BOBBY WREN
No one will ever get to the bottom of Bobby Wren. I can’t fathom out whether he’s SAS, ex-military, mercenary or just a dangerous bastard. He’s an odd-bod, a loner. A modest, reserved enigma. Bobby is gadget mad and has sophisticated paraphernalia for just about everything.
I sat in Spencers pub in Hornchurch, Essex, waiting to interview Bobby – he was late. My minder ordered me another orange juice from the bar while I fiddled with my tape recorder. I glanced at my watch and thought to myself, I’ll give him another five minutes. At that moment, the saloon door burst open and in scurried Bobby Wren suited and booted, carrying a hold-all. He was sweating profusely and apologised for being late. I asked him if he’d been running for a bus or something. He scowled, ‘I’ve just finished training!’
By the size of him, he wasn’t kidding. His shoulders are so broad he could carry the weight of the whole world on them.
During our interview, Bobby showed me up-to-date heat-seeking equipment, bugging devices, and a gadget that he wears on his chest that vibrates if someone close to him is armed. While I was with him he wanted to demonstrate 60 ways to break a man’s arm in under a minute – I declined.
Bobby is a strange, complex character who holds his cards close to his chest – probably next to the vibrating gadget!
I’ve known Bobby for some years but the incident about him that sticks out in my mind most happened when Ron died.
I stood by the freshly dug grave. The vicar stood at one end, ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust …’
Something distracted me. I glanced over my shoulder. A man dressed in combat clothes, wearing a woolly hat and carrying a gun appeared from behind a gravestone. His eyes bulged. He fixed me with a steely gaze. He winked and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived – it was Bobby Wren. I later learned that he’d staked out the graveyard three days before the funeral. I don’t know what he thought was going to happen, but in a macabre way it was comforting knowing someone was watching out for me.
Bobby took a lot of persuading to be included in this book and, even when he finally agreed, he was very reluctant to talk about the things he’d been involved in. What intrigued me about Bobby was the mystery hold-all that was his constant companion. It was a large blue canvas bag with lots of zips and compartments. It was full to bursting and Bobby is very secretive about what it contains.
From time to time during the interview, Bobby would delve into the mystery hold-all and produce some gadget or other, or a bulging file containing top-secret information on this person or that. I noticed George Harrison’s name on the top of one of the files. This was shortly after the attempted murder of the ex-Beatle.
I asked Bobby if it was his security company that had been assigned to look after George. Bobby paused and threw me a look, a Bobby Wren look, a look of contempt, a ‘how dare you?’ look. Instinctively, I knew not to pursue the matter any further.
At the end of the interview, Bobby excused himself to use the toilet. He picked up his mystery hold-all and placed it precariously on the table in front of me. I wanted to have a peek inside but remembered the old saying, ‘curiosity killed the cat’.
I restrained the urge to have a rummage in the hold-all, got up from my seat and approached the bar to speak to my minder and photographer. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Bobby Wren standing in the doorway, furtively spying through the window at me. What was he expecting to see? Perhaps he was waiting for me to go through his hold-all? I noticed the bag was positioned very carefully and remembered that he’d moved the ashtray and some empty glasses on the table to position his concealed bag of tricks. It was then I asked myself, was there a surveillance camera or bugging device in the mystery hold-all? Was he testing or listening? I’ll probably never know.
BACKGROUND
I was born and brought up in Crystal Palace. One of five children. That’s all I’m prepared to say.
LIFE OF CRIME
I do have convictions, but I’d rather not say what they are.
WEAPONRY
My arms and legs are my deadliest weapons. I also have a class five firearms licence.
TOUGHEST MOMENT
Not prepared to say.
IS THERE ANYONE YOU ADMIRE?
No.
DO YOU BELIEVE IN HANGING?
No, ’cos there but for the grace of God go I.
IS PRISON A DETERRENT?
No. Prison is a demoralising waste of time. You leave your morals and dignity at the gate when you go in, and pick them up on the way out. But something has to be done to keep law and order.
WHAT WOULD HAVE DETERRED YOU FROM A LIFE OF CRIME?
I’m straight. What I do is in self defence.
WHAT MAKES A TOUGH GUY?
An honest man. Someone who can hold his head up with dignity.
BOBBY’S FINAL THOUGHT
Violence is my job. It’s what I do best. I’m not bragging or trying to be flash, that’s just the way it is. I’m dedicated to my profession – I have to be to stay alive. I’ve been trained in 18 different martial arts; I’ve been taught to disarm a man whilst blindfolded; I can show you 60 ways to break your arm and pressure points that can bring a man to his knees in seconds. It’s hard to describe my job. It hasn’t got an exact label, or title. Some say – SAS. Others say mercenary.
I can’t, for legal and security reasons, elaborate on the things that I’ve been involved in, but the dictionary definition of mercenary is a man hired to fight and kill solely for money. I guess that sums me up.