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SURVIVING THE MADNESS
Surviving the madness is the life story of Paul 'One Punch' Doyle. A Salford legend who rose from nothing to the dizzy heights as one of Manchester's most prolific gangsters. A man who forged a career in criminality and drug dealing and left a legacy of infamy amongst Old Trafford's Men in Black and The Naughty Forty.
AVAILABLE ON AMAZON FROM 9th SEPTEMBER 2021
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HOW IT CAME ABOUT:
Described by local media as a drug baron who attempted to flood the north west of England with cocaine, cannabis and methamphetamine, Paul Doyle is currently serving his eighth of a sixteen year prison sentence for the importation of £300 million of class A drugs.
Whilst serving his current sentence Doyley decided to document his extraordinary life.
Surviving The Madness is his version of how it happened. A story so action packed that the book is bursting at the seams with mind blowing events the common man would struggle to wrap his innocent mind around.
Follow this blog over the coming weeks for some short stories highlighting a mere sample of the madness that Paul created, lived through and ultimately survived during his life.....
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Having been a Salford born street fighter and Manchester United football hooligan for such a large chunk of my adult life, I have literally hundreds of fights that I could recall when that age old question comes up: What is my favourite fight? There have been running fights where me and my fellow United hooligans have smashed up whole cities on away day trips, literally moving from fight to fight as we roamed. Likewise when me and my mates have been given due cause, there have been many a pub, club or bar left in complete tatters, with an array of injuries also in our wake. I personally have fought some brutal battles against some notable big hitters, in one such encounter I found myself practically drinking my own blood after my nose was split so badly.
For me though I have to say that my fondest fighting memories are usually those that have left me with a great big grin on my face afterwards…….
One such occasion occurred in the late seventies when Man United had been drawn against Leeds in the FA cup. We had properly taken it to the Leeds faithful before the game, winning running battles across the city on our way to Elland Road. As the violence had been so intense during the build up to the match, the Yorkshire police hatched a plan to keep the rival supporters apart after the final whistle. It was no masterplan if I’m honest, the plod simply locked us Man United fans in the ground until the Leeds fans had all dispersed.
At the top of the stairs by the exit from our part of the ground, stood a tall, old school, military style copper. A bloke who clearly took pride in the amount of stripes he had on his shoulders. This militant prick loved the sound of his own voice and clearly it was a case of ‘the louder the better’. He was screaming at us like an army officer at roll call. Just listening to the smart arse made my blood boil.
After 25 - 30 minutes of tolerating the guy and his small gathering of foot soldiers, me and the lads had had enough. We were itching to get out but he was still having none of it. The final straw for me came when he started banging his caine and announced that ‘he was the only one who would decide when we could leave’. I made up my mind there and then that the fool was getting sparked out.
Finally he commanded that the gates be unlocked and we began to make our way up the steps and towards the exits. At first it was reasonably orderly, but after the first few made a dash for it the rest followed - which fit perfectly into my plan. As I was getting closer to where PC Plod was standing, I maneuvered myself into position. Everybody else was simply rushing past the guy, but I stealthily approached, at the last second side stepped to the left and landed a massive right hook to his jaw, before blending back into the crowd and making good my getaway.
Thank God it was the good old days when CCTV cameras were no more than a copper’s wet dream.
Another similar result I had over the old bill on a matchday took place at Goodison Park…..
I had not long been following United when I found myself in the pub one night talking to my old mate Paul Massey, about the buzz you get at football when it all kicks off. I told him we were playing Everton that weekend and Merseyside is always a great place to go for a serious riot. Knowing a few scousers from his time growing up in Reform schools in and around the north west, like me, Massey knew his fair share of scoussers and agreed that a ruckus on their territory sounded like fun. He asked me to get him a ticket and I happily agreed. Listening in on our conversation was the DJ of the pub. We knew the guy a little and he was sound enough, but he wasn’t exactly cut from the same cloth as us. He was always telling made up stories to try and impress and he fancied himself as a suave git - the huge medallion poking out of his half buttoned shirt did nothing to hide that fact either. He chirped up with “I fancy a bit of that, can you sort me a ticket too Doyley”. Not wanting to be a miserable cunt I also agreed to get ‘Pinocchio’ one.
On the short train journey from Manchester to Liverpool the DJ was trying to impress me and the lads with all sorts of fanciful stories about people he knew and places he’d been. He was telling us about some club he had worked at in Ibiza and how the locals over there loved him. He even claimed that the women in Ibiza would wait their turn to date him. At that point Massey burst out laughing and told him to cut the bull shit stories or it would be him getting filled in instead of Everton’s lot. Me and the lads fell about laughing but unsure how serious Massey was being the DJ simply fell quiet.
Inside the ground the atmosphere was great and even ‘Pinocchio’ refound his voice. He was shouting and screaming his support for the team, in fact we were all getting right into it, but before things were allowed to get too raucous a handful of burly coppers appeared and stood in front of the away fans, one of whom parked himself directly in front of me, Massey and the DJ. To say it ruined my mood was an understatement. What made it worse was the fact that the big lump who stood blocking our view reminded me of a Cat A screw. He stood there arms folded and legs slightly spread, looking as mean as possible. I had a strong desire to spin him around and land an uppercut into his chin before he knew what day it was.
Without enough time to ponder my attack, United went on an attack of their own and scored the first goal of the game. The away end erupted, the whole stand was bouncing, people were hugging and cheering. The line of coppers all turned around and faced us to ensure nobody made a dash for the pitch. We were happy where we were though, enjoying being 1 nil up.
As the game restarted, the commotion died down and the policemen turned back around to face the pitch. The miserable copper in front of us resumed his arms folded, legs spread position and I simply couldn’t contain the overwhelming urge I had.
I edged slightly closer towards him before volleying him right in the spuds - in fact he crumpled like a sack of spuds. As he went down I simply turned back towards Massey and made out like we were mid conversation, both totally oblivious to the poor blokes woes. Our dopey DJ mate burst out laughing and was still pointing at the crumpled copper when the other officers rushed over to help, which meant it was him who was pulled from the crowd and dragged away protesting his innocence. The copper, who had remained on the floor was eventually helped to his feet before also being carried away.
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SNATCH
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In the nineteen sixties in London, there was a trend amongst robbers which was commonly known as the ‘snatch’. It soon travelled up north when villains around the country realised how profitable it could be. Back in those days business owners, shop keepers, pub landlords, pretty much anybody who took cash on their business premises, needed to get the takings once a day or once a week from their place of work to the bank. There were no CCTV cameras dotted about the streets at that time and there was very little in the way of security. The whole affair was a logistical nightmare for the poor sods who had to make the regular trips to the bank.
Criminals would look out for anyone going into banks with bags or boxes of any description, they would then discreetly follow them home. Next the innocent soul would be put under a sort of surveillance to discover what type of business they were in, how much they were likely to be banking and how often those trips would be.
After collecting all the relevant information the thieves could lie in wait for the next such visit to the bank.
The thief would usually find a quiet street or alleyway to linger, while waiting for the money man to pass by. Once they spotted their target and presuming the coast was clear, or clear enough, they would simply overpower the victim, and ‘snatch’ the money bag, before getting on their toes. It was a very simple robbery and if planned well, very profitable.
In Manchester in the late seventies our firm was becoming quite adept at the snatch. I was perfect for the job, as my knockout punch could always be used if the victim put up a struggle. After all, it's hard to hold on to your bag of money while you’re unconscious on the deck.
I personally wasn’t prepared to spend my time doing any surveillance for these jobs however, so I had a few spotters who were doing it for me. I would pay my spotters 25% per successful job, then me and whoever else was in on the snatch would split the other 75%.
We got word of two very lucrative jobs. Both apparently needed at least three men to be sure of a smooth getaway (as they were at times of the day when the streets could be busy) one snatcher, one or two distractions and a lookout.
Me and my sidekick and best mate Ashy were definites on these jobs and at that time we often worked with two other lads from our gang.
The day of the first job came around and the streets were really busy. The two lads me and Ashy were working with got cold feet and pulled out. Ashy was die hard though and there was no way me or him were calling it off, so we agreed to do it alone.
That particular job wasn’t a trip to the bank, it was a short trip from the bank to a factory with a box of wages for the workforce. Two blokes were carrying the box of cash (a sure sign that there was some good till in it). Ashy waited ahead of the blokes and made himself look suspicious while I crept up behind them. After spotting the 6 foot 2 inch Ashy, they got spooked. One of them turned and ran, he actually ran right past me as he left. The other guy, still carrying the money, turned around and hurriedly walked straight into a right hook to the jaw from yours truly. I relieved him of the box and ran like fuck to the nearest alleyway, to make my escape.
After getting back to the privacy of Ashy’s place we counted our dough and what a result we had had. Splitting our 75% of the profits two ways, instead of four, made things all the better too. So much so, that I told the other two lads we would be putting the second job on hold for a couple of weeks while me and Ashy spent our earnings.
Although the others didn’t tell us to our faces it became clear they weren’t happy with me and Ashy for delaying job two and the crafty cunts started making plans to do the second job without us. We got wind that the pair were going to do the snatch the Friday after the next. I was furious when I found out and wanted to have it out with them. Ashy though had a better plan. He came up with the idea of beating them to it, and doing it that coming Friday instead. We knew that if we robbed them the week before then the banking arrangements would be changed after that. It was a brilliant plan and a great way to teach our so-called mates a lesson.
That Friday we did the snatch and it couldn’t have gone simpler. The money carrier left his place of work and I lay in wait by some buildings that were being demolished. Ashy gave me the nod as my target approached. I sprung out of my hiding place and dragged him out of sight. Before I could say a word he gave me the money and told me not to hurt him because he was actually in on it and was working with our spotter. I couldn’t believe my luck, without even having to run, I casually set off, cash in hand.
Again divided between just two of us the profits were brilliant and needless to say; we did no more snatches with the other two…..
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DOUBLE CROSS
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In the nineteen nineties Cocaine use began to boom in the UK. Naturally when the demand for a particular drug increases so does the supply. Many cannabis dealers switched over to the cocaine trade, largely due to the increased profit margins. With greater profits however comes increased risk and lengthier prison sentences. As I had already spent my fair share of time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, I decided to play it safe and stick to what I knew best - selling weed.
A few of my close associates made the switch and followed their ‘noses’ to the money. One pal set up a deal selling to a high ranking, organised crime family from Leeds. He agreed to sell a kilo of high purity coke at a very competitive price to get his foot in the door with the Leeds firm. The brothers apparently had Leeds on lock down at that time and the head of the family was a guy whose reputation preceded him - rumours circulating suggested he already had a couple of murders on his CV.
As was often the case, the whole affair began with a night on the town. An associate of mine knew the Leeds family and had invited them down to Manchester to join us for the evening. I hadn’t met the brothers before, so I was quite looking forward to hearing what kind of a set up they had, and if there was anything I could get involved in.
Criminals regularly meet up socially with other criminals, usually over a pint or two, to discuss what drugs or loot they either have or can get their hands on. It’s a good opportunity to chat without worrying about telephone conversations being listened in to. It also helps in building a stronger working relationship, should any complications arise down the line, knowing who you’re dealing with can ensure a bit of trust which could save fallouts occurring - with potentially dire consequences. That’s the theory anyway.
The night out in Manchester seemed to work out well for everybody.
My pal sorted his deal to sell coke to the Leeds firm. Our other pal (the one that had arranged the gathering) bought in on my next consignment of cannabis, which was due in from Holland the following weekend and I agreed to buy just shy of £200k worth of jewellery from the head of the Leeds family for a nice price of £70k.
A few days passed by and everything was going smoothly. My new buyer had been to pay for half of his consignment of cannabis upfront, as was agreed. He was to receive the cannabis the following weekend, he then had a fortnight to pay off the outstanding amount.
My jewellery had been brought down by a driver courtesy of the Leeds firm, and I was made up with my collection of beautiful diamond watches, bracelets and rings. I had a week’s grace to have them valued before I had to cough up a penny.
As I said, everything was going great.
That was until my good friend, who had laid on the kilo of cocaine to the Leeds brothers appeared at my yard and he was not a happy chappy. He told me that his driver had dropped the coke off and all seemed fine, but when he made the call, to ensure the brothers were happy with it, he had been told it was a load of shite and that they wouldn’t be paying the £25k that they owed. At that point my mate had apologised and offered to send his driver back to Leeds to collect the cocaine. He however was told in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t be getting the coke back or any money for it.
He realised then that he had been ripped. He knew there was fuck all wrong with drugs, the brothers simply weren’t wanting to pay for them.
As he didn’t have quite the reputation I did, he had called in to see me in the hope I would help get the money he was owed.
Obviously the deal had nothing to do with me, but I wasn’t going to stand by and let my mate be done over by a firm of outsiders, especially as the deal had been arranged on our soil.
We walked to the local telephone box and I called the Leeds brother who had received the coke. His attitude had changed dramatically and he was giving it large, telling me that they weren’t paying for the gear as it was shit and they had been taken for mugs. Not only that there was fuck all anybody could do about it, blah blah blah!
After a bit of stomping over the same ground and listening to this clown mouthing off, I decided to call the head of the family, who I had got the jewellery from. The result was the same though. He didn’t seem happy about the whole affair but was standing by his brother.
I was clearly getting nowhere. It was like banging my head against a brick wall, there was no budging the guy. I told him that I was going to go away and talk to my mate. I finished the call by saying ‘Be Lucky’. It’s a phrase I like to use, it works as a way of masking what I am really thinking, and also to end with a passive aggressive kind of goodbye.
I asked my mate if he was sure about the quality of the gear, to which his response was “100% sure”. I then confirmed to him that he had definitely been done and he had no chance of getting his money back. I suggested (what is kind of an unwritten rule in the underworld) that the guy who introduced us to the Leeds firm should be held accountable.
The poor chap had very little option, when he was told he was about to be made £25k lighter (as I was still waiting to receive the cannabis that he had already paid half for, which was more than enough to recover the loss) I informed him that £25k of his money would be used to compensate the rip. Although not overly impressed, there was nothing really he could do about it. I softened the blow by telling him he could get in on another future consignment of mine, to help recover his loss.
I relaxed after doing my good deed for the week and focused solely on the finer details of my cannabis importation.
The weekend came and went, and finally so did the phone call I had been expecting, it was obviously from the head of the Leeds family, informing me that I was late with the £70k payment for the jewellery. The cheeky bastard actually demanded I settle my debt immediately.
This time, however, it was him who may as well have been banging his head against a brick wall. I told him that his diamonds were fake and that because he had taken me for a mug he wouldn’t be getting the money or the jewellery back.
I smuggly listened to his threats to kill me for a little while, before I interrupted to inform him that the quickest way to Salford was down the M62, but if he was planning on travelling by train then to only buy a one way ticket, as a return would be a waste of money.
I hung up the phone and never saw or heard from him or his firm again.
A few years later I got word that two of the brothers were dead. One of them had turned to drink and drugs and the other had double crossed a ruthless South Manchester gang who didn’t let him off as lightly as we had.
In the drug trade there is no such thing as a code of honour, especially if you are dealing with people from outside your own circle, or with criminals from out of town. But if you do stab someone in the back be warned; there’s more than one way to skin a cat.
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WAREHOUSE HEIST
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After a wasted youth, growing up in shit-hole reform schools, borstals and prisons, with some of the country's toughest kids, I was finally released back into the real world, and having been denied my freedom for the best part of the previous 9 years, I was itching to pave my way in life.
It took me no time at all to start forming a group of friends, who all had similar desires to mine. We wanted to have a good time and make some money along the way.
In the late seventies, families up and down the country were struggling to put bread on the table, none more so than in Salford. Me and my mates had no intentions of struggling through life like the common folk though. We were prepared to do whatever it took to get ahead.
From an early age Paul Massey stood out from the crowd when it came to ingenious ideas to make a quick quid or two. He was the brains of our group and with his guile, my brute strength and a small collection of savage followers we were quickly making a reputation for ourselves across Salford and Manchester.
The ruthless determination we were showing resulted in our reputation preceding us. We were admired by other young criminals also forging their own path through a life of crime. The police hated us and were intent on either locking us away or beating us into submission. We were frowned upon by straight members who disliked our behaviour and resented the fact we had money in our pockets.
We would never rob from our own though - partly because that went against our code and partly because there was fuck all worth robbing in Salford at that time -The only things of any value were the veterans’ war medals and we would never lower ourselves to those standards.
We were focused on more profitable crimes, like stealing from shops and warehouses.
Ironically it was the government that gave us a huge helping hand with that too.
The country was in a dire political state, due to the unions striking (particularly the fuel industries) and that resulted in significant power shortages. The government responded by reducing the working week to three days in an attempt to conserve energy. They also shut off the electricity in the evening times of the non working days.
Pitch black streets provided us with fantastic opportunities. We would be ready and waiting in a stolen van for the lights to go out, and then our night of thieving would begin.
The microwave oven was the new must have accessory for anyone who could afford it. They were filling shelves in high street shops and warehouses up and down the country, but as times were so hard, not many people could stretch to buying one. With demand so high our plan was simple; nick them in bulk and flog them half price. We couldn’t steal them fast enough.
One Saturday I had managed to land myself a hot date, so I told Massey and the lads I wouldn’t be joining them on the evening raid. Massey said he had a foolproof plan, but my cock was ruling my head. I was after a bit of action, so I stuck to my promise of entertaining my lady friend.
The following morning, after my night of passion I called in at Massey’s flat to see how he had got on. I walked inside to see thousands of pounds worth of electrical goods piled ceiling-high in his kitchen and lounge.
He explained to me that he had spent 6 hours drilling a hole through the wall of a warehouse (big enough to climb through) then the next couple of hours passing goods back out through it.
He had arranged for three vans to pull up one after the other and they filled them all to the brim with the most expensive, sought after electrical goods they could fit out of the hole.
As delighted as I was for him, I was gutted to have missed out, therefore it was like music to my ears when he told me there was still an abundance of stock just waiting to be taken and the hole in the wall was obviously still there ready to use. Massey said he wouldn’t be going back for the rest of the goods, just in case the theft or the hole had been detected.
Me being a little less savvy and a tad more reckless, decided that the chances of the robbery being discovered before Monday morning was pretty slim, so I set up a small team of lads to go back that night and take whatever we could manage.
Massey was right though, the old bill were already on to the previous night’s activities and lay in wait for a greedy fucker like me to return for more.
Just as I was climbing through the hole, the place lit up with flashing blue lights and we all got nicked.
After a customary kicking down at the station, the police tried to pin the previous night’s robbery on us and were demanding to know where all the stolen goods were. Obviously nobody spoke a word and we were all subjected to a second beating.
The following morning the sun shone through our cell windows and the coppers burst through our cell doors. After a third battering and further interrogation, in which we all remained tight lipped, we were released without charge. Technically we had done nothing wrong - If the police had given us another twenty minutes to actually steal something we would have been bang to rights, but the thick bastards caught us before the act, so they didn’t have a leg to stand on.
We walked back from the station laughing about our matching black eyes and bloody noses, not to mention escaping a close call, but it was Massey who had the last laugh. He was already grinning like a Cheshire cat, after impressively selling on almost all of his loot but he couldn’t control his laughter when we told him our tale.
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SURVIVING THE MADNESS
IN ASSOCIATION WITH ON TOP MEDIA
BOOK ON SALE WITH AMAZON FROM 9TH SEPTEMBER 2021
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TO BE SOLD ON AMAZON
AMAZON LINK TO BUY WILL BE REVEALED TOMORROW.....
RELEASE DATE: 09/09/2021
BOOK AVAILABLE TO BUY ON AMAZON FROM THURSDAY.... SURVIVING THE MADNESS IS ACTION PACKED, AND INCLUDES MANY UNTOLD STORIES, SOME OF WHICH...
RELEASE DATE CONFIRMED:
SURVIVING THE MADNESS AVAILABLE TO BUY ON AMAZON FROM 09/09/21. NO STORIES FROM THE BLOG ARE IN THE BOOK, IT'S ALL NEW MATERIAL...
FINAL SHORT STORY BEFORE BOOK RELEASE......
THE JOY OF VIOLENCE is made up of two short stories following a very similar theme; Paul's love of violence in his younger days. Read...
SNATCH
The short story 'Snatch' is an example of some of the criminal activities a young Paul Doyle and his mates used to get up to. Jobs likes...
DOUBLE CROSS
The short story 'Double Cross' is a gangland story. It details a falling out with a well known Leeds crime family, which Doyley finds...
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