee bit soft during the years I spent with Lesley because I left it at that and didn’t put a glove on either of the fucking
no-use’ers.
Bad mistake on my part because, as is always the case when you are dealing with these type of rodents, they mistake any kind of leniency for weakness.
The next weekend I went out at about seven o’clock and as I drove along our street I saw two guys crossing over. As I drew level, one made some snide remark to the effect of, ‘That’s that fucker who thinks he’s a hard man.’ I slowed the car and asked if they were talking about me. They were both wearing baseball caps and I did not recognise them as it was beginning to get quite dark. They started to shout abuse so I told them to just wait and I put the car into reverse.
They stepped into the road and started to run towards me with beer bottles raised in their hands. It was obvious they intended to do some damage. Bad mistake on their part because I simply floored it and sideswiped the pair of them. The guy to my right managed to crawl onto the pavement and the one on my left was wedged between two cars so I just
drove past them and continued on my way. I still did not know who they were but it did cross my mind that maybe it had been the two rodents from earlier in the week.
I was still driving when my phone rang. It was Lesley and she was in a bit of a state. She told me not to come home as there had been a load of coppers at the door looking for me and that the street was full of cop cars and an ambulance. I told her not to worry and to just sit tight. I would be home once the coast was clear. I wasn’t unduly concerned at this point, as when I had driven past the two rodents I was pretty sure that neither was seriously injured. But I was also aware that if the cops were involved and that if they were going to charge me, then the charge would be attempted murder.
I had been going to see my pal Alan Jenkins, who I’d met as the head door man at Hudson’s, and when I got there I put him in the picture. I decided to go back to Lesley’s and stay out of sight for a while. Alan followed me in his car. I parked my car well away from Lesley’s and then Alan drove me home in his car, making a couple of circuits of the street first. I made my way via the back gardens to our front door. Lesley told me that the coppers had given her a hard time and that the sergeant in charge seemed very keen to get hold of me. He had even threatened Lesley with arrest. That fucking slag had taken a right liberty as Lesley had never been in any kind of trouble with the law her life. When she told me how badly he had treated her I wanted to go and rip his fucking head off.
I lay low all of that weekend and the strange thing was that the coppers never paid us a return visit. By the following Tuesday I was beginning to think that maybe it was just going to die a death, but that proved to be short-lived. The next day the lawmen arrived at our door team-handed, both uniformed and CID. They also brought a tow truck to take
away our car for forensic examination. I was formally arrested on suspicion of attempted murder and it was then that I learned that only one of the two guys – that fucking slag Kevin – had been part of the pair I had confronted the previous week. The other guy was another no-use’er who thought he was some kind of player but was just like his wee pal Kevin, a dirty fucking grass.
I was taken to the cop shop and Marco arrived later. I would be charged with two attempted murders and held to appear in court the following day. Marco told me not to worry and that he was pretty confident he would be able to secure bail for me. It had been a few years since I had seen Marco, as this was the first time I had been arrested in all that time. That fact would work in my favour when he made the bail application on my behalf. I was also doing a bit of work with John Turner and he would be there for me as my employer, which always helps with any application for bail. But these were serious charges. Even though it had been years since I’d had any dealings with the lawmen, it had been made clear to me that they were more than happy to be renewing our acquaintance. They were fucking choking to do me for this and it did not matter one iota to them that I had managed to turn my life around and had no dealings with them in over 12 years.
I appeared in private at Hamilton sheriff court and made no plea or declaration. The only time I said anything was when I answered, ‘Yes,’ when asked if I was James Cryans. Marco was as good as his word and secured bail. The wee man has never let me down and I left court alongside Lesley with Marco telling me he would be in touch. He always gave the impression that he was playing it off the cuff but I had gotten to know him very well over the years and he was never
anything less than fully professional and always at the top of his game.
Once I had gotten home I did what I always did in these situations. I went over everything in minute detail in my head and made notes of what I saw as the weaknesses in the case. I also started to outline the strategy for my defence. As well as the attempted murders, I had also been charged with assault relating to the time I went to the Danny fella’s door, grabbed the rodent Kevin by the throat and warned the pair of them off. The charge was that I grabbed Kevin by the throat, presented a knife, threatened to cut his throat and placed both him and the Danny boy in a state of fear and alarm. So much for the wannabe tough guys. The pair of them and their pal had all made statements against me and shown themselves to be the fucking cowardly grasses they were.