The remarkable true life story of Peter Newman (Part 4)

I needed no further persuasion. We walked through the dark countryside until we came to a clearing. As I was looking round one of the men suggested that I stay with them for a while. They slung some canvas under one of the caravans and made me a hammock.

I soon adapted to their gypsy lifestyle and they taught me many things. I stayed with them for a few months and then joined up with some others.

I still continued to steal, and when I was fifteen the gypsies held a meeting to decide what should be done with me. They knew that my bravado often exceeded my common sense and it was just a matter of time before the police would catch me red-handed. And if they caught me, they would doubtless start uncovering a few of the gypsies' illegal activities. I was too big a risk and the gypsies told me I had to leave. I was a bit angry about their decision but I decided that it was their loss, not mine, and off I went.

At sixteen I was again in trouble. This time I had to appear at the local magistrates' court. To my amazement a minister appealed to the court on my behalf. He must have made an impression because I was only given probation.

It turned out the the minister felt it was his mission to lead me to higher ground. He took me for a meal and told me that I was being prayed for. I thought that was a cheek: I didn't want older people taking over my life. After the meal he took me home with him. When his wife saw me there was an unholy row. She declared that if I stayed, then she'd go. While they were arguing I decided to settle the affair and leave, with the minister's overcoat under my arm.

School for me was one long punishment. I was dressed in the most weird home-made clothes and was considered a joke by most of the other children. I loved to learn and was once punished for asking too many questions. When I was given the chance of sitting the grammar school entrance exam, I took home extra homework, but it was made quite plain to me that lack of money would prevent me from ever going to a grammar school. So I rebelled again. I stopped doing homework and decided to quit school altogether. I was beaten, taken to the local police station and locked up for the day. This was to frighten me, but it only served to turn me into a hero in the eyes of the other children. I preferred to be in prison than to submit to the school system.

For quite some time I had been remembering Grandad's tales about life in London, and when I was sixteen I headed for the city to see if I could make a decent living for myself. Grandad had often talked about all the rich nobs in the West End, so surely any self-respecting thief should be able to nick a few pounds a day to keep body and soul together.

Life in London scared me a bit at first. Everything seemed to move so fast and while I was familiar with hedgerows and barns, all those tall, rather stately buildings seemed to crowd in on me. But I didn't intend to be licked: London wasn't going to intimidate Peter Newman.

Soho fascinated me. I used to spend hours watching the people on its bustling streets. I soon discovered who would buy what from me and so I started a new chapter in my life of crime. Before long I had a lucrative little business under way, with the profits mostly going on drink. The police were more formidable than the ones in the quiet country towns and villages and so I was wise enough to wait until dark before I broke into offices and flats. Most of the day was spent sleeping wherever I could find a place to lay my head.

London opened my eyes to crime in a new way. One thing I quickly learned was that one couldn't be a one man band. Crime was controlled from one area to another and there wasn't any chance of operating in an area without the sanction of the "Boss". It was difficult to work out who the "Boss" was, and just to make things more difficult, some areas had more than one. Rivalry between gangs for the possession of a "patch" was fierce and often dangerous. Once you were involved with a gang it was for good. There was no way out.

I was vetted by many gangs, but somehow managed to stay out of full commitment. I became a minder, protecting prostitutes working in certain areas and took my money from their earnings. This was a highly risky occupation - you were in danger from the law on one hand and rival gangs on the other. In my day the gangs were highly organised. Gang members were mostly foreigners from Mediterranean countries and to tread on their toes meant death! My life became a game of hide and seek. I was a good hustler. People began to take notice of me. But it was taking its toll on my life. Drink and drugs, uppers and downers made me nervous and jumpy. One day I did a very sensible thing: without telling anybody I disappeared into the country. I knew too much to get permission, so I just left, for the quiet life.

I left on the spur of the moment without any thought about my destination. I boarded a train at King's Cross without a ticket and left the rest to British Rail. The journey turned out to be a short one at a place called Sandy. Somehow I had to leave the station without being caught. A glance around soon had me scrambling up an embankment just outside the station.I disappeared into the night, catching the sound of two men shouting, whom I could just see to be a porter and a policeman.

I was off again, this time to the Home Counties, East Anglia, The Midlands, and finally to the North West of England.

Eventually I found myself back in court. The judge found me guilty of stealing sixpence (two and a half new pence) and I was sent to prison to await sentence. One night I was taken before the Governor of the prison. This was very unusual and I noticed that all the customary formalities were done away with. I was invited to sit down and offered a cigarette, which I quickly took. I was very suspicious but it turned out that the governor was compiling a report for the courts and only wanted to help me. However, I wasn't going to have his help and I told him so.