The Last Godfather: Arthur Thompson

Now republished in a new updated edition, Reg McKay's The Last Godfather is the saga of Arthur Thompson, Glaswegian crime boss. I say saga for two reasons: first, since Thompson's reign was unfeasibly long; at his death in 1993, he was still a fearsome presence, though increasingly undercut by usurpers. Secondly, because so many elements from his rise and fall tale are familiar from history and myth – power struggles, feuding clans, young pretenders, uneasy pacts with the enemy, troublesome offspring.

Thompson's main business was cash: loans, protection money, investing in legitimate businesses he would then muscle into. He was a poor bank robber, and failed fully to exploit the drugs market which could have extended his power. But he was shrewd; he was good with the money, he had chosen a strong and supportive wife, he made good allies (including a top police officer) and displayed wilful courage, embarrassing the Krays on their own patch early on, (a yarn which has been so embellished, we can only guess at the truth), and establishing a reputation as the least soft of touches.

A few flaws did for Thompson: he was a sadist (McKay suggests he may also have been involved in sexual crimes) who liked to do his own strong-arming, including nailing debtors to floors and doors and torturing those who had crossed him. When he worked in London, The Krays had to ask him to tone down his roughing up methods. Because he did the dirty work hands on, he took flak instead of leaving it all to his heavies and was the subject of several assassination attempts. And because his heavies were the toughest, they themselves became powerful, and when they turned against him (McKay implies that Thompson was prone to this happening due to a lack of generosity, with thanks and money) he was in trouble. Paul Ferris, the young and loyal lieutenant, as bright as he was vicious, was to become his nemesis.

A long-running feud with the Welsh family stifled his power; he was lucky to survive a car bomb which killed his mother-in-law, and luckier to escape imprisonment after a road-battle of shunt and chase left two rivals dead. And he couldn't bear prison – which was a weakness in a career criminal. His other weakness was a Glaswegian folly: deep-set sectarian hatred. He kept this quiet, not wanting it to interfere with his criminal dealings. But Thompson had been gun-running for the UDA and was soon found out. During a short spell in prison in 1968, MI5 offered him a choice: become an informer (London criminals and Irish terrorists were their interests) or go down big-time for gun-running.

One subject in The Last Godfather which is underplayed is drugs. Thompson came late to this seedy business, increasingly at the criminal forefront during his waning years. Oddly, it was MI5 who unwittingly turned him to it: when he struck his deal, a little local drug dealing was on their list of what might be overlooked if the bigger information was coming in. Thompson left much of the drug business to Arthur Junior, who policed it with trusted heavies ready to snuff out opponents. McKay portrays 'Fatboy' as such an inept, childlike figure (flatulent, and never without a chocolate bar in one hand, a pistol in the other), it is hard to believe that, even with his father keeping tabs on the money side, he was such a leading player.

I've often wondered how seriously gangsters of this ilk are taken outside of their own environment – the sort who turn up to boxing matches as soap stars do to film premieres, or who like to be seen, dressed to the nines, in their own nightclubs, surrounded by acolytes and glamour girls. Did the Krays and the Richardsons run 1960s London, or were they sub-celeb wide boys high on protection money and the odd heist? A Glasgow police officer once explained to me that the true Mr Big of Scottish crime was an intellectual, financially-minded gentleman with friends in high places, who would never be seen doing the dirty work, far or less be witnessed propping up a bar with a razor in his pocket.

McKay's book is gripping, without too much of the second guessing and invented dialogue which can demean true crime books. He is certainly the expert in this area, having also written two books with Ferris. There are occasional glitches in continuity, and times when you feel he knows far more than he can put in writing. The crimes are too recent. Having said that, few of the players are still alive: the saddest part of this disturbing book is the Where Are They Now? coda, which is largely a body-count of stabbings and shootings. A dirty business, a modern tragedy even, but a fascinating read.