RONNIE FIELD
Ronnie is a man who changes his moods as swiftly as a chameleon changes its colour. He doesn’t pander to whims but is a force to be reckoned with. He demands respect. A commander of men.
Ronnie is always immaculately dressed in starched white shirts and well-cut suits, which projects an image of respectability; but cross him, and he will fight like a devil.
He’s currently residing in one of ‘Her Majesty’s big houses’. That’s a polite way of saying he’s banged up in the slammer – nine years for intent to supply cocaine.
I’ve known Ron for 11 years. He was my minder while I was married to Ronnie. There are so many stories I could tell you about Ronnie Fields. Some are funny, some are frightening and some are sinister. But I can’t tell you any of these for obvious reasons. I would if I could, but I can’t so I won’t.
During the time I’ve known Ron, he’s been to prison a couple of times; he never complains or makes a song and dance about being sent down.
It’s just a hazard of his profession – armed robbery. But the sentence he’s serving at the moment is different. I know for a fact that Ron is not a drug baron, never has been and never will be. It’s just not his bag. The way he was treated stinks! It should be illegal.
BACKGROUND
I was born in Epsom, Surrey, the youngest of seven children. My father was a safe-blower who learned his trade in the Army. He was a highly decorated soldier at the D-Day landings and crossing of the Rhine. Dad left home when I was four years old. Me and my brothers were left with my grandmother – she was a tyrant. I was lucky she left me alone.
LIFE OF CRIME
1976 – I was sentenced to 12 years for an armed robbery on a wages office in Leeds. I got another ten years for an armed robbery on a supermarket in Wimbledon. In 1991, I was arrested at Gatwick airport for conspiracy to commit armed robbery – estimated value, £10 million. I was sentenced to five years for that one!
1996 – Me, Charlie Kray and one other were arrested by undercover police for supplying cocaine. I received nine years, Charlie Kray received 12, the other mate five years. I’m guilty of the other armed robberies; I’ll put my hands up to those, it was a fair cop! But for supplying cocaine, I know the truth. The whole thing stank from start to finish. The fucking thing felt like entrapment, which is no defence in this country, although it is in every other European state.
I’ll do the nine years standing on my head, but it’s wrong, plain and simple. I’m not saying this because I’m trying to get out of my sentence, because I’ve nearly completed it. I’m saying it because it is wrong. There’s a word which means ‘to catch or snare in a trap’, and that’s just what happened to me, Charlie Kray and a mate.
WEAPONRY
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
TOUGHEST MOMENT
My toughest moment was when my mother died and I didn’t get a chance to say sorry for all the worry I’d given her. Also, the day my baby daughter died was probably my darkest hour.
IS THERE ANYONE YOU ADMIRE?
I don’t know if ‘admire’ is the right word, but probably the only man I’d trust with my life is Joey Pyle. He is a man of honour and one I respect.
DO YOU BELIEVE IN HANGING?
Yes, for sex offenders and killers of children. There is no cure and they never change, despite what doctors and do-gooders say. In prison, the nonces and ponces are mollycoddled as if they are sick. They’re sick all right – sick in the fucking head. They don’t need help, they need stringing up.
IS PRISON A DETERRENT?
I suppose prison is a deterrent to a certain extent. Nobody wants to go to prison and the older you get, the more of a deterrent it becomes.
WHAT WOULD HAVE DETERRED YOU FROM A LIFE OF CRIME?
Dough, loot, moolah, lolly, spondulix – what else?
WHAT MAKES A TOUGH GUY?
A man who shouts from the rooftops telling everyone that he’s bashed this one and bashed that one or killed this one and killed that one – he is nothing but a fool. It’s the quiet, unobtrusive man that is dangerous.
RONNIE’S FINAL THOUGHT
I should have sussed it. I should have sussed his boots – black, polished Dr Martens.
To tell the truth, I had been clean for a while; I never intended to do any more ‘work’. I wanted to spend some quality time with my daughter Sadie and my grandson and just have a rest.
I didn’t want any more ‘cozzers’ kicking my door open in the middle of the night. I’m not saying that I was ready for pipe and slippers, but I wanted to take a back seat – at least for a while.
From time to time, I’m asked to go to ‘work’ with this one or that. Usually, I stick to my own, never venturing away from the people I know and trust. Then, out of the blue, I got a call from someone I knew, but wasn’t a friend. He explained about a job that he was involved in. It sounded good – fucking good. He offered me a bit of the action and I’ve got to admit I was tempted. Foolishly, I decided to meet the men offering the ‘bit of work’. Well, it couldn’t hurt just meeting them.
Arrangements were made to meet in a quiet pub on the outskirts of London. The pub was unfamiliar to me – it was out of my manor. I should have just turned round and walked away, but I didn’t. Instead, I ordered a round of drinks and listened. I said nothing, just listened. From the outset, I didn’t like the set-up. I had a gut feeling, something just wasn’t right. I felt a bit uncomfortable but pushed it to the back of my mind.
There was talk of kilos and kilos of cocaine. £10 million, £15 million, £22 million pounds’ worth of charlie. It was rootin’, tootin’ big time and not my scene. I told ’em to count me out. But the boys were nothing if not persistent.
All sorts of outlandish figures were bandied around.
I’m not a mug, I’ve been up to skullduggery for as long as I can remember. I’m not sure if the boys persuaded me or I convinced myself that the job was a good idea. The more I listened, the more I began to wobble.
‘How easy? How much?’
I thought to myself that if I did this one, the big ’un, then I could settle down and behave myself – for good!
I asked my mate how well he knew the other blokes. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the question, ‘Oh, I’ve known them for years. They’re kosher …’
I looked at their tanned faces and false smiles. The Armani suits. The Rolex watches. The flash cars. They had all the trappings. It was at that point I noticed their boots. I suspiciously asked, ‘You ain’t Old Bill, are ya?’
They were cool. Inside, they must have been dying. I should have gone with my gut feeling and got my sorry arse out of there. I didn’t.
If I can pass on anything from my experiences to a young, up-and-coming villain, it’s this: always judge a man by his shoes. If he wears worn, black, polished Dr Marten boots, then tell him in no uncertain terms to ‘fuck off’. Because make no mistake – he’s Old Bill.