In Cold Blood: A Brother’s Sworn Vengeance
Previously published as Our Vinnie.The infamous Canterbury Estate in Bradford, a hotbed of crime, drink and drugs, was a law unto itself in the ’70s. So when one of their own was wronged in any way, the community always had its own way of dealing with it.The first title in a series of gritty family sagas, In Cold Blood accounts the dramatic true story of a brother’s determination to avenge his younger sister’s rape. Josie was just 11 when her Vinnie, then 14, was taken away to a detention centre. Distraught by his absence and left alone with indifferent parents, when she escapes from one of their rows she naively enters the house of a neighbour, Melvin, who – horrifically – leads her upstairs and overpowers her.Convinced by her friend Carol, Josie tells her sister Lyndsey about the rape but, with Vinnie out of the picture, Lyndsey uses the information for her own ends. When Vinnie returns, hardened by years inside the system, his outrage on discovering the truth is severe. And with new abuses continually coming to light, a cataclysmic series of violent events begins to spiral out of control…Dramatic and shocking, In Cold Blood is an unbelievable page-turner, documenting a community forsaken by society, and one brother’s unrelenting determination to take justice into his own hands.
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All names and identities have been changed in this memoir, to protect both the living and the children of those who have died. Some changes have been made to historical facts for the same reason.
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First published by HarperElement 2014 as Our Vinnie This edition 2018
© Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee 2014
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018 Cover photographs © plainpicture/mb photo (woman); Mark Owen/Trevillion Images (man with gun)
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Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work
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Source ISBN: 9780007542246
Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9780007542253
Version 2018-02-20
Contents
We are the Canterbury Warriors
We stay out late at night
If anybody dare come near us
There’s sure to be a fight
Last night we were in trouble
Tonight we are in jail
We’re doing six months’ hard labour
For pulling a donkey’s tail
Way back whoa back
Come and get yer money back
Pea and pies for supper
Our old lass has plenty of brass
And we don’t give a bugger!
(Anon.)
My name is Julie Shaw, and my father, Keith, is the only surviving member of the 13 Hudson siblings, born to Annie and Reggie Hudson on the infamous Canterbury Estate in Bradford. We were and are a very close family, even though there were so many of us, and those of us who are left always will be.
I wanted to write these stories as a tribute to my parents and family. The stories are all based on the truth but, as I’m sure you’ll understand, I’ve had to disguise some identities and facts to protect the innocent. Those of you who still live on the Canterbury Estate will appreciate the folklore that we all grew up with: the stories of our predecessors, good and bad, and the names that can still strike fear or respect into our hearts – the stories of the Canterbury Warriors.
Bradford, October
June McKellan was standing in front of her chipped-tile fireplace, skirt hitched up slightly at the back. She was warming her backside from the last of the embers that were sizzling out on the coal fire. Her husband, Jock, was slouched across the brown moquette settee in his favourite position – bottle of cider in one hand, cigarette in the other. His eyes were glued to the television as he squinted through a cloud of fag smoke to watch the last race of the day. June stared at the sight she had married. ‘Are you gonna fucking move today, or what?’ she asked him. ‘And if you’ve won fuck all on the horses again, you better get yourself out on the tap. We’ve no coal, and I’m off out tonight!’
Jock dragged his gaze from the TV and looked up at her. ‘Shut your cake-hole, June,’ he said. ‘You’re going no-fucking-where till you’ve got me another bottle of Joe Rider and some twifters.’ Jock turned his attention to his wife then, his gaze full of animosity as he looked her up and down, and she could tell exactly what he was thinking. And knowing none of the thoughts were nice – the contents of his head rarely were – she jabbed him in the shoulder to reinforce her orders.
‘I’ve got your cider and your fags, gob shite,’ she snapped. ‘Now move your arse off that couch before our Vinnie gets in for his tea. Fucking social worker’s coming at half five.’
‘What?’ Jock said, alert now. ‘What the fuck for?’
‘Been to see Moira,’ June told him irritably. ‘Needs to talk about something apparently. And, no, I don’t know what, because I haven’t spoken to her yet, have I?’
‘Moira?’ he said again. ‘Why Moira?’
‘Because I was fucking asleep, okay?’ And hungover, same as you were, she thought but didn’t add. ‘Anyway, get up and get out, will you? I don’t want you sitting here pissed as a fart when she gets here. Go on – go round your Maureen’s and borrow some coal and a few quid till we get your dole.’
