Streetfighters: Real Fighting Men Tell Their Stories

by Davies, Julian

  He jumped out of the ring shouting, “I’m not getting back in that ring.”

  I shout back, “Come on get back in, we’ll have it proper this time.”

  He starts to get back in, I kick him straight in the face, and we had a right old fight and I bashed him up. He was my nemesis at the time. I always wanted to beat the guv’nor of the fruit market, it was always on my mind, even through all my prison years I thought about it. We laugh about it all these days. He once said to me, “God mate, you were a bit dirty!” but like I always say to people, that’s what prize-fighting was all about. I just came to fight and win at any cost.

  In the end I was earning £2,000 to £3,000 a fight and was finding it hard to get fights. Jimmy Tippett would take me around all the clubs looking for a fight. I would sit in the corner having a drink and Jimmy would be off talking to the doormen and fighters trying to set me a fight up. Like I told you, I found prize-fighting easy but as I got bigger paydays the fights got harder and harder. The fighters I was meeting were also hard men who could box, bite and do anything to win.

  Once again I got done for an attempted armed robbery, I only got six months this time though. When I came out I thought, fuck the prize-fighting, I just started ducking and diving and back on the doors again. I’m working the doors again, it’s not something I enjoy these days but it’s work. Thing is these days, if you hurt someone on the door they often come back. You’re constantly on the lookout for the knife in your back. I know if someone did me I would come back for sure. Well, I’m thinking of promoting fights again. I know so many people in the game, I feel I could really do well out of it all. There are so many kids who want to fight these days and who better to promote them than someone who can train them, look after them and knows what they are going through?

  ANDRE MARTIN

  Coventry

  Although standing just five feet five inches, Andre is a giant amongst men. Many have made the mistake of thinking that the diminutive doorman would be an easy option when the action started but, as the holder of 16 black belts, nothing could be further from the truth. A nice guy, he would be the last person to start trouble, but the first to put an end to it.

  I WAS BORN in Coventry in 1973 and I come from a good family environment. My dad worked in a factory and my mum worked for British Telecom. I had a great upbringing with them, never wanting for anything. My dad was known for his fighting. He practised judo and was an accomplished boxer. Dad was a right scrapper and strong as an ox and would fight any amount of men at the same time. When I look back to when I was about six or seven, I can remember him coming home: he had a few cuts and bruises on him, his hands were swollen and I found out he had a scrape with a large guy, who towered over my dad at six foot seven, when he was out with my mum having a quiet drink. It ended with my dad knocking the shit out of the giant that had tried it on with him; he made a big mistake. He was knocked to the floor with my dad all over him like a rash, screaming and begging for my dad to stop. You see, that’s what my dad was like: he would never give in no matter what. He was known as a giantkiller because he would always make for the biggest troublemaker and knock him out first. He was a very aggressive fighter: if he knew it was going to kick off he would make sure he was the first one in and would punch first and ask questions later. I tend to follow mum in the way that I’m more passive to people.

  When you’re a schoolkid there are always some kids who have all the new clothes and all the new stuff; usually these are the kids who would get bullied. I suppose it’s the same in every school. Well in my school I was one of those kids and some bullies tried to make my life hell. The first one to try his luck was a big ginger kid who hit me in the stomach and winded me. This would happen again and again. Other kids wouldn’t come near me because of the bully. About this time my dad was taking me boxing. I was only five and I was the smallest in the club. I hated it but he used to get me to go every week. Dad’s advice was always to get into them and give them a good slap, but of course I was only a kid and felt I couldn’t do that; maybe that was just my mum’s passive side of me. One day the bully was chasing me with his mates and for some reason I stopped running. Don’t know why I did, I had this hot feeling in my stomach and felt sick. Maybe it was the first signs of the adrenalin rush I was experiencing. I ran straight at the bully and started throwing some of the punches I had learned at boxing at his head. I got on top of him and battered him. I sometimes wonder how he felt being the one getting beat up for a change.

  As I went through school I would confront loads of bullies. One was a big half-caste lad called Mohammed, he was 5ft 6in and only eleven years old. He was also built like an adult, which didn’t help matters. He was the typical bully, stealing the kids’ money and picking on smaller kids. One day he bullied me and I was like everyone else and felt quite scared of him. I was doing tae kwon do now. I didn’t feel scared doing that or boxing, but it felt different fighting on the street or in the schoolyard. I had a game plan to beat this bully though. One day I brought my martial art suit to school and at dinnertime I changed into it. I walked up to Mohammed dressed in my suit. He was picking on some other small kid at the time. It’s funny how the suit gave me the confidence I needed. I said some words to Mohammed and front-kicked him and beat him to the ground. The teachers tried to pull me off and even then, when I was a kid, they had to struggle with me.

  Thing was, the headmaster thought I was being a bully. He couldn’t get it into his head that the fights I had in school were because I was being bullied or some smaller kid was. The headmaster told my father that I must stop the martial arts or I’d be in serious trouble. My dad agreed to this but told me not to worry, he wasn’t stopping my martial arts and he was proud of what I did.

  When I went to senior school the bullying started again. The bullies would look for a victim and I think because of my size I fitted the bill. This one bully’s name was Simon and he was onto me, smashed my head against the lockers, and was on my case all the time. One day he was picking on me and smacking me around. Funny thing, I’d remembered that a teacher had taken a baseball bat into his room that morning. I run into the teacher’s room and take the bat. I’d really had enough of being the victim so I remember thinking that that was the day I would pay back Simon. Simon saw me coming so he legged it into the toilets and hid behind this heavy door. I was so angry that I kicked down the door and whacked the hell out of him. I just kept hitting him with that bat, there was blood all over the place but I couldn’t stop myself. They finally pulled me off but I had done what I had wanted to do. He never picked on me or anyone else again.

  After that fight I sort of had a little bit of respect from the guys; some would still tease and call me “Little Ninja” but I didn’t really mind. Some of the teachers could be a pain though. One day in the changing rooms some kid wanted to fight me and he flew at me. This time there was no fear and I just bounced the lad all around the changing rooms. Well, I got pulled into the office by a teacher. Now this teacher just couldn’t take to me and was an arrogant loudmouth. He would love to put a kid down and always taunted me. He didn’t even want to know my side of the story, he just pushed me into the showers with all my football kit still on. He started to shake me around but I exploded again and like a madman I attacked him. I hit him in the stomach and followed that with an uppercut. He was now winded so I just kept hitting him. Another teacher pulled me off and he had some as well.

  I was sent to the headmaster again and my parents called in. The headmaster accused me of being a bully but my dad was having none of it this time. My dad told them that I was just defending myself and some of the teachers were bullies. He even went as far as to threaten to knock out the headmaster, which was typical of my dad.

  When I left school I went into the butchery trade. I liked the job and got my head down and did the work. When we used to have a break I’d sit and read my martial art magazines. There was this one guy there, Ammon his name was, he just took an instant dislike to me
and tried to make my life hell. I didn’t need the trouble, I just wanted to do my job. Again, me being small, he thought he had a victim. He would take my magazine off me or lock me in the freezer. He thought he was being funny but all the time I was thinking of paying him back.

  I was sealing meat by vac-packing them one day and I dropped a sealed piece on the floor. Well he thought he’d have a go and started shouting because I’d put it back with the others. Now this was common practice; the meat was sealed and completely safe, but he wanted to try his luck again. He grabs me by the hair and pushes me down. I get away and walk off, when he grabs me from behind. I’m only 16 and he’s a 33-year-old, pock-faced big bully who you could see by his face had been in some wars. I try to reason with him but I get a surge of adrenalin. I turn around fast and armlock him. I push him down onto the big wood cutting block that we cut meat on. I bring down my steak knife into the wood block by his face. He was terrified, like all bullies are when they get a taste of their own medicine. I told him and the other guys in the place that I was no victim and the shit stops from now on. I felt good about sorting that out. There’s a good feeling you get when you stand up to a bully.

  Things were going fine but what I didn’t realise was that the customers had seen what had happened and some of the staff complained. I get up one morning and there’s a letter waiting downstairs for me. The firm was sacking me because I didn’t “fit in”. That was the end of that, I was 16 and now looking for a new job. I didn’t know what sort of work I could do. The only thing I knew about was fighting. You see, all the time I was growing up I was training in different fighting arts. The only real thing I could do was fight, and then it struck me that I could be a doorman. I really fancied the idea; it seemed a natural thing for me. Not only had my dad been a doorman for years but also so had all his mates. In fact they would all come over to our house after work to eat their curries and that. I knew the ins and outs of working on the door from all their stories that I sat and listened to. You may find it strange that a little lad would enjoy the stories but they were great, each story was about the good guys beating up the bad guys. It was from these stories that I learned not to tolerate a bully, and inside each bully was a coward just asking to be sorted out.

  I got it into my head that I was going to work the doors and nothing was going to change my mind. I went up to this club one night just as the place was opening up. All the doormen were at the front door, all suited up getting ready for the customers to come. Up I come to the door and I speak to the head doorman there. I explain that I wanted to work the door and needed a job. Now the doorman thought it would be funny just to turn his back and shout to his friends about my size and the fact I wanted to be a doorman. He pushed me away and basically told me to come back when I was bigger. I saw red straight away and shouted to him, “You know what, you arrogant bastard, I’ll fight you right now.” I’m only a youngster and he was a top doorman at the time. My mate who came with me wanted me to go but I was having none of it. I’m still shouting at the doorman who has now changed his tune, in fact he looks worried and tells me, “Er, come back when you’re older mate, I’ll try and get you some work.” He didn’t want to fight and went back in and locked the doors behind him. I turn to my mate and tell him, “You know, by the time I’m seventeen I will be running most of the doors around here.” Well, as it happened when I turned 17, I was running six doors and they were some of the roughest places in Coventry which most other doormen wouldn’t do.

  People started to hear about me and I was getting phone calls to run more and more places, things were really taking off. Out of the blue a Mr G phones me up and explains that he was the community councillor for the Hillfields area [an inner-city Coventry ward with a large ethnic minority population]. There was a drop-in centre for Afro-Caribbeans. It was a very rough place indeed and was known as the “Front Line”. In fact, a police chief inspector had a meeting with us, he told us not to work there, he said the place was too rough and we could get hurt really bad. He informed us that one of his lads went in there undercover to infiltrate the drugs gangs who worked out of there. When the undercover officer was in the toilet some guys grabbed him and tried to cut his throat wide open. If it wasn’t for him using the panic button on his radio he would have been dead. He escaped with just a few cuts and bruises.

  I started working at the centre and also I was bodyguarding the councillor as well. Thing was, the people who came to the centre were happy when they were running things, but when the councillor was put in charge they weren’t happy with him or the way things were run. At the weekend they had a reggae night and on one occasion trouble broke out. I rushed down stairs to find chairs and tables going up, bottles and glasses being thrown. To top it all, the councillor was being attacked. I got him away to his office and returned to the trouble.

  Things came to a head one evening in the aforementioned club when a group of about six coloured lads threatened to “cut me up”. They were giving it the big ’un in front of all their mates. I was the only guy working and because of my colour, and against six blokes as well as the other 300-odd punters that would have no doubt kicked off given the slightest chance and opportunity, I played the situation down and managed to calm everybody and later on cleared the place. The following afternoon, however, whilst walking down the street, I encountered Errol and one of his mates from the evening before. They had made up their minds that I was weak, having taken so much abuse from the evening before. They decided to have a little more “fun” with me. But this time the six were only two and the 300 others were not around.

  Errol pulled a lock knife on me and the other was giving me verbal abuse telling me how his mate Errol was going to cut me up and after that he was going to kick the shit out of me. I used some psychological warfare tactics, saying I wanted no trouble, no trouble at all, pleading for them to leave me alone. Then, bang, as their guard dropped I simultaneously parried the blade arm away and followed with a lead-leg hook kick to Errol’s bollocks. He hit the floor like a sack of shit, trying to catch his breath. I kicked him again and my foot connected with the side of his jaw. His head whiplashed to one side as he let out a painful cry. I had still not finished with Errol: if he had the chance and I did not act first, he would have cut me up, so he had to learn the hard way. I lifted my leg and brought down an axe kick onto his head. He was out there with the stars and Jupiter. I turned and faced his mate who was now doing the 50-yard dash in the opposite direction. I remember giving chase and grabbing him from behind, applying a rear naked choke, taking him to the ground. I’m now on top of him punching and smacking my elbow into him. I noticed he’s starting to lose consciousness. Before I put him away I explain what I’m going to do to him or his mates if I ever get any trouble from them again. I leave him sound asleep on the floor covered in his own blood, and walk off as if nothing ever happened.

  When I was running the door at the centre I also had the door at a pub called The R and another called The G [names changed here]. Of course, I had to get some boys to help cover the door at Hillfields when I shifted from pub to pub. Two guys who were partners ran both pubs. I had to literally fight in one pub then run through an underground walkway then fight in another. If anything, it got me really fit! The R was in those days a really violent pub and to top it off the guys who came there were huge; it was like the land of the giants for me. There was this one big guy there called Shaun, he was a big lump covered in tattoos and was known as a bully, he was about 17 stone and loved to fight. I knew that one day our paths would cross, it just had to happen. This night I’m watching Shaun and he’s getting himself worked up all night, getting louder and louder, making a nuisance of himself. My mate offered to help me sort things out but I refused; it would look better if I did it on my own.

  I get him on his own and I politely say, “Listen mate, do me a favour and keep it down tonight, will you? There are people complaining and we don’t want no trouble here.”

  “Don’t you call me
mate,” came his response.

  I carried on talking politely and put my hand on his shoulder. Why I do that is to test which way he wants to go and sure enough he pushes my hand off and marches away, giving me verbal as well. I’m weighing the fight up already, getting my game plan in my head before it starts. He goes back with his mates and things go pretty quiet. I go upstairs and the message comes up that a fight has started downstairs. I just know it’s Shaun, it just had to be him. I run down and sure enough there he was battering some young student, a kid who just didn’t have a fight in him. I push them apart and tell them to leave it alone. Now the kid is safe but Shaun turns his attention to little Andre; he sees me as his next victim. Big mistake for him. He’s looking confident, of course, he now has an audience watching so he’s playing up to it. Quick as a flash he lunges at me and tries to headbutt me. As he brings his head back I bring up my elbow and he brings down his head onto it, it catches him right in the face. I deliver a Thai kick to his leg and he falls down. As he starts to fall, I’m on him. I’m punching the fuck out of him, giving him everything I have: uppercuts, hooks, elbows and every punch hits home. There’s blood all up the walls, up my arms and, of course, all over him. People are all around us shouting and screaming but what I find strange was that none of his mates jumped on me. Maybe they thought that he would beat me.