Life Beyond the Box: Norman Stanley Fletcher

In 1974, one of Britain's best-known criminals

was sent away for five years to HM Prison Slade.

Fletcher, Norman Stanley. 42. Five years.

Knows the score, sir. Done a lot of bird.

Water off a duck's back.

Hello, sir!

This is the life story of Norman Stanley Fletcher. Using dramatic reconstructions,

previously unseen footage, and exclusive interviews with family,

friends and associates,

we chart the chequered career of this habitual criminal.

Top bloke, Fletch. Always thinking.

Loved by everyone was Fletch.

Was that the old guy at the bar surrounded by young girls? ..I hate that.

Prison - institution of punishment or rehabilitation?

For the likes of Norman Stanley, it made little difference - porridge was porridge.

-Hello, Dad.

-Hello, Ingrid, love. Hello.

-How's your mother?

-She's fine. She sends her love and everything.

-Good.

For his daughter, Ingrid, prison was always part of family life.

Now in her 50s, she's begun to explore her father's history.

That's the one. That's the house Dad was born in.

February 2nd 1932.

Course, it's not where my grandparents lived, but

Grandad was robbing the place at the time, and Gran's waters broke while she was on lookout.

# We'll meet again Don't know where... #

Fletcher had a rich criminal ancestry, but he was also a child of his time.

In 1940, aged eight, he was evacuated with his older brother George,

who's returned from his home in Australia to take part in this film.

Yeah, me and Norman were evacuated -

1940 - to this farm in Wales.

God-awful place, it was.

Dirty, filthy - stank of pigs.

And that was just the farmer.

Bloody hell! It's still here.

That's Smelly Davies's place.

Cor! They had this son, you know. Now... Now, he was bloody weird.

Can I help you?

I don't believe it!

Wartime rationing gave the Fletcher boys their first criminal opportunity.

We started an egg-smuggling racket. We'd nick enough eggs for a couple of boxes,

give 'em to the guard of the London train, and he gave 'em to Dad to flog around Muswell Hill.

This is amazing. After all this time.

-Do you remember the Fletcher brothers?

-Yes. I DO remember.

Get off!

I'm telling Dad about you nicking the eggs.

-Shut up!

-You're not telling anyone anything, you great Welsh scrote!

Egg-smuggling was something Fletcher would return to in later life.

Now, then, girls, this is what's known as one of the perks of the job.

With these eggs I'm smuggling, I can get myself a ¼oz of shag,

or two tubes of toothpaste, or three bars of Fruit & Nut,

or I could take 'em down to E Wing and see Smutty Garland,

the king of porn - exchange 'em for two of his dirty books. Yeah.

Full of full-frontal naked nubiles.

Huh. I think I'd rather have the Fruit & Nut meself.

Yeah. Me and Norm got sent home after that.

Wasn't so much the egg-smuggling as the bacon-smuggling,

which we tried to do while it was still in its wrapper.

-# Run, rabbit...

-Run, run, run... #

See you, then, Dai!

You great Welsh nerk.

# Bang, bang, bang... #

Strewth! I think we'd better scarper.

# Run, rabbit, run, rabbit Run! Run! Run! #

Returning to war-torn London, the Fletcher boys found their father in uniform - prison uniform -

serving 18 months in Pentonville. Left to their own devices,

Norman and George went further off the rails.

This is it. Norman's first brush with the judicial system.

1947, that'd be.

Nine months in brutal for nicking a load of chocolates out of a confectionery in Holborn -

flogging them off the rations, eh?

The magistrate came down hard on Norman after he tried to bribe him.

Apparently, His Honour didn't fancy Fruit & Nut.

So, are we, er, done yet?

Pubs are open.

NEWSREEL COMMENTARY: 'Here at Larkhall, these young ruffians

'are taught the error of their ways.

'Their natural exuberance is put to good use

'through bricklaying, woodwork, or smashing up copper wire with hammers.

'But what is life like inside for these criminal children?

'Let's ask this young recidivist, Norman Fletcher.'

Naff off!

For Fletcher, borstal was a finishing school in felony.

He left with only two skills - breaking and entering.

My lack of scholastic achievement meant I couldn't do the professions I wanted, like stockbrokering,

or, er, teaching tennis in a girls' school.

As I didn't fancy working in a cardboard-box factory,

I robbed this sub-post office off the North Circular.

And you've never looked back.

No. Nor have I ever been short of threepenny stamps.

But in 1949, Fletcher was dragged away from a promising career in crime to do his National Service.

He did his best to avoid serving his country, claiming flat feet.

Now, I'm going to give you men a stringent medical.

'VD...?'

No!

-Suffer from any illness?

-Bad feet.

-Suffer from any illness?

-Bad feet!

-..Paid a recent visit to a doctor or a hospital?

-Only with my bad feet.

Are you now, or have you at any time been, a practising homosexual?

What, with these feet?

Right. You're A1.

Certified fit for National Service, and institutionalised once again, Fletcher was sent to Malaya,

where he threw himself wholeheartedly into the fine military tradition of skiving.

We return to Malaysia to meet Chan Kai Leong,

who still remembers the exploits of Private Fletcher.

IN CHINESE:

May 1952. Fletcher was back on civvy street, and determined to make up for lost time.

He was also looking for love.

-So, did you, er...enjoy that?

-Oh, yes, Norman.

Oh, yeah? What about the film?

Norman! You're incorrigible!

-Come 'ere. INCORRIGE me, then, eh?

-SHE GIGGLES

Dad met Mum soon after leaving the Army. She was working in the hardware department at Gammidge's.

Her parents thought he was a bit of a ruffian.

Not that you could blame them. He was only in Gammidge's to buy a new crowbar. So, er...

they had to find places, you know... to be together.

There was the Muswell Hill Odeon, or the back seat of a car...

if I could open one.

Ooh!

Your carriage...

awaits.

Norman, you are awful!

-Hurry up, love. I'm freezing 'em off here.

-All right!

Right. Come 'ere, you.

Oh, Norman!

Mind the glass!

My daughter, Ingrid... This is between you and me.

She was actually conceived in Highgate Cemetery.

Where's that grave? They all start to look the same, don't they, after a while?

Oh, what was his name?

-..Spencer?

-Marx.

Oh.

We went there to view the tomb of Karl Marx. Cos I was going through a political stage at the time,

and I was also a bit randy.

Mum and Dad got married at Muswell Hill Registry with a reception at the Black Lion.

Lovely spread. Not that I was there.

Well, I WAS, in a way. Mum made sure she got a dress that didn't show too much,

and she paid for it, and all. She wouldn't let Dad nick it for her.

Could you, er... Could you just close them curtains for me?

I'd forgotten we had this.

# We're going to the chapel

# And we're gonna get married... #

But love's young dream quickly turned into a nightmare.

# ..gonna get married Gee, I really love you

# And we're gonna get married

# Going to the chapel of love... #

Fletcher was found guilty of breaking and entering.

His honeymoon and first three years of married life

were spent here in Brixton Prison.

Ah, it was his first taste of real porridge. That sort of thing stays with you, you know.

Brixton certainly changed Norman.

-He learnt a very valuable lesson.

-What do you think that was?

Don't get caught.

Martin Gillespie first met Fletcher in Brixton.

Once you've got a criminal record, it's very hard to go back.

You're branded - thief, villain, anti-social element.

For my nerves. ..Prisoners think THEY have it bad. It's the welfare officers who really suffer.

MUSIC: "Jailhouse Rock" by Elvis Presley

Fletcher was released in the summer of 1955,

and soon a one-man crime wave hit North London.

# The band was jumpin' And the joint began to swing

# You should've heard those knocked-out jailbirds sing

# Let's rock Everybody, let's rock... #

While everyone was out rocking and rolling, Fletch was strolling off with all their worldly goods.

# Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone

# Little Jo was blowin' on the slide trombone... #

And he moved with the times to become king of Muswell Hill's teddy boys.

Fletch? Rock and roll, he was, yeah. King of the Teds, they called him.

The tightest trousers in Muswell Hill. He could be a bit lairy when he wanted.

But he was a very good singer.

I said if he hadn't devoted his life to crime, he could've been just like Cliff Richard.

He said that was the biggest incentive

to keep robbing he ever had. I used to love hearing him sing.

I used to do a lot of singing round the pubs, like the Angel, Friday night...

Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a round of applause now for Frankie Fletcher!

# See the pyramids Along the Nile

# See the sun rise On a desert isle

# Just remember, darlin' All the while

# That you belong to me... #

He only ever sang one song. I tried to get him to learn Jailhouse Rock, but he didn't want to tempt fate.

So, he sang "You Belong To Me." Still, seemed to do the job.

Despite his band of gold, Frankie Fletcher couldn't resist the fringe benefits of rock and roll.

(Oh, Gloria.)

# Just remember till you're home again... #

-Oh, Norman!

-Oh, Gloria!

# ..You belong to me-e-e! #

Gloria?! Oh, yeah, there was a Gloria. Course there was once.

Well, lots of times, actually.

-Was that before you met your Isobel?

-Well, no. To be honest, Lennie, no.

I mustn't be untruthful. No. That was a bit of an indiscretion around 1955.

'She was a machinist in a clothing factory. I'd go round her place, have my evil way of her,

'and get my trousers narrowed at the same time.'

The affair ended when Fletcher's wife Isobel fell pregnant with their second child.

Dad was in and out of prison. Mum was in out and of labour.

She must have spent the best part of the '60s in visiting rooms of nicks.

# Stand by your man... #

And Isobel Fletcher DID stand by her man...from Brixton...

to the Scrubs...

..to Maidstone.

# ..When nights are cold and lonely

# Stand by your man... #

Course, most people with three kids to look after - they think about settling down.

For Dad, it just meant he had to do three times as many jobs.

Still, to be fair to him,

he always made sure we had a family holiday. Here we are.

This is us on a day trip to Maidstone.

He was there doing three years for breaking and entering.

By the end of the '60s, Fletcher was a free man again, but had he learnt his lesson?

# For goodness' sake

# I got the Hippy Hippy Shakes

# Yeah, I got the Shakes... #

As swinging Londoners tuned in and dropped out, Fletcher dropped in and turned them over.

That was a good time for Dad. Well, for all of us.

It was a long stretch he'd had out of prison. They were the best times, they were.

He was around during the day,

and we was very comfortably off. The house was full of all the latest gadgets from...

Well...from other people's houses.

Crime becomes habit, routine, the norm.

That's what it was for Norman. It was the norm for Norman.

Anyone count how many of those I took?

I believe that criminals often need a shock for them to start to re-evaluate their behaviour.

Not an electric shock. No, no. I'm not advocating torture.

Though if you want torture, try being a welfare officer.

For Fletcher, that shock came in 1974.

Having stayed out of jail for six years, his run of good luck came to an abrupt halt.

I mean, look at this.

"Father of three, Norman Fletcher, has been remanded to Brixton to await trial."

Mum was livid. ..I mean, 42, and behaving like Steve McQueen with a lorry.

I lifts this lorry, don't I? Impulse steal. I thought it'd be a doddle.

-I gather it wasn't.

-No. Flamin' brakes failed on me.

It's criminal the way they let the lorries on the roads in that condition.

I hears this lorry, and I said, "Someone's gonna have an accident."

Well, he goes through number 42, 45 and 47. Right through our back wall.

He's flattened Frank's tool shed. Just bad luck Frank wasn't in it at the time.

GOOD luck, obviously.

-Did they get you for wilful destruction of property?

-Eh?

-Knocking that wall down, I mean.

-Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.

No. I asked for six other offences to be taken into consideration.

And so, Norman Stanley Fletcher arrived in HM Prison Slade...

..and quickly settled in.

-Hello, Warren.

-Will you do the honours?

-What, read it out?

-Yeah.

-Ready?

-Yeah.

-"My dearest Bunny..." Bunny?!

-Bunny Warren.

-Oh, yeah. That's good, innit? Bunny Warren.

It's not a bad nick, Slade. I've seen worse.

-What's that one in Wandsworth?

-Wandsworth.

Yeah. That's the one. Terrible.

No. Slade was OK. Middle of nowhere, mind you.

I tried to find it on the map. I couldn't.

-Why, wasn't it marked?

-Oh, yeah. It were there, it was just, at the time, I couldn't read...

anything, let alone maps.

"I miss you, and think of us

"when you was at home, and you used to take my..."

I used to what?

A-hem. Well, it's a bit personal, the next bit. You know what I mean?

I don't think I should read it out loud. Not in front of me.

It's, er...sort of...

Fletch was always helping people out. Very clever fella.

Brains, you see. Not brawn. Not muscle. If I learned anything from being inside, I learned that.

You need to use your brains.

I know it was hard for him. Norman wasn't like the rest of us.

He wasn't like ME. He was older, had more responsibilities.

I had Trevor and the cats,

but he had a whole family to think of.

His poor wife.

I don't know how she does it. I don't know how.

It's hard for her. A few weeks ago, she had to build a new coal bunker for herself.

I mean, that's no job for a woman, is it, eh?

She had to mix the concrete?

-Oh, no. Her mother came over, and did that for her.

-Oh.

You DO miss your loved ones inside. I missed Trevor something awful.

You know, just having someone to talk to.

Isn't that right, Trevor?

One man's life would be transformed by the time he spent inside with Fletcher.

He was a survivor, Fletch,

and that's important in the nick. Little victories.

In those days, I was a bit of a hard man. Youthful exuberance.

I was my own worst enemy. Anyone rubbed me up the wrong way, I'd fly off the handle.

I'd pick the handle back up and twat them with it.

-Bloody hell!

-Oh, sorry, son.

-Don't you watch where you're going?!

-I said sorry. It won't happen again.

-Watch it!

I don't want no bother cos I'm not a well man, see.

I don't want no trouble with you, McLaren.

Listen to me, you. I know you're a hard case. We all know that.

If you ever talk to me again like that,

I'm gonna twist your head round

-like a cork in a bottle of Beaujolais, all right?

-Yeah.

Fletch saw in me the young man he used to be. Well, not black or Scottish, but you know what I mean.

With Godber, he was a father-figure - the sort that'd allow you to bunk off school

and go shoplifting. Come to think of it, it's the ideal father.

I'm finding it very hard to adjust.

It's unnatural, isn't it, men in cages?

The prisoner who was to make the biggest impact on Fletcher's life

was his cellmate, 23-year-old first-time offender Lennie Godber.

-This is the bit I can't stand.

-What?

-Lockup.

It's quarter to eight. It's barely dark. If I was at home,

I'd just be getting ready to go out for the evening.

If you're keen, we could go out, you know.

Oh, yeah. I could ring up a couple of birds, you know.

Them darlings that dance on Top Of The Pops. What are they called?

Pan's People. There's one special one - Beautiful Babs.

I don't know what her name is.

No. Why don't we just have a quiet night in?

Trouble is, I've got 698 quiet nights in to go.

Years of porridge, banged up all day - that can do your head in, that can.

The grim, unrelenting monotony.

But you know, anything a bit different

that breaks up the routine - that's good news.

I remember, we had a rock group came and played at Slade. I can't remember their name.

Slade?

You know your stuff, don't you?

# And I don't know why

# So you think my singing's out of time... #

Music from 1973. Number-one single from the mighty Slade.

It was an amazing event and a seminal live recording,

I think. Slade at Slade. I think, it was like Johnny Cash at San Quentin,

and, in this case, there was the added bonus of the pun, which appealed to Noddy in particular.

'We actually covered the gig for the Old Grey Whistle Test, and it was a fantastic experience.'

-I believe it was an experience that made the band more aware.

-Of what?

Well, the need to lock the tour bus for a start. I mean, Noddy lost one of his big hats.

Even a couple of pairs of Dave's silver moon-boots were stolen. It was out of order.

One man who made sure he had front-row seats for the concert

was Slade Prison's Mr Big, Harry Grout.

-Bob, when you were at Slade, did you meet Harry Grout?

-Harry Grout?

Yes. I met him when we were covering the gig.

'He'd asked the band to do Moon River. They didn't know the song,

'but they pretty quickly learnt it.'

He wasn't a guy to mess around with.

-Cocoa, Fletch?

-Oh, thanks. Don't mind if I do. Ta.

-Sugar?

-Oh, thank you. Yeah.

A-hem. Short of sugar, are you? Yeah?

-Shall I feed Seymour, Harry?

-Yeah. Go on.

-Seymour?! Oh, our feathered friend. Yeah. Yeah. Very nice.

He's a bit of company for me of an evening, you know.

-When I was in Parkhurst, I had a pigeon.

-Oh, like the Birdman of Alcatraz!

-Not really, no.

-Yeah. What did you with it do when you had to move?

I ate it.

Harry Grout was later to become as famous as East End gangster Frankie Fraser

when he published his memoirs Grout and About.

Harry, you mention in your book how much you enjoy

-Desert Island Discs.

-That's right, Sue.

Though I preferred Roy Plomley. Not the same with a woman, is it?

-Um... Tell me about your next record.

-Moon River...

MUSIC: "Moon River" by Henry Mancini

Grout might have been a career criminal, but Fletcher was ready for a fresh start.

I'm 45 now. 45 years of age. And I've worked out that I've spent about seven days on average -

seven days out of every 30 - in some nick or another.

That's a week in every month.

Shocking waste, though.

Fletcher was paroled in 1978, finally vowing to go straight.

Well, off you go, then.

-Just a minute.

-Left something behind, have you?

Yeah. 3½ years of my life.

-Off you go.

-I want to hear this door shut behind me first.

-I'm supposed to see you off the premises.

-You're never going see me hammering on this door crying, "Let me in."

-You'd better move on sharpish.

All right. All right.

Oi!

Oi! Let me in!

So, Dad comes out again, and announces he's going straight.

That's what us and Mum had wanted all those years.

-It's just a pity she wasn't around any more.

-What happened to her?

Oh, she'd moved in with Reg Jessop of Jessop's cardboard boxes.

He used to go into her dry cleaner's to get his trousers pressed.

Fletch's wife Isobel had left him, but the house was far from empty.

Ex-cellmate Lennie Godber, now a lorry driver, had started dropping by to see Ingrid.

-Young Godber - are you seeing him, are you?

-We keep in touch.

-You can do better than him.

-I'm the judge of that.

-All right, then. When do you see him?

-When I can.

Well, who are you titivating yourself up tonight for, then, eh? Doing your nails and hair?

-Leonard.

-..Oh, he's in London, is he?

Yeah. He's upstairs having a shave.

He's what?!

Poor old Fletch. He'd lost his old lady and gained a son. He wasn't best pleased.

He was very protective of Ingrid.

Wanted Godber's licence withdrawn, if you get my meaning.

There. Oh, are there...

-Are there two Ls at the end of "school"?

-No.

-Oh.

He promised he'd be back in time. Probably traffic on the M1.

I don't know why he keeps driving at his age.

PHONE RINGS Oh, this'll be him now.

Leonard?

Colchester?

W-What are you doing in Colchester?

Oh, Lennie, you promised you'd be back in time.

They brought the cameras, and everything. Yeah.

Well, I'll just have to tell them about our wedding myself.

Good. ..Fine.

Bye.

-Oh-h!

-What's going on 'ere, then?

-This is Norman Junior.

-Come on in, love. I'm just talking to the BBC about your grandad.

-Oh, yeah? Why's that?

Er, I'm not sure.

-Do you know Cat Deeley?

-No, sorry.

Sorry about him. He was planned, and everything.

-Oi!

-Hey, it's a compliment, lovey!

-Sorry, where was I?

-The wedding.

-Oh, yeah.

March the 5th 1978. If there was one good thing to come out of prison,

'it was me and Lennie. It was just perfect.'

Everything was changing for Fletcher. He was even forced to take his first proper job

here at the Dolphin Hotel in Paddington.

The owner Harold McEwan had a policy of taking on ex-cons.

It's changed quite a bit since I had it.

I sold up and moved to Malawi - wonderful place, great quality of life, and so on.

A man can get really close to nature, run with the lions, etc.

And one wears far fewer clothes.

Call it instinct, but I'm generally able to assess a man.

It was the same in Africa. I had to hire natives fresh from the bush.

I had to judge at a glance whether these chappies were the sort who would do an honest day's work.

But I never had cause to regret it except on... two unfortunate occasions.

This... This is where Norman used to sit.

I believe very strongly in giving people a second chance.

I always used to take on convicts. One has to give people a second chance, doesn't one? Oh, yes.

It's ever so strange, Fletch working for a living.

It just didn't seem right. ..Trevor and I went out to see him.

Stayed at the hotel. It was a nice romantic weekend, wasn't it, Trev?

We didn't tell Fletch at the time

that we actually nicked a couple of lovely matching bathrobes.

After two years as the hotel's night porter,

Fletcher was offered a promotion and more responsibility.

He turned me down. Not only that, he resigned -

handed in his notice, and so on.

I said to him, "A man must make his own decisions, etc, etc." But I was sad to see Norman go,

particularly as his replacement had away with the contents of the safe on his first night.

Bad do! That sort of thing would never happen in Malawi.

Oh, except on two unfortunate occasions.

All Fletcher wanted was an easy life.

So, when old associate Jim Grady offered him a night-watchman post at a warehouse, he jumped at it.

Mr Grady, is it true your company

-knowingly employs ex-felons?

-Naff off!

And that you have been linked to robberies in premises

-that YOUR company was guarding?

-I said, naff off.

-No comment. Naff off!

-Mr Grady, why does your company employ criminals as security guards?

Because they know what to look out for. Now, naff off!

Within a month the warehouse was raided by none other than Harry Grout's gang,

and Fletcher found himself dragged back into the criminal world of Grouty.

Nice little reunion we're having.

Get it over with. Make it look as if I put up a struggle.

-Sorry about this. I've gotta make it look realistic.

-Get on with it, you nerk.

Fletch enjoyed a short stay in hospital, but when he came out, Harry Grout was waiting for him.

I heard that Fletcher's back in with Grouty.

Sailing a bit close to the wind for a man that's going straight.

If you get caught up with Grouty, you're likely to lose two things -

your clean record, and... Actually, THREE things.

Grouty insisted that Fletch front his latest investment -

a nightclub in Bexley Heath called Montegos.

Fletch couldn't say no.

Peter, what was Montegos like?

Montegos - now that was a really special club.

It was everything the '80s were. It was full of stars -

Brian May, Anita Dobson,

Wincey Willis, Timmy Mallett, Rustie Lee, me...

We all used to go there.

-What was Fletcher like?

-Fletcher? Was that the old guy at the end of the bar surrounded by young girls?

I hate that. I mean, I hate that -

old guys chasing young girls.

What?

The subject of Montegos came up

in another celebrity appearance by Grout.

So, what was the thinking behind Montegos?

Well, I've always been fascinated by the hospitality industry,

having spent so many years receiving hospitality at Her Majesty's expense.

I felt it was time to give something back.

Although the '80s was a time to be young and thrusting,

Fletcher was lazy and in his 50s. At Montegos, he kept his head down,

and waited for Grout's inevitable insurance scam.

The club burnt down in suspicious circumstances, didn't it?

Suspicious, Melvin?

Unfortunate, certainly.

Who could have predicted such a freak electrical accident?

-It was rather...

-Rather what?

Nothing.

When has a business owned by Harry Grout NOT burnt down? It was Dad's night off when the place went up.

Like he told the police - he didn't know his arson from his elbow!

So then Uncle George sends Dad a video from, er... Melbourne, I think.

George, Fletcher's older brother, had emigrated to Australia in the early '70s.

Phwoar! It's hotter than a Balinese stripper!

This is what you're missing, Norm.

Come on over, mate. You'll love it.

Strewth!

In 1988, Fletcher made the surprising decision to sell up and join George down under.

I think he reckoned Australia would be a new start.

No-one there would mind he was an ex-convict.

It would be like he was their grandad.

But when Fletcher arrived in Sydney - disaster. His brother had vanished.

You see, I had a little setback,

namely 12 months' community service

in the koala reserve,

following a little confusion over some auto...

Some... Some car parts.

I-I know... I know I should have told Norman,

but he never did take bad news well.

Fletcher was running out of options. He returned to London in the midst of a property boom.

When Dad got back from Australia, the money he got for his old house

wasn't enough to buy it back. He was on the street.

On the street outside our front window, to be precise.

Aye, they were hard times. Country was being screwed front and back.

I'd always been angry, but Slade taught me to think a bit more...as well as giving me a welding diploma.

So, I joined the SNP. Shall we go across?

I'm the education spokesman now.

-Not bad for a wee orphaned

-BLEEP

that was found wrapped up in the Glasgow Herald

on a Greenock housing estate, eh?

Help the poor blind doggies.

Things were about to get even worse for Fletcher

when he ran into Bernard Ives - another Slade alumnus, and a lifelong conman.

Oh, thank you very much, sir.

'Ere, listen!

This is foreign. Don't you care about the doggies, then?

Cheapskate.

-Got the spuds, Mr Ives?

-Yeah. 'Ere.

-What?

-How much do THEY weigh?

-You know already, don't you?

-No. There's no scales out there.

-What's the bet?

-All the eggs you've got in there.

You crafty nerk, you. All right. Against what?

-Ounce of snout?

-You're on.

-..Are you in, son?

-Oh, no.

-Nearest one.

-Nearest one.

-23lb.

-I'll say 27.

-You gave that a lot of thought(!)

Just over 27.

Well, would you believe it?

BOTH: Just over 27.

Jobless and homeless,

Fletcher rented this flat from Ives.

'Ere, listen. I rented it to Fletcher in good faith.

How was I to know about the rising damp or the subsidence?

Any road, as I said to him, it's a good job it was condemned, otherwise it would've been a deathtrap.

While Fletcher slummed it in London, Grouty was heading to the Costa del Crime.

In 1997, you moved to Spain. Why was that?

I had business associates in Morocco. Spain was where I kept the Iron Lady.

-Sorry?

-My yacht. Named it after Mrs Thatcher.

Now, there's a woman you CAN respect.

Grout? He was a gent, Grout was. Yeah.

He was a down-to-the-salt-of-the-earth, proper London sociopathic...GENT,

like the Krays, or the Richardsons. One of the Richardsons once said to me, "What a piece of work is man,

"How noble in reason, How infinite in faculties,

"In form and moving, How express and admirable."

No, that was RALPH Richardson.

Yeah.

You were in Spain, but continued your business interests here.

I don't know what you mean, Melvin.

-It's in your book, Harry.

-Is it?

Oh, dear. I shall have to have a word with my ghost writer.

Police are still searching for the Covent Garden jewel thieves.

The men, armed with shotguns held up a security van

carrying in excess of £5 million worth of jewellery.

We couldn't prove Grout'd organised it.

He'd been in Spain for years. But it had his fingerprints all over it.

Not literally, of course. Unfortunately!

A lot of people have suggested, um, you were involved in last year's Covent Garden jewel robbery.

A lot of people had better keep their mouths shut, then.

I was in Spain, Melvin. How could I have possibly organised that?

Over the phone?

-So, what happened next in the year 2000?

-Summer of 2000!

Yeah. We all decided to go on a Fletcher family holiday.

First time in, well... probably ever. Costa del Sol.

Fletcher had no idea that the trip would change his life in more ways than one.

'When we arrived, we hit the beach, and Dad being Dad, he went to the pub.

'And that's where he met her. I couldn't believe it. After all these years!

'There she was pulling pints at the Dog and Dago -

'Gloria!'

Oh, Norman!

Oh, Gloria!

# You belong to me-e-e. #

Gloria?!

Oh, Norman!

Well, I was pleased for Dad. He deserved a bit of romance back in his life.

I'm not condoning him sneaking off with her behind Mum's back, but...

all water under the duck's bridge now, as they say.

Yet another twist of fate awaited Fletch on the plane home in the shape of Harry Grout.

"To Fletch and the family, all the best, Grouty."

We was on our way back from Spain, and there right next to us across the aisle was Harry Grout.

How Dad laughed.

Well, once he'd recovered from the shock.

Grouty wrote this just before he, er...

Well...

'The funeral was held today of one of the East End's most notorious gangland figures, Harry Grout.'

Grout, who died on board a plane from Spain,

was thought to be the brains

behind the Covent Garden jewel robbery - the proceeds from which have still not been recovered.

Police sources revealed that Grout may have taken the whereabouts of the jewels with him to his grave.

He had a lovely send-off. Barbara Windsor was there.

Well, we'd all like that when we go, wouldn't we, Mr Johnson?

Dad went.

He took a lovely floral tribute.

# Moon River... #

You know, Dad was the last person Harry Grout spoke to.

He whispered something to Dad just before he passed away.

This way, Mr Johnson.

Police were stunned today as the jewels

from the Covent Garden robbery were recovered after more than a year.

They were found by a 70-year-old North London man Norman Stanley Fletcher.

Mr Fletcher was delighted to help the police, and was looking forward to receiving his £250,000 reward.

Fletcher's luck had finally changed.

Dad's a wily old fox.

I asked him what Grouty had said to him on the plane.

He just smiled at me and said,

"Ingrid, my love, that man's words of wisdom changed my life."

Aargh!

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you.

APPLAUSE

With his reward money, Norman Stanley Fletcher bought a pub in Muswell Hill.

And so it was that at the end of a long and chequered career,

he found happiness with the love of his youth, Gloria.

-And you are?

-Are you finished, Norman?

Yes, thank you, Gloria. The light of my life. The puller of my pints.

-Now, who is this lot here?

-It's the BBC, Norman.

-Oh, yeah?

-They're making that documentary about you.

-Why's that?

Oh - your portrait of a recanted recidivist, is it?

The chequered career of your habitual criminal, social history through the personal?

Load of cobblers.

-I think Ted's ready, love.

-Is he? ..If you nerks will now excuse me, then.

A-hem.

MUSIC: Opening Chords Of "You Belong To Me"

# See the pyramids Across the Nile

# Watch the sun rise On a tropic isle

# Just remember, darlin' All the while

# You belong to me

# See the marketplace In old Algiers

# Send me photographs And souvenirs

# Just remember When the dream appears

# You belong to me

# Fly the ocean In a silver plane

# See the jungle When it's wet with rain

# Just remember Till you're home again

# You belong to me

# You belong

# To me-e-e-e! #

Hey! Thank you. Thank you.

-Thank you.

-Lovely.

THEME FROM PORRIDGE