The Rise and Fall of Roy Weston

By Malcolm Keith Needham

Roy Weston was born into a wealthy family and raised in a big stone house on a hill overlooking the poor, coal-mining village of Brexley in North Yorkshire, England. Having nearly died of meningitis at the age of three years old, he is bullied by the kids at school until his mother pulls him out of school at the age of ten. His education from that point forward consists of what he learns himself by roaming the streets of the village in the dark and peeping through people's windows. At the age of fourteen, he watches through a window as his football hero, John Finley, attacks a pedophile, meaning to kill him. His friend leaves the building thinking he has done exactly that, but Roy enters afterward, realizes the man is still alive, and finishes the job. And so begins his life of crime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers USA
• Release date: Dec 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463302453

Malcolm Keith Needham

Malcolm was born and raised in a small coal-mining village in South Yorkshire, England. Growing up there was a time of hardship, fear, love, and overwhelming support from family and friends. He was luckier than most to have a marvelous grammar school education. The combination of this education and a head full of stories from this rich environment, have poured out into his novels.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Westons

Theodore (Teddy) Weston married Jane Blackwood in 1937. When he met her, down at the Village Hall in Brexley, he thought that she was the most beautiful woman in the World. He was sixteen years old at the time and very popular with the girls at school due to his striking good looks. Nowadays, however, Teddy was no longer a good looking man. He had taken the looks of his father and his father’s father. Red-faced, overweight, balding by the time they were in their thirties, prone to spitting as they talked and rude to everyone, they were not people that would usually get invited to decent parties. But, they did get invited to such parties because they were quite wealthy, at least more than the other folks in the village.

Teddy liked to drink. He liked to drink a lot. Mostly he would drink fifty-year-old single malt whiskey. He preferred to do this in his library on the third floor of the house. Here he could drink the Scotch without interruption. Teddy was not a well-read man, not at all. In fact, he had only read a few books in his life. You might say he was an illiterate man, not a man who you would think would become a wealthy man or own a library. It was generally considered that he built it to convince everyone that he was, in fact, a well-read man.

Teddy had become quite wealthy, but no one knew how; he had never shared this information. The Weston house was built in 1958 of the finest stone from the Yorkshire Dales—that particular whitish stone that was only known around these parts. He had it built to his specification. It stood high up on a hill overlooking the miserable village of Brexley. From the balcony outside the oak French doors of the library, he had an excellent view down the fields toward the village.

In the corner of the library, close to the doors, stood one of Teddy’s favorite possessions—an antique Brentwood Nautical telescope made of brass. When he was feeling depressed—which he often was—mainly due to his consumption of alcohol, he would place the telescope on the balcony and look through the long barrel at the streets of Brexley. He hoped to find a village dweller making his or her way sadly through the streets. Their misery was his pleasure; it cheered him up to no end. He would daydream of the day that his father had walked him through the village in his fancy clothes. He remembered how the village girls had looked at him, seemingly with admiration.

Around ten o’clock most evenings, when he had consumed enough Scotch, he would stagger down the hall and find a door to go through. It varied among the guest rooms, his wife’s room, or if he was really feeling mean, which he mostly was, his son’s room. Roy, that sick child whose only sin was to have been brought into the world by Teddy Weston, had become ill with meningitis at the age of three—a particularly mischievous little virus that had left him with some mental impairment.

He would try to focus his weak eyes on his father who swayed in the doorway. All he would make out was a dark figure due to the bright lights of the hallway behind him. Teddy would come in, lean over the bed, and assail his son with hateful words about how Roy was a useless retard.

But Jane had the last laugh every morning when Teddy would unsteadily come down the long staircase to the kitchen, where he would slump down in a chair holding his head and groaning.

Good morning, love. Here is your coffee. Can I make you some nice greasy eggs and bacon with fried bread? she would ask.

This always drew a large sigh or groan from Teddy. It made Jane feel better and would get her through the day.

Jane was the high school sweetheart; all the boys wanted her, but she only had eyes for Teddy. Her mother had bought her a blue dress at the market the day before she finally caught his eye. The dress was especially important to her. Her mother had scraped and saved a few pounds from the weekly paycheck that her husband never failed to bring home every Friday. She wore it with such pride on that evening when she went to the dance at the Village Hall.

Tommy Jenkins had been quick to bring her a ginger beer, and she accepted it quite readily. But she never took her eyes off that tall red-headed older boy who was quietly standing by the wall. He was watching her too; she saw it right away. Tommy sighed in disbelief as Jane walked across the room.

Jane Blackwood, she said as she thrust out her hand.

Teddy Weston—pleased to meet you.

I am in Miss Read’s class in the Fourth Form. You are in the Fifth, right?

Yes. I will be leaving at the end of this school year, though. I am tired of school. I need to be earning some money.

I wish that I was leaving school at the end of this year, I hate it.

Yeah, me too. They are trying to make me read Shakespeare. I don’t understand all those strange words. Why didn’t he just talk properly so that people could get it?

Jane laughed out loudly. I could not agree more. And what about history with old Smithers? He is dirty and smelly. I hate it when he stands close to my desk.

Yeah, I started skipping his class. He wrote a letter to my father, but Dad could care less.

You live in the new estate, don’t you?

Yeah, up on Rosewood Way.

Those are big houses.

They are, but I hate living here in Brexley. I want to leave as soon as possible.

That’s a shame, we just met.

Come with me then.

Where are you going?

Down to Doncaster, I reckon. I go there on the bus every now and then. There are lots of shops and pubs.

You go into the pubs?

Teddy felt good. He saw her eyes widen and knew she was impressed.

Sure, I like a pint or two.

And they serve you with no problem? They don’t ask how old you are?

Nah, they don’t ask—all they want is the money.

Can I come with you then?

Dunno really. Your mom and dad would be mad. I suppose you could, though.

Don’t worry about my parents.

Alright. Hey, shall we leave this place? It’s too bright, I feel like a walk.

Let’s go.

So that was how Jane met Teddy Weston. They went to Doncaster in June of that year. Her mother had tried desperately to talk her out of it, but it was no use. They found a basement apartment and Jane was pregnant by the time she was sixteen. She gave birth to Sarah, a red-haired beauty with green eyes, just like her dad. Two years later the big war began. Doncaster was not a very important city and was harder to reach for the German bombers; however, occasionally, an errant doodle-bug would find its way there and land with an enormous bang.

They stayed there until after the war then moved to London where Teddy prospered, and Jane did not ask where the money came from. Roy came along in 1949. When he contracted meningitis, they thought he would die. The doctor told them he would die. But he did not; many times he wished he had.

Chapter 2

Roy Weston

The Westons returned to Brexley in 1954. By this time, they were quite wealthy. Jane had tried to resist the move, but Teddy was insistent. He talked about his dream to build a big stone house up on the hill overlooking the village. Jane had the distinct impression that he wanted to flaunt their wealth to the poor folk in Brexley.

They sent Roy to the Infants School over by the park. He was five years old. Many days when Jane would go to the school to bring him home, he would be bruised or bleeding. The other kids picked on him all the time because of his slow mind. When he was ten years old, Jane stopped sending him to school. After the big house had been built, there was no reason for Roy to go back down into the village. The fact that he often did, was a mystery to Teddy and Jane. But they would find out soon enough why he did.

Roy loved the fields. He spent most of his time roaming through them. He particularly loved the small animals that he would see in the hedgerows and long grass. He chased after rabbits but was pitifully slow and lost sight of them very quickly. He was most happy when he was climbing trees. Sitting on the branches of the big old oak trees, he could see for miles. Sometimes a farm worker would pass by below him. It gave Roy great pleasure to look down and know that they were ignorant of his presence. He was amazed how the trunks at the bottom of the trees looked so small. How could a trunk so slim be holding him so high, and why was the trunk much bigger where he sat?

He was sitting high in the branches one day, looking down at Brexley, when a feeling suddenly came upon him that he had to once again be around other kids. Quickly climbing down the tree, he made his way unsteadily through the fields toward the village. When he reached the Travelers Rest pub on the outskirts of the village, he paused for a while to look through the windows. Inside the room, he saw men sitting at tables and laughing. Others were playing darts or dominoes. Roy could see that the air was thick with smoke rising from cigarettes and pipes around the room. He wondered how they could breathe at all, but the room still looked so inviting.

Soon he was in the backstreets where the miners and their families lived in long rows of terraced houses. Roy knew that the house that he lived in was much better than these houses, but he did not know why. Hearing a group of boys coming down the Shop Fronts, he ran to the public toilets and hid in a stall. There was a disgusting smell of urine which made him hold his nose. He crouched down to look under the door and heard the boys go by; then he went upon his way.

Walking past the shops, he frequently stopped to press his face up against a window and stare at the lovely things inside. He particularly liked the one which had an array of jars containing toffees, licorice, gob-stoppers, sherbets, and other sweets. His mother did not allow such things in the house, but Roy promised himself that one day he would have them.

A delicious smell drew him further down the street until he stood before Turnberry’s Taters. The door was open; he carefully hugged the door frame to take a peek inside.

What can I get you, Mrs. Jones?

Fish and chips twice with mushy peas please, Jim.

Coming right up darlin’.

Here you go then. That will be a shilling and sixpence.

It’s getting expensive, Jim. Have you put the prices up again then?

No, Mrs. Jones, they’ve been that way for two years.

Mrs. Jones twisted her mouth and grunted as she turned to go, muttering under her breath about the price of things these days. As she reached the door, she caught sight of Roy as he dodged back to one side.

You are that Weston boy, aren’t you?

Yes, missus.

What are you doing here? There are some lads around here that’ll give you a good bashing you know.

I wanted to smell the chips, missus.

Oh, you poor kid. Hold on then.

Mrs. Jones went into her handbag, pulled out three pennies and gave them to Roy. Here you go, boy, but get off home as soon as you have them.

Thank you, missus.

Roy was soon leaving the fish and chip shop with a folded sheet of newspaper holding a greaseproof bag of chips. He had asked Jim to put salt and vinegar on them because he could not reach the top of the glass counter.

You bet young ‘un. Here you go. Hey, come back and see me sometime later. I’ll give you a job in the back room.

Yes, mister, I will.

The hot newspaper warmed his hands as he dug into the hot, fat chips. Roy hurriedly crammed two big chips into his mouth and tasted them for the first time in his life. He knew right there that this would not be the last.

He walked onto the recreation ground and over to a high wall where he would not be noticed. The chips were soon gone, so he licked the greaseproof bag. Slowly and reluctantly he rolled up the newspaper and tossed it down at his feet. With one last lingering look, he started to walk home. Not only had he promised Mrs. Jones that he would, but he noticed that the sun was going down. He suddenly felt afraid at the thought of walking through the fields in the dark.

When Roy arrived at the house, he was greatly relieved. It was dusk, and the lights in all the windows were a welcome sight.

There you are, Roy. Where have you been? I’ve been worried to death.

I was up that big oak tree over in Farmer Johnson’s field. I fell asleep on the branch, Mom. I’m sorry.

Good God, Son, one of these days you will end up in the hospital. Get on upstairs before your dad gets home. I’ll bring you up a sandwich.

Roy ran up the steps and into his room. He threw himself down on the bed. The hot, salt and vinegar chips were all he could think about. It would not be long before he paid the village of Brexley another visit. He was certain of that.

Chapter 3

Jane Weston

Had she known what she was getting into when she was fifteen years old, Jane would not have crossed that room. She should have stayed with Tommy that evening. She heard that he went to work for the local newspaper where he had done very well. He was happily married with three kids and lived on the new estate in a semi-detached house.

Teddy had provided her with a lifestyle that she could not have dreamed of, but it was the loneliness of her existence that made her so unhappy. She had two friends in a neighboring village, but no longer had any contact with people in Brexley. It was as if she was in exile up on this hill. Her daughter Sarah was good company, though. She was in a private school over in Kelford. Jane walked with her down to the bottom of the hill every weekday to get her to the bus stop and went down to meet her in the afternoon. Sarah was doing very well at school. She was expected to go to university with no problem. Now Roy, on the other hand, would likely be at home forever.

Jane had a Standard Eight Austin that Teddy had bought her when they moved into the new house. Once a week, she would take the car to the next village and pick up Lorna and Freda. Her friends never came to the house as they had no wish to be in the presence of her husband. Today they were on the way to the big shopping center in Rotherside, the town six miles away. Jane was very generous to her friends and always bought them a dress, a skirt, or something of that nature. Maybe I am buying their friendship, she thought. But, even if I am, it’s alright.

Did you know your Roy is going into Brexley, Jane? asked Lorna.

He never is.

Well, you know Mrs. Jones up on South Street?

No, not really.

She’s a bit of a busybody by all accounts. Anyway, she knows everything that goes on in the village. I ran into her over at the chip shop a few nights ago. She said Roy goes there a lot.

Bloody hell, you’ve got to be kidding. My Roy?

I don’t think she would lie about it.

Maybe she mistook some other kid for Roy.

I suggested that to her, but she described him perfectly.

I can’t believe it. That little bugger. Wait till I get home. We’ll see about this.

I don’t know, Jane, maybe you should let him go there?

Lorna, he could get hurt. Some of those boys in the village will get on him.

Well, Mrs. Jones had something to say about that. She saw your Roy in a fight one day, right there in the middle of Church Road. Apparently, he was giving a bigger kid a bit of a pasting.

You what? My Roy? He’s as gentle as a kitten. Nah, Nah, that can’t be right, she said, but laughed all the same. Bugger me, my Roy, fighting, that’s a new one.

So I would not worry about it. Besides, if you don’t mind me saying so, I reckon it’s good for him to get off that damn hill.

Jane nodded. Yeah, maybe so. If he’s safe, I am okay with it. Bugger me, though, bugger me ...

Yeah, it’s a turn-up isn’t it? asked Freda. You know I used to worry about my little Sammy like that. Then one day I noticed he was taller than me and had muscles like his dad. That’s when I stopped worrying. Now he’s bringing home wages. He’s a good lad.

He is. I always liked your Sammy, agreed Jane.

Well, here we are then. Let’s go and do some shopping, hey girls?

When Jane got back home, she hurried inside. She looked all over the house and could not find Roy. When she got to the kitchen, she boiled water in the kettle. A nice cup of tea always cheered her up in the afternoon. With a drop of milk fresh from one of Farmer Johnson’s cows, it was a real treat.

She sat on the bench over by the big window in the front living room and warmed her hands on the cup as she blew into it and took little sips. From this bench, Jane had a good view down the fields. She thought she saw Roy in the oak trees by the bottom road, but she could not be sure. She still did not know what she was going to say to him, or if she would say anything at all.

The next thing she knew, she was waking up. She had been asleep for over an hour. It was almost five o’clock. Teddy would be home soon from, well, she did not know where he went most of the time. She heard a noise behind her and turned. Roy was standing there.

You were asleep, Mom. I tried not to wake you.

That’s alright, Son. I guess I got worn out from shopping with Lorna and Freda. What have you been up to?

Nothing really. Just playing in the fields.

Hey, Roy, have you been going into Brexley.

Roy’s eyebrows went up, and Jane saw his face tighten.

Er ... Mom, I ... er ...

It’s alright, Son, I’m not mad at you.

Yeah, Mom, I go there sometimes.

Do you have friends in Brexley?

Not really. I know some kids, but they are not my friends.

Do they still pick on you?

No, Mom, I stopped them.

How did you do that?

Roy hesitated and backed off a little. He was not sure that he was ready to share his secret world with his mother.

Come on, Roy, you can tell me. It’s okay Son.

Well, there’s this older kid called Neil. When I first started going into the village, he would mess around with me. One time he pushed me through a big hedge on the recreation ground and got me all dirty. I sneaked home and cleaned up before you saw me. Then another time he tried to choke me to death.

What’s his last name, Roy? I’ll be going to talk to his mother.

Nah, don’t worry, Mom, I took care of him.

What do you mean?

Well, one day I was fed up with it. I was on the Shop Fronts, and he saw me and started crossing the road. I ran straight out at him and punched him in the mouth. I knocked him down. He got up, but I wailed on him pretty good. He ran off holding his face, and his nose was bleeding.

Jane could not help it. She was laughing and trying to hide it with her hand over her mouth.

That’s bloody great is that? I can’t wait to tell you’re ...

She stopped herself because she did not want Teddy to know about this. It was nothing to do with him. One day, though, one day, he’ll raise his hand to Roy once too often, and I’ll be there to see my Roy take care of him. She smiled to herself. That little bugger, though, who’d have thought it.

Chapter 4

Constable Redman

He was good and fed up. What a day. First, his old bicycle got a flat tire. Then someone called him to say there was a fight in the village which turned out to be just a couple of kids; however, to get there, he had to walk all the way to the Shop Fronts. Anyway, he did get fish and chips while he was there, so it turned out okay.

Dan Redman had been the Bobby around these parts for over twenty years. It was a job he liked a lot when he was a younger man, but he was getting too old to be pedaling that old bike. He could not afford a car, and the constabulary would never give him one. Sitting on his tattered old couch with a glass of Guinness, he smoked a Players cigarette and pondered over his future.

There was a vacancy at Rotherside Station, but he would have to find someone to look after Brexley, and that would not be easy. There were some bad eggs in the village. The miners were a tough bunch. They would go down the mine, breathing coal dust and breaking their backs, sometimes for ten hours. When they surfaced, they usually made a beeline to the Miner’s Welfare or the Top Club where they would drink several pints of bitter before staggering home.

There were miners like Jack Baxter, who were too tough for Dan to deal with, and he was a pretty well-built man. But he would avoid Jack, and others like him, as if they had the plague. One time, he saw him beating on old Frank Jessup for, supposedly, stealing a tool from him. He put Frank off work for a week. The next day a miner returned that tool to Jack, having borrowed it a week before. Jack Jack never did apologize to Frank.

No, it would not be easy. Of course, Dan was a large part of the problem. He liked nothing better than to go to the Top Club and sink a few pints with these same men. He even participated in the after-hours drinking, which made it impossible to enforce the drinking hours. Moreover, he always excused himself because he was out of uniform when he did this. But he knew, that did not make it right.

He finished his Guinness and opened another one. He was feeling a bit better now. Damn it, I’m out of cigs, I’d better get on down to Wilkins shop before they close. Dan hurriedly pulled his overcoat over his uniform, closed the front door behind him with a bang, and headed out into the cold drizzle. He hated the winter days when the dark came early. Looking up at the street lamps, he saw the silver lines of rain coming harder now.

Arriving at the Wilkins shop, he saw the light go out. Not taking that as a deterrent, he got close to the front door, opened his overcoat to show his uniform, and banged hard on the glass. In the darkness of the shop, he could see a shadowy figure at the back of the room. Figuring that it was Bob Wilkins hiding there, trying to decide whether to put the light back on, Dan banged on the glass again.

The light came on. Bob was soon standing at the door pretending that he did not know who it was.

God Damn it, Bob, open the door, Dan yelled.

The door opened.

Constable Redman, what are you doing here?

Someone called me and said he saw a flashlight round the side of your shop.

Bloody hell, was someone trying to break in?

Well, I checked around the shop, and it all looks okay.

Alright then, Dan. Thanks for doing that, said Bob.

Dan patted his overcoat pockets. Oh shit, I’m out of cigs. Can I get a pack of Players while I’m here, Bob?

Sure, sure, said Bob, as the penny dropped.

He went behind the counter, got the cigarettes, and handed them to Dan.

So, who was it who called you then?

Come on, Bob, you know I can’t tell you that.

Alright then, Dan, I’d better lock up.

Okay, Bob, see you around. I’ll keep my eye on the place for you.

Sure you will, Dan, sure you will, said Bob as he locked the door behind the constable, turned around, shook his head and scoffed to himself.

Dan did not make a practice of lying to people. In fact, he did not like it at all, but this was an emergency. He lit a cigarette, shielded it from the rain with his hand, and quickly returned to the warmth of his house, where he went back to drinking his Guinness.

Sitting back down on the couch, he squirmed around until he found a spot with not so much spring poking him. Soon he was in another world. Six o’clock in the morning would come soon enough. My God, this village is changing, though. We have rich people building big stone houses, kids punching each other in the face, husbands slapping their wives around, and …

He fell asleep on that dirty old couch, dropping a lit cigarette, which added to the piece of furniture’s misery by burning a good-sized hole in it. Dan was blissfully unaware of this and would not discover the hole until weeks later. When he did, he did not care.

Chapter 5

A Murderer

It was August 29th, 1963. Roy was fourteen years old. He still had difficulty reading and writing but, surprisingly, he had a good vocabulary. He was a good strong boy. None of the other kids in Brexley had given him any trouble in quite a few years since the beating he had given to Neil. His mother had no more worries about him being gone for hours on end. His father never had worried.

Nevertheless, Roy had taken to sneaking around the village. He was rarely seen, although he was there. He knew the village very well by now. Not that he knew the names of people, but he knew faces and some of the stories behind those faces. He liked to go from house to house using the gardens. He favored the yards with lots of bushes and would travel through the streets using this cover.

In the evening, when it was dark, he would go up to windows where the curtains were not closed and take a peek inside. He saw mothers knitting, fathers smoking, children playing, but they did