by Paul Sykes
The emphasis of boxing training must be on physical strength and pure brute power in the limbs is far harder to acquire than the ability to run well. It means all muscles being strong and not just the heart. The yardstick I used to gauge my cardio-vascular fitness was a run of
4 miles with more hills and peaks than the big-dipper at Blackpool. Between the hills were flat stretches of various lengths where I could open up and put some daylight between my legs. If I could manage to run three mornings consecutively and not take longer than 29 minutes without being distressed and pumped then I was fit to fight 8 rounds against anybody. If I could do it in less I'd need to specialise on strength. If it took me longer I'd need less resistance exercise and more running. Getting to a peak was a doddle.
Tommy wanted me across in Manchester every night to spar but it wasn't really for my benefit as much as for the other lads he managed. Tall, short, heavy, light, black, half-caste and white, I sparred with them all.
Del came to the gym one night to monitor my progress and when I'd satisfied him I was still in great shape he asked Tommy for 40 ringside seats. Tommy's mouth dropped and his eyes bulged.
'How many? How many did you say?' he spluttered.
'Forty ringside seats on the side nearest the dressing rooms.' He had the self-assurance of a self-made man.
'Half the south end is coming to see my boy,' he added for good measure. Tommy beamed with bonhomie as he counted the money then looked at me with a new light in his crafty old eyes as I sparred. Over the top of my sparmate's shoulder I could see his reflection in the mirror.
Cath took it in her stride, saying nothing of her feelings about boxing but accepting all I had to do, the discipline involved and the sacrifices I had to make. It all had to be done.
It was the most important day in my life, the old feller's life too. Right from being able to walk he'd trained me for this day. All the years of trailing to the gym on cold winter nights when I'd been a little lad. All the years of hitting hands in the back bedroom, learning to skip, parry and block, bob and weave were now going to bear fruit. He'd taught me everything from Jack Dempsey's book, 'Championship Fighting'. It had been the bible he'd used to instruct me, but I'd picked up a lot since I'd been at school. He'd been elated when I'd reached the ABA semi-finals and positively wagged his tail at the write-up Joe Frazier had given me. When I'd been refused a licence and then Yancy died it had hurt him probably more than me. At least all the hard work, sweat and tears, disappointments and heartaches were behind us. I was fit and ready and anticipating a storming debut.
October 10th fell on a Thursday, the day Mother and Kay stood Wakefield market, which meant they hadn't to leave home so early.
'Give him a bashing,' Kay said, shaking her fist at the bedroom door.
'Good luck love,' Mother said, with a smile. The van started a moment later leaving me in bed and the old feller making a pot of tea in the kitchen.
'You don't want to be too long,' he said, putting the mug on the bedside table. 'Get in and please the crowd. Give 'em value for money. Get yourself a few bob and then get out again before you get hurt. You're knocking on now love and you haven't long left. In and out quick.' He was standing at the bottom of the bed with a proud, happy smile.
'Ee, lad, I never thought I'd live to see this day.' He shivered to see if he wasn't dreaming. His proud, happy smile stayed fixed as he called, going through the door, 'Give me a shout if there's owt you want.' It was a long time since I'd last seen him so happy, so long I couldn't remember.
Cath would be waiting outside the Townley Road chip shop before I set off to wish me luck. We'd arranged it last night. She'd love to come and watch but she couldn't miss school in the morning. She was at school now. I wondered if she was thinking about me. Unable to concentrate on her lessons for worrying. I was glad she wasn't coming, you couldn't tell what might happen on the first night, a daft cut or anything. After tonight and another few fights I'd ask her to marry me. Her parents wouldn't object if I was a star and we'd need their permission. I wondered what she'd say: 'Don't talk daft you big ugly pig,' and giggle. She was lovely.
All thoughts of Cath went as I heard the old feller coming back to the bedroom with his voice raised in protest about something. He wasn't talking to himself I realised as he entered the bedroom followed by a platoon of heavy detectives with Dawson in the lead.
Get dressed Paul, you're under arrest,' he ordered.
My heart dropped through the bed. Something had to happen. I'd known all along. I'd felt it in my bones.
This was the fourth time in five arrests Dawson had been present; serious arrests, cars, vans and motorbikes, walkie-talkies and flashing blue lights. £10,000 arrests. The only time Dawson had been missing
was the case with Mick's ear. The ONLY case he was directly involved with.
He wasn't involved with this case either I realised, pulling into the car-park of Pontefract police station, although he'd been making enquiries. Weeks ago the feller who'd brought the turkeys had gone to Elaine's after I'd left. The police had been following him. He'd pulled up outside the front door and knocked. When he hadn't got a reply he'd driven on and after a mile or two they'd waved him to a halt. In the van had been 50 turkeys. He'd been arrested and taken to the station where he'd told them all he could. Dawson had gone to Elaine's and had a look round. Elaine explained the feathers in the cellar had come from a duvet which had split after she'd washed it. He'd gone away knowing the score but unable to prove it.
Elaine had gone to the police the morning after she'd seen me in Heppy's - the day of the gymkhana - to tell him what she'd said previously had been lies. The feathers HAD come from turkeys. Delroy had said she was a bad woman but she wasn't in the same league as Dawson. It was all he needed to arrest me but he hadn't, he'd hung on and hung on, until the morning of my first fight and then arrested me. lt may as well have been Dawson's case from the way they treated me. No visits and remanded in custody for 7 days because the main witness was living in constant fear of reprisals, and I was already on bail for another offence.
One of the screws behind the reception counter in Leeds gaol was checking my property as he booked me in. He opened the charge sheet and began to read it loud.
'Did steal, handle, or help in the retention of 50 turkeys knowing them to be stolen.' He looked at me through narrowed eyes. 'You'll get some bird for this Sykes.'
He folded and put it back into the envelope and barked a laugh.
'The beak takes a very dim view of crimes like this. And I'll tell you something else. It will be a feather in the cap of the copper who's nicked you. Ha ha ha.'
He put the charge into perspective.
Going through the reception formalities like a fish thrown back in water I couldn't help but think of the evilness of the police. Rotten, cowardly bastards who used the system to make up for their own failings. At least 20 had come to the house to arrest me besides those
who'd come into the bedroom and the best of it was they hadn't any proof. They had a bit of circumstantial evidence that's all but certainly not enough for a conviction.
There were three cons working in the reception, dishing out the food, bedding, and clothing. All three were old pals from previous sentences. They sorted me out some decent kit, a pile of food, a pot of tea and allocated me to a single cell on A3, the remand prisoners wing.
The magistrates, two old fellers who could have been in a box on the Muppet show, hadn't hesitated to remand me for 7 days. The copper had hardly finished asking before I was down the steps, hustled into the meatwagon and brought to Leeds.
The dirty, stinking slags had grinned and patted each other on the shoulder as I'd been taken from the dock as though they'd just been awarded another pay rise. I hated and despised the police. Not one or two but them all, every last one of them. The hate kept me warm and stopped me thinking of anything else as I climbed the steps to A3 and walked the narrow landing, painted institution green, and waited for a screw to unlock
the door. What a fucking dump. A more depressing miserable nick couldn't be found than Leeds.
It was dim even though it was in the middle of the afternoon. Pigeon shit on the windows of the wing roof reduced the light so it was always twilight. Very appropriate for the half-living world of this nick. It was better than yesterday though, I'll say that. Once I'd left home with the old feller holding back tears, in a 10-vehicle escort, I'd been taken to the nick and banged up. No visitors, not even a solicitor until this morning when I'd been produced in court. It was hours and hours before I'd known officially why I'd been arrested.
A screw came sauntering along, placed my cell card in the holder and then opened the door. It banged shut before I'd thrown the kit on the bunk. Back in the nick again I thought and there's fuck-all I can do. There was though, there always is.
Old Phil Swaine, a feller who lived across the road and kept all of Mother's vehicles in working order had told me months ago of a solicitor in Castleford. He sounded exactly the kind of feller I needed to get me out of this. Old Phil knew the score and hated the police as much as I did: he'd been in the nick once, years ago, for ringing cars, was released on parole and even yet the police were still hounding
him, Farrell in particular, ten years later. On Monday morning I'll write to the solicitor and ask if he'll represent me and say old Phil recommended him. I'd show the bastards yet.
Cath came to see me on the Saturday afternoon with our Kay.
They'd come straight from the stables wearing wellies and sloppy Joe pullovers. Kay was a real farmer's wife while Cath could easily have stepped from the haystack after wrestling with a groom. Every time I saw her I couldn't help but think of sex. Kay rabbited on for the full 15 minutes, while Cath and me looked at each other like lovesick schoolkids. At the end of the visit I kissed both their cheeks and felt like crying. The coppers take all this into account when they object to bail I thought as the screw rubbed me down after the visit.
They came again on Wednesday, half-day closing for Kay, and Cath had played truant. She couldn't help it, she had to see me and promised she'd come again on Saturday if I didn't get bail. I told them I'd written to Arthur Healey, the solicitor Phil had recommended and he'd agreed to represent me and the chances of bail were looking good. They both fervently hoped so. If I didn't I'd tell Cath not to come again because I'd be in months and couldn't bear the thought of her not coming one day. She could go her own way without feeling obligated to me. She had a full-grown woman's body but she was still only a schoolgirl and far too young to be emotionally involved with a feller my age who was in the nick. It would mentally scar her like Pauline and the others and I didn't want that. No way. No doubt she'd be upset, make promises, swear her young life away saying she'd be faithful but what could she know at her age? It wouldn't be fair to even let her say a word.
How I'd go about telling her in words she'd understand kept me busy until Friday, when I appeared in court and saw Arthur Healey.
He was standing by my side while the 'cuffs were taken off and then quietly introduced himself. He looked more like a geography teacher than a solicitor. There wasn't any chalk dust on his Harris tweed jacket with its leather elbow patches and a row of pens in the top pocket. He guided me to a small interview room and invited me to give him all the details while he sat motionless with a serious, intent expression while I told him about Dawson and the boxing, and what Elaine had done. When I'd finished he rose, gave me a tight-lipped smile and said he'd see me in court, the only words he'd said.
He hadn't taken any notes either. His reticence did nothing for my hopes but I had every faith in old Phil s judgement and an hour later I realised it wasn't misplaced.
It was the same Muppet show magistrates listening to a repeat of the week before. Mr Healey had been polishing his steel-rimmed spectacles with a big white hanky all the while the copper had been giving the reasons why bail should be refused. When he'd finished, Mr Healey rose to his feet, put his hanky into his jacket pocket, donned his spectacles and then scanned the bench for a full 30 seconds. He was the commander on the bridge of his ship judging the target on the enemy coast.
He bombarded them for a full ten minutes and finished with a salvo 'to produce this so-called terrified witness so he could show the court it wasn't anything more than the classical case of a woman scorned. '
The two doddery old magistrates reacted to the authority in his voice like kids caught smoking behind the bike sheds. They bumped heads they were in such a hurry to confer and I was so happy I almost burst into laughter.
'The witness shall be produced,' the chairman announced, 'and the accused remanded in custody until the 20th, Monday.'
Three days time and not the usual seven. The chances of being out were great, I thought in the meatwagon going to Leeds.
The cons in the reception worked it so I went back into the same cell. It saved having to scrub another and it was quiet with it being well away from the clatter of the prison centre.
With the bunk made and my kit sorted out I began to pace the cell thinking of what I'd say to Cath tomorrow. It seemed likely I'd be out on Monday but I didn’t want to build her hopes too high in case I was wrong. The coppers might produce another so-called terrified witness at the last minute, or say Elaine couldn't be found, she was so scared she'd gone into hiding. I wouldn't put anything past them at all. They were going to any lengths and stooping to every trick to get me away.
Somebody called my name, I was sure of it.
'Oy, Paul, are you there?' I recognised the voice from somewhere. It was coming from the cell next door. Somebody shouting through the window.
'Hello. Who is it?' I called, standing on the chair.
'Dun't tha recognise me voice.' It sounded petulant but familiar. I couldn't place it, though.
'It's me, Norm.'
'Fucking hell Norm, what're yer doing here?' He laughed at my surprise. It was certainly him, nobody could laugh like him.
'Ah'lI see thi on t' yard tomorra. Dun't say owt arten winder.'
Old Norm was as careful as ever even after he'd been caught.
He wasn't in for the turkeys but he would eventually be charged to connect the feller to me, he said, the following day and then told me what I had to say to my solicitor.
'Tha dun't deny buyin' t' turkeys. Tha paid two pounds each for 'em and sold 'em for three fifty. Tha thowt it were a straightforrad business transaction. After all the feller did bring'em in t' firm's van.'
It wasn't anything to lose sleep over but he couldn't see me getting bail at the Magistrates. I would from the judge in chambers, though, without a doubt. The police, he said, won't be able to blow down his ear like they do magistrates'. He was vague about the charge he was in for but said it 'wor nowt, norras bad as t' turkey job.' He was always vague when he referred to crime as if the words wouldn't come into his mouth. It had nothing to do with me even if he didn't say so directly. He did say he was glad I'd been nicked, haw, haw, haw. He wouldn't have been able to get to Liverpool after all but it didn't matter now cos he'd missed nowt. Haw, haw, haw. He was the eternal optimist was old Norm, and saw the funny side of everything. It wasn't funny at all but it did have it's compensations.
Since I'd been in I'd been to the gym every day to do the circuit and it had been much, much harder than I'd expected. It opened my eyes and shocked me. In future, providing I was given bail and Tommy fixed me up with another fight I'd have to include bags of circuits. I'd been under a misapprehension with the run. Although my times had been consistently under 29 minutes and I'd thought I was in perfect condition I'd been far too weak. The effort needed on the circuits proved it. Age and running had weakened me, something I'd not really taken into account, so from now on I'd make circuits the foundation stone of all my future training and forget about running. It took too much out of me. It wasn't Cath either. We hadn't made love for three weeks; two weeks before I'd been arrested and all last week in the nick.
She came with Kay again, her littl
e face breaking into a radiant smile the second she saw me.
'There's every chance I'll be out on Monday,' I whispered over the partition, 'and if I am I'll come straight down to the school. I'll park outside the gates on Barnsley Road so watch out for me. Go to the toilet or something and then we'll disappear.'
'No, don't park on Barnsley Road' she whispered urgently,' Go round the back and park. Wait in the little road. I'll be out as soon as I see you.' She leaned back as cocky as a little sparrow to see if I understood.
'Do you really think you will be out?' she asked doubtfully a second or two later, her little face full of concern.
'If I'm not,' I said sadly, 'I don't want you to come again. I want you to forget all about me.’
She bit on her bottom lip and rapidly lost colour, a dart of agony in her eyes.
I wished I'd kept my big my mouth shut.
'They'll let you out for me.' She smiled tentatively. 'They will, they'll let you out for me.' She grinned, perky as ever. 'You'll see.'
'I hope so love, but if they don't I want you to remember what I've said.'
She frowned and bit her lip again. On the trips we'd had I'd made her promise that if I was ever locked up and it looked as if I'd be away for any length of time I'd tell her not to write or visit or even keep me in her thoughts.
If it was only for a week or two, though, I wouldn't say a word.
'Don't worry love.' She smiled, her eyes laughing and her teeth glistening white. 'You'll see, they'll let you out for me. I'll watch out for you in the little road.'
Kay hadn't said a word but she'd listened to all we'd said with the same expression that she'd had watching 'Gone with the Wind' on the television. A daft, romantic smile and tears on her cheeks. I kissed her and gave her a reassuring squeeze. She sniffed twice and smiled, hoping for a happy ending.
