The Great Train Robber: My Autobiography
The inside story of Britain’s most notorious heist
Ronnie Biggs
(John Blake Publishing, 60th anniversary paperback edition, 2023)
It’s the sort of book I guess you might find in the “True Crime” book shelf in Waterstones. But I never look there, and normally have no interest, but I had time to spend in a coffee shop and I’m always interested in the events of 1963, not exactly a slow news year. August 8th, 1963. Ronnie Biggs’ 34th birthday. I remember it well – not the birthday bash, but the Great Train Robbery. A Glasgow to London mail train that happened to be carrying a ton of money in used banknotes was stopped, at Bridego Bridge (Bridge 127) two miles south of Leighton Buzzard, off the B488, and emptied of about £2,500,000, worth over £50,000,000 today. The money was never recovered.
What I remember most about the news reports was the response of the public. The news was greeted with a curious sense of satisfaction, as well as admiration. A daring heist. Such audacity! There was a general sense of vicarious excitement. A group of men had thumbed their noses at the authorities, at the Establishment, and some people hoped they would get away with it. My father did not share this sentiment. Well, he was a policeman. But I remember him saying to me, “The train driver has suffered a significant head injury. He has been struck with a cosh. Is that admirable?”
Following the robbery, the police mounted a massive manhunt. Attention turned to Leatherslade Farm, the farmhouse near the scene of the crime which had been the headquarters of the gang. Prior to the event they played Monopoly to while away the time. The apocryphal story circulated that they had played with real money. Then they all scattered, but they were relentlessly hunted down, and twelve out of sixteen were caught, including Ronnie Biggs. Three were never identified. They were severely dealt with. Ronnie’s was a mistrial because the jury had been made aware of his criminal past. But he was nailed on the retrial, and got 30 years. At the time, that seemed to most people to be excessive, and there was a general feeling that the Establishment was using the full force of the law to make quite clear who was boss. This no doubt contributed to the sense of sympathy some people expressed. Perhaps this sense of sympathy tells us more about the social structures of the time than it does about Ronnie. If people get a kick out of witnessing Grand Larceny, it suggests they feel they don’t have a stake in the community. Isn’t it all a scam anyway? Why shouldn’t these people be in it for themselves, when blatant self-interest is exactly what characterises the Establishment? Lord and Lady Muck. If you got one over on them, good luck to you, mate!
If Ronnie Biggs had gone to jail and been released in 1993, I don’t suppose we would have heard any more about him. But on the 8th July, 1965, he escaped from Wandsworth Prison in South London. He was on the run for 13,087 days. Briefly, he went to Paris to effect a disguise under the care of a plastic surgeon. Then he flew to Sydney Australia. When the law got on his trail again, he sailed to the New World, and settled in Rio. He survived two attempted kidnappings, and various attempts at extradition. He was pursued and arrested in Rio by a Detective Inspector from the Flying Squad, one Jack Slipper. What a fantastic name, a name Charles Dickens might have made up for a London sleuth. But Ronnie slipped through Inspector Slipper’s hands.
He lived a colourful life, with plenty of wine, women, and song. Some women are attracted to a “loveable rogue”, and this certainly seems to have been the case with Ronnie. The great and the good from England passing through Rio would go out of their way to get themselves photographed with him. Yet despite the nice little earner of the Great Train Robbery, he seemed to have a lot of financial worries, and indeed he apparently put in a substantial amount of time doing an honest day’s work, mostly as a carpenter. But then, how much of all this should we take with a pinch of salt? Ronnie could be, by his own confession, economical with the truth. At any rate, it wasn’t the law, but his own failing health, that made him decide to return to England, on his own terms. He had suffered a series of strokes. He knew he would be arrested on his return, and he didn’t think he had much life left in him. On his return in May 2001, he couldn’t have anticipated that he was going to spend a further eight years inside. He was eventually released on compassionate grounds, as his health further deteriorated, and he spent his final days between a care home and a hospital, and died on December 18th, 2013, just over 60 years after the event for which he is best known. His funeral was held at Golders Green Crematorium on January 3rd 2014. It was well attended.
Ronnie’s autobiography was “ghosted” by Christopher Pickard. I don’t know how much of the narrative can be attributed to author, or ghost. But it’s certainly a fascinating and a readable book. Loveable rogue? Ronnie’s funeral was conducted by the Rev Dave Tomlinson, who got a fair amount of stick for conducting the ceremony. He said, “Jesus didn’t hang out with hoity-toity, holier-than-thou religious people. He seemed much more at home with the sinners. At the end of the day, we are all sinners.”
That’s true. And yet, I still think of my father’s remark about Jack Mills, the train driver. I don’t really understand the fascination some of the London glitterati have for East End gangsters. It’s not unlike the fatal attraction the entertainment world in the US has for the Mob. Jesus certainly moved among thieves and vagabonds, but he wasn’t attracted to their world. On the contrary, he entered their world in order to urge them to repent. When Justice Secretary Jack Straw at first refused Ronnie’s release on parole, it was partly on the grounds that he had shown no remorse for his crime. This absence of remorse Ronnie renders explicit in his autobiography. And this fact seems to me to be the overriding defining characteristic of the book. It is a colourful tale told by somebody who seems, in this regard, entirely lacking in insight.
jamescalumcampbell 