STEVE: INTERVIEWED

At what point in your life did it occur to you that there was enough in your past to fill a book? And what in particular did you want to achieve by writing it?

I’ve felt for some time now, I’d probably say over the last 15 years, that I could probably write a book. A number of people who have suggested the idea to me – for a number of reasons. One is a therapeutic reason for myself, to actually… unload, I suppose, my life, my lifestyle, and not to have something that for many, many years I’ve been ashamed of. Just clear the sheet and make myself feel a little bit better about myself.

My friend, Chris Lambrianou [an associate of the Krays, who served 15 years in prison for the murder of Jack “The Hat” McVittie], who writes books himself, was the man who really convinced me that it would be good for me to actually get it out, get it on paper, and give people the opportunity to see that people can reform and can change their life. And that’s what I have done. I’ve relieved myself of all the things that I feel bad about. It’s a kind of exorcism. I’m not suggesting for one minute that you can actually wipe that slate clean. I think you have to live with who you’ve been. But the reality is that I can move on, and I have moved on from that person, and I’ve done a lot of good for a lot of people since then.

 

How did you go about writing the book?

Well, it wasn’t that difficult, because in my day to day work, here at the Ley Community, it’s all about honesty, it’s all about talking about your past, it’s all about the here and now; what’s been in the past and put behind you, put to rest. And so it wasn’t difficult for me to bring up my life story and put it on paper. I’ve spent a lot of time working along with the residents within the community, and a lot of it’s based on honesty, respect and trust. And you have to use the tools and the elements that you have in your life to try and help other people move through this kind of situation. So, for me, it was always there.

I think the difficult part was a long, long time ago – when I actually did the programme. And that was about being honest with myself. I think once I learned to be honest with myself, and not feel ashamed of where I’d been and what I’d done, then I realised I could use my past as a good tool to work with the residents in the programme. So to actually put it on paper… it’s always there, it’s always been fresh. I’ve never, I don’t think, been able to forget about where I came from.

 

So how candid were you in the book? Is there anything you’ve left out, or have you put everything in it?

I don’t think I’ve put everything in it. I think there are little bits and pieces that I could have been a bit more explicit about. And I think there are some things that perhaps I could have gone deeper into, but I don’t think it would be beneficial to me or beneficial to anybody else… I suppose, in reality, there are many other things that I could probably talk about at some stage; I’m sure there are things I could elaborate on about my bad side. I haven’t totally put everything down, but all the important stuff is there.

 

And are you pleased with the finished product?

Yes, I am. I’m very pleased. I’m not a big reader myself – and when I do read, I have to read a book that constantly flows. I’m a bit of a lazy reader. I’m dyslexic, and so therefore it has to be a bit riveting for me to keep involved, and I’m hoping that’s what I’ve written.

 

How old were you when you learned to read?

I learned to read when I was 17, when I was in a detention centre. I was put into a cell on my own, and I couldn’t read, and the only thing that was in there was the Bible. And there was I, locked up around 23 hours a day, with no one to talk to. And I decided that, even though it wasn’t really what I wanted to look at, I should try and spend some of my time a bit more valuably…

 

Did you find the Bible a helpful book to have with you at that point?

Well, it certainly occupied my time. I’m not necessarily a religious person, but I do believe that there is a power greater than myself – whatever shape or form that is, I have no idea, but I do have some belief that there is always someone guiding me. I think in some respects I’ve been guided – I don’t know whether it’s by God, or who it’s by. But I’ve had a bit of a guardian angel, I’ve had someone look after me, I’ve had someone help me to achieve what I’ve achieved in my life. But I don’t know, I have no idea… the whole idea of me learning to read… I mean, I used to have to get other people to write my letters for me; I couldn’t write letters home. It was a very, very bad kind of communication. In some ways it felt like someone had cut your tongue, like you couldn’t respond to people outside, because the only way of communicating was by mail. So the Bible was useful to me because it helped me lift myself out of that.

 

Which parts of the book were the hardest to write?

The hardest parts to write were the things that I’m not so proud of. I worry about how people might perceive those things. And I worry about how people will look at me. And I worry whether this still matters to some people out there, whether there’s still any rivalry about some of this stuff. I’ve been out of this situation for many, many years now, but some people have memories, and you don’t know what sort of ghosts you’re going to bring up… I’ve found some of that quite worrying. But there was no point in me writing the book unless I was going to be honest. Because the only way that I’m going to be able to help anybody to recognise that change is possible is by actually being honest. So there was reservation about it, but there was also part of me saying, well, you gotta go for it.

But it was difficult. And even …you saying to me, are there any parts that I’ve left out. Well, yes, there are. Because you obviously have to think about some of the things that you’ve done and you think, well, you know, is that going to do me any good, and is that going to do anyone else any good? So you had to think about it. But all in all, a lot of it came as a flow, because it’s a memory that I carry with me all the time. And there were some parts, as I was digging, that I felt uneasy about. But you work through it.

 

One of the things that comes across quite strongly in the book is that there’s a big gap between Steve Walker 30 years ago, and Steve Walker now. But you’re still the same man, you’re still the same body and soul. What parts of yourself, today, do you think you share with your old self?

Well, that’s a very good question… I think there’s a part of me that still shares a lot of my old self. I just don’t act the same. I can still think the same – I can still be the same person. But I’ve been given a choice, something that I didn’t feel I had all those years ago. I was doing what I was doing because that’s where I got involved, that became part of my life, that was part of my living, part of my existence, it was part of me being somebody. And so, all of those things that I used to do all those years ago, to be who I was then, I’ve actually just turned those things around. So it’s the same kind of energy, but instead of me being so negative about life, being a person that took advantage of everything, and used everybody to my own needs, and being involved in all that violence… I use all my energies, and everything that I’ve experienced to different ends. I’m still a shorttempered kind of person, but it’s for a different reason. It’s not for my gain. It may be through frustration, you know, when you try to actually encourage people to make changes. It can become very frustrating when you feel like you’re actually talking to yourself 30 years ago. So I still use the same kind of energies, but I’ve actually developed myself and I use the skills that I had and put them into a different perspective. I’ve gained a lot more knowledge and learned a lot more about myself.

 

Was there one particular moment when you made that switch, or was it more of a gradual process?

I think it’s always been a gradual process, and I think you’re always still learning – I’m still learning even today. But there was a point when I realised I no longer wanted to live a life, because I didn’t like who I was, and I didn’t like the way I was treating my family, my children, or anything else. I basically wanted out. I think the key to that was sitting in a hospital with my children’s pictures on the wall, having no contact with them, no contact with anybody, thinking about what kind of bastard I’d been, thinking, “Do they deserve this?”, and having people around me in that hospital who couldn’t cater for themselves very well. And there I was, a fairly fit man, maybe not together in my head, but I had everything to go for, and there were people in there who were in terrible states. And there I was, throwing my life away, and these people were fighting for their lives. And I think the penny dropped, that I’d spent 15 years using drugs, I’d broken every rule, there wasn’t anybody or anything that really mattered to me, apart from me having what I wanted, and all of a sudden what I’d wanted wasn’t what I wanted any longer. And I didn’t want to be that person any more.

 

So it was a conscious decision?

It was a very conscious decision, the changing, the making of the changes. By the time I came to the Ley Community, I’d made that decision. It wouldn’t have mattered what they’d asked me to do. At that time, I could not stand the person I’d become, or who I was, any longer.

 

In the book you talk about one of the patients in the hospital who asked you to shave him, he couldn’t even shave himself…

That’s right. And that was so major for me. You know, he wanted to look smart for a visit, and there was me just carrying on taking all this stuff for granted, didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything. And I thought, you know, “what is it with you? Get a grip. You’ve got all these things.” And I think that was brought to me in some respects when it was me standing there, giving this guy a shave. I realised I could do something for somebody, that I’m not as useless as I actually thought I was.

 

Who, in your past, do you feel the most grateful to?

I think there are a few people that I’m very grateful to. In later life, I was more grateful to the people that tried to push me in the right direction, and one of those particular people was a guy called Dr Alex Callum, who always had a bit of faith in me, that I could make changes. He had more faith in me than I had in myself. And him encouraging me to come to rehab was one of the most important things. I also think that Dr Mandelbrote, the founder of the Ley Community, was another man who had faith in me when I didn’t have any faith in myself, and gave me a chance. And the Ley Community, as well, I’m very, very grateful to, for the work and the time and the effort that they’ve put in.

As far as my family is concerned, I was very grateful to my grandparents for bringing me up. But I also went through a kind of mixed agenda with them. Because older people don’t necessarily understand younger people. And there were certain things that I always remember being resentful about, about not being allowed to do what the other children were doing down the road, and stuff like that. I’m aware that they always tried to do their best for me. But it was very, very difficult for me, living in that kind of situation.

It seems quite crazy, really, that the people I feel most grateful to are people in authority, people that have given me a chance, when I didn’t feel that I deserved a chance. It was a very strange thing for me. The next time that came up in my life was when I was going through the liver transplant. I constantly asked myself whether I was worthy of this chance, and it played on my mind quite a lot. Here I am, again, in a situation when I need something, and all I can think is, “Am I worthy?” Because I know who I’ve been, I know who I am. And I constantly questioned that. I sort of thought that people who would be making decisions about whether I could actually have a transplant were people who weren’t thinking about things from a medical point of view, but were thinking about judging me. Because I was sitting there in judgement of myself, and I was just thinking, “I wonder if these people think I’m worthy. I wonder if this is in the equation.” And I really struggle with whether that should actually have happened for me. And I’m also very grateful to them. My transplant was nearly three years ago now, and as you can see I’m doing well, I’m doing OK. And that’s the other thing about the guardian angel – I have no idea who it is, but I’m getting more than my fair share.

 

If your grandparents could see you now, do you think they’d be proud of you?

Yes, I do, yeah, I do think they’d be proud of me. They’d be proud of me and I think that they were always looking out for me. I’d never suggest that they were ever not doing their best for me. It’s just that their way of doing it wasn’t the way that I wanted it to happen for me. They travelled around the country to see me when I was in custody, or when I was in prison. They tried everything to help me, and I can always remember my grandmother saying, “It’s not my Stevie, it’s the people he hangs around with.” And it’s such a nice thought that she didn’t feel it was down to me. But in actual fact, it was down to me, and what I became was me.

 

But do you think your grandmother’s faith in you had an effect on how your life has transpired?

I can’t say that there was a great deal of push from her or from my grandfather. I’d become so wayward that I’d left them behind, I’d left everything behind. By the time I got round to doing something about my life, I didn’t really have many people left in my life, because I’d burned most of my bridges. So I can’t say that they were very influential in that sense. But I always knew they wanted me to be a good boy they wanted me to get it right, and I know that their heart was in the right place. It’s just that I couldn’t deliver the goods.

 

And what about your father, would he be proud of you?

[Long pause] Funny relationship, my father, very funny relationship. I think in some ways he would be proud of what I’ve done, because as far as most people are concerned, I completely turned the odds around. I didn’t speak to him for probably 25 years, right up until just before he was dying, when I wanted to make amends to our relationship, because I felt that, whatever had happened, my father ended up in the situation he was in – yes, it probably had something to do with himself – but I also think that that was the way the cards were dealt for him, and that’s the way that he lived. I don’t think he was strong enough to make the changes I’ve made, and I can’t hold it against him. I genuinely believe that there have got to be some things that came up in his life that made it very, very difficult. I know that he was a very jealous man. I know that he was very possessive… very angry man… But I wanted, I actually wanted to make him aware that – no matter what’d gone on, he was still my father. And I wasn’t going to go there and curse him, or whatever, I was going there to help him, so that when he did die, there was a chance that he could actually die with a bit of dignity and respect, instead of feeling bad about himself, like I knew I felt about myself. I’m sure he must have felt shit about himself and the life that he’d led, and how he’d responded to me, and those kinds of things. I just wanted to help him, maybe just say, “Well, OK, that’s gone, we’re not going to worry about that any more.” And that’s how he left this world. That’s how it ended for him.

 

Did he seem grateful to you?

Yes, he did. Yes, he was very grateful to me, I know he was very grateful to me. I was the one who was running backwards and forwards to Kent to see him when he was in hospital, I took him home on one occasion… It was OK. And I had my few words with him after he’d died – went to see him in the chapel of rest. Just made it clear.

 

What was the appeal of the criminal lifestyle to you?
How did it make you feel?

Well, I can honestly say that I don’t think I went into the crime element because I wanted to. I think I went into the crime element because of the people I mixed with, because of the background I came from; not going to a very smart school, being dyslexic, feeling put down in the classroom, all this kind of stuff… all led to the life of crime. And being put down, made to look like a dunce standing in the corner, having people laughing at me, finding it quite amusing that I was thick. And then having bullies around me, having things taken off me… I had to find a way to live, you know. And my way of living, unfortunately, went the way that it did. I got sick and tired of being bullied by the bully, so I became the bully. Then I found that being a bully actually felt quite good, because I was getting away with whatever I wanted to get away with. And if you take it further, obviously, as life went along, things escalated…

But I didn’t feel that I belonged anywhere, and it was about feeling that I had somewhere where I belonged. I actually belonged with the criminal fraternity – people who were involved in doing these terrible things. It had some kind of excitement. And the whole idea of trying to fund some of the things I wanted to do through the back door became quite interesting to me. And as it went along, the more I got involved, the more I started to recognise how much I could actually earn, how well off I could be, the more I continued down that particular path. So it’s not something that I feel proud about, but it’s something that happened. And I don’t think I’m the only person that happens to – I think there are a lot of people that it happens to. And that’s why it’s so appropriate for me to write a book like this: so that other people who think, “I’m on that slope, I’ve been there, I’ve felt this,” can be inspired to make a bit of a change.

 

Do you ever miss that side of you life?

I think I do miss it. Because there was a lot of excitement. And when you take something away from someone’s life, you have to replace it with something. My replacement started with the Ley Community, my time here, bringing me back to some sort of normality, after spending 15 years wayward, you know, reminding me of some of the things that I love, some of the passion that I had. I wanted to make some changes so I went to work on lorries – when I first left the programme I became a lorry fitter, something I’d wanted to do for years. Being involved in muck and oil and grease was really important to me. It meant that I could fix something. It’s important to me to be able to fix something. Working with the people at the Ley Community is about helping somebody to fix something. I was in the fixing business, I could fix particular things, I could do something.

Then there’s the whole thing about excitement. When you’re breaking the law and you’re doing bad things, it’s something about the excitement – being wanted, being chased, being a villain, or whatever. So I came back to my old love, riding motorbikes. The adrenalin I got from stealing and all that kind of stuff – I was getting my natural adrenalin back, without using drugs, without using anything else. It became natural. So I think that my replacement was all about bikes, and all about something I can be involved in.

There’s a whole side of me that’s still very passionate about speed, risk, and all of that… I mean, it explains brilliantly in some respects, what we were talking about a little bit earlier, that everything I do today – some of the stuff’s still very risky. You know, I still race occasionally, got a nice fast car. So all my general needs are being met by an alternative mechanism. Whereas, before, it was being met by deceit, stealing, robbing, cheating. So it’s the same excitement completely – in a different way.

 

Do you ever miss the drugs?

No. I don’t take any drugs. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. Over the thirty years I’ve worked here, and the things that I’ve gone through, I’ve no desire to get involved in any of that stuff.

 

What would have happened if you’d never ended up in the Ley Community?

I genuinely believe that if I hadn’t come to the Ley Community I’d have been dead by now, there’s no doubt about it. All the time, all the years that I’d been using, it didn’t really matter to me whether I lived over 40, 50, 60 – it was never important to me. My life was on a knife edge, it always had been, and I was fully aware of that. And if I hadn’t have come to the Ley, there’s no doubt about it, I wouldn’t be alive today. If I’d have continued doing what I was doing, nobody would have ever confronted me about my behaviour, how it affected others, and what I needed to do to make those changes without actually being put into rehab. And I genuinely believe that the Ley Community was the right one, even though I did not try any other. Because there was nothing more in your face than coming here and being asked those difficult questions: “Who the fuck do you think you are?” “What gives you the right to do these things to other people?” “You’re a father. What sort of a father are you?” Those kinds of questions I needed to be put to me hard and fast, and I didn’t need anybody holding back any punches, because I needed to find out what I was. And the only way I could find out what I was, was by people being upfront, honest and direct with me. And no matter how painful that was, that’s what I needed, and I’m a strong believer in old traditions; I needed to be treated in the way that I was treating others to make me realise how it felt to be on the receiving end. And there weren’t many places around that would have been able to do that to a person like myself. So, for me, the Ley was my saviour.

 

And was it a lucky break that you ended up here? Or do you think it was fated in some way, your guardian angel at work again?

Well, I did actually apply to come to the Ley about 18 months before that. I actually got somebody else to fill in the application forms for me. As I told you, I’m not very good at that sort of stuff. And all of a sudden a good bag of drugs came along, a good bit of gear, and I got deterred.

But I think fate plays a very good part in some stuff that happens to people, and… here I am!

 

What would you do if your son showed any interest in taking drugs?

I genuinely believe that I’ve always been very honest with him about what I do and where I work, what the dangers are and stuff like that. I’d like to think that some of the stuff that I’ve been teaching him perhaps wouldn’t take him down that road. Nevertheless, if he did, I’d have to take into consideration how to go about that, and help him to perhaps discover a different way. My son does have dyslexia, my son is very dyslexic, and basically I do as much as I possibly can right now to help him do things that he feels good about – he’s very good at sport, he’s very good at karate, he rides motocross, he does lots and lots of different things. Those opportunities are available to him not because I’m spoiling him, but because I’m giving him an outlet where I didn’t get an outlet. So I’d like to think that part of what I’m doing may be a deterrent from that situation.

He actually comes into work with me on occasions. He talks to the residents, he knows quite a lot about what goes on with drugs and alcohol. He got taken to the library at school last year, and the school was very alarmed because he started picking up books about drugs and addiction. They actually got in touch with us to say that they were quite concerned about what his choice of something to read was. And my wife said that the situation is that he knows what his dad does for a living, he knows what his dad’s been up to, and he’s just looking for some sort of understanding. I’d like to think that that’s not going to happen, but then again, on the other hand, it may. Whatever happens, I don’t think you can force anybody to make any choices. I will try and be as supportive as I possibly can, but I would be a hard taskmaster. I’d make some big hurdles and try and help him jump them.

 

If you could talk to yourself when you were your son’s age, what advice would you give yourself?

[Long pause] I basically think the damage was already done for Steve Walker by 12. I think the damage was done a lot earlier for Steve. I think what I would like to say to him is, don’t make the same mistakes as myself. I think that would be the strongest thing. I’m not suggesting that at that particular time I was all bad, because I wasn’t. But I think my life make-up had already been put on me, and I was acting it. By that time I’d got into bullying at school, rebelling… and I know this happens with everyone. But I mean to strong extremes; not just telling your mum and dad to piss off – really acting it out. I think the rot had already set, and I was going along these roads…

 

What would you like to be remembered for?

I think I’d like to be remembered as someone who has managed to turn their life around, and in doing so, has managed to help a lot of other people; have that kind of recognition, I suppose, that not all was bad. It may have started bad, but at the end of the day, the bad boy came good.