The Mammoth Book of Hard Bastards (Mammoth Books)

by Robin Barratt

  In the first round of Holyfield vs Cooper, the unthinkable happened. Cooper caught Evander with a left hook that nearly made the arena crumble and fall to the ground! If Evander was not near the ropes, he would not have got up, nobody could. Evander grabbed the ropes, his legs going in different directions. Tyson must have been kicking himself but the Warrior cleared his head and, God knows how, stopped Cooper in seven explosive rounds. After watching these guys going at each other in sparring, the undefeated bare-knuckle champion of Britain Joe Savage pulled out with a hand injury!

  Talking of Tyson, one of his genuine friends (because he has a lot of “yes” men around) is “Big” Joe Egan from Birmingham via Ireland. The tongue-in-cheek title of his book is The Hardest White Man in the World. Joe was a very tasty boxer who admires Roy Shaw. I met Joe at a Dave Courtney party (that’s about the only bit I remember!) and I took a photo of Joe and Roy together. Joe, who is a gent and great company, is a real fighting man who can really have a proper row and by that I mean eighty wins by the age of twenty-four, a Golden Gloves Champion who went the distance with Lennox Lewis and beat Bruce Seldon. That’s how good. Joe did a prison sentence and Roy’s book Pretty Boy helped get him through it. He is a top bloke. Good on ya, Joe!

  Back to Joe Savage. In April 1994, he challenged who he thought was a “shot” (burned out) Bert Cooper. Every top pro I have ever met has been keen to tell me that fighting is their full-time job. Tim Witherspoon, a gentle giant, told me he would train sometimes six to eight hours a day, six to seven days a week. They hire the best sparring partners available, top dieticians and physical conditioners. They get loads of sleep, prepare well mentally and study videos of their opponents; in short, they eat, sleep and breathe boxing. Most unlicensed fighters, unless you happen to be Roy Shaw, have full-time jobs! So, even a “shot” top fighter will nearly always beat an unlicensed or cobble-fighter. Joe Savage was way out of his depth and he knew it. Britain’s undefeated bare-knuckle champion was knocked spark out in sixty-five seconds and in that time hit the deck twice. Savage retired after this fight.

  One of the youngest bare-knuckle champions ever was just fourteen when he was crowned Romany champion. He was from Galway, Ireland, and his name was Billy Heaney. He won bare-fist titles again at sixteen, twenty-one and twenty-four. Not bad at all. There are a lot of real champions out there who don’t do the celebrity thing, but they are the real deal.

  My great friend “Welsh” Bernie Davies is an extremely hard man! Human beings are supposed to be made out of flesh and bone but Bernie is made out of pure muscle fibre. He is currently (November 2008) in prison on a firearms charge but we communicate often by letter. He is one of Wales’s toughest men with his bare fists and has an “old school” manner, which means he’s not a big mouth who offends people. Bernie is a friend of all the “chaps” and we all hope the powers that be have some compassion for Bernie, whose wife is extremely ill. Bernie, though, is too big a trophy for them and since when did the law have compassion?

  But Bernie won’t be forgotten and his brutal battles in the Welsh Valleys shall never be forgotten either. Talking of Wales, if you think you’re hard, give it large in any pub in Merthyr Tydfil and see if they are in the mood to give you your limbs back!

  Lately, America has gone mad for a six foot two, thirty-four-year-old block of muscle called Kimbo Slice. His real name is Kimbo Ferguson, but, after a nasty cut over the right eye he gave to an opponent called Big D. Ferguson (obviously, no relation), he acquired the nickname Kimbo “Slice”. Kimbo built his reputation on bare-knuckle brawls, or, as they say in America, “underground” fights. After an awesome reputation built in fields, barns and warehouses with his bare fists, Kimbo got bored of knocking huge men spark out on the cobbles and trained for the mixed martial arts circuit and fighting in the octagon. Recently he fought a former WBO boxing champion (famous for annihilating Tommy “The Duke” Morrison, star of Rocky V, and having a chin of iron!) and beat him in under three minutes.

  Kimbo has become an internet legend, with sites showing his fights receiving thousands of hits. He has become a phenomenon and now has his own website where his bare-knuckle fights can be seen. I think it’s hard to know whether Kimbo Slice is a true and brutal bare-knuckle warrior or a piece of American novelty and a money-spinner, the latter of course being what the Americans are so good at. Everything has to be a brand and business with a slogan or two and Kimbo is being made into a star. Kimbo can certainly have a fight, but is a touch wild and plodding. I’m not sure if he could do the business against Britain’s top knuckle men or fighters like Ian Freeman. Ian is a good friend and the problem when a boxer fights a man like Ian is that, once a boxer’s legs are taken away, it’s game over!

  If you can box and grapple, choke and hold, you are in the driving seat. Have a look at a busy street anywhere on a Saturday night at those who are drunk and get into a fight: 90 per cent will end up on the ground. So if you are strongly trained in fighting on the floor, the fight is yours. I have rarely seen two guys come out of a club or pub for a fight and both men stay on their feet like a real cobble-fighter.

  In fact in 1990, when I was eighteen, two friends of mine came out of a club called the Top Hat near Ealing, London. The two lads looked good when they got into a fight, as they were both boxers and were slick, not like these idiots who have a few drinks and suddenly think they are Reg Kray and start flailing their arms like a windmill. (How many blokes do that? You almost expect their dad to come and put their hand on the guy’s head as if they were a kid!) They were moving around well, when one slag ran past and, with full force, he swivelled and plunged a carving knife straight between our mate’s ribs. You could actually hear it enter, crack and then a squishing sound. The knife was a kitchen knife and he must have been trying to kill my pal before legging it! This was when very few places had CCTV. When the paramedics arrived we could see a huge hole opening and closing like it was breathing! Our pal was in intensive care for two months; he only just made it.

  We knew that the prick who stabbed him was one of the “firm” we were fighting and after a bit of research to find him (like torturing his mates) he spent three months in intensive care!

  There are always two sides to every story. Like the rivalry between Henry “The Outlaw” Francis and Jimmy Stockin, two top gypsy knuckle men. My close, trusted Welsh pal Julian Davies, or “Juggy” as we call him, wrote a book called Streetfighters in which he presented Henry’s version of this spiky old rivalry, so I feel I should write Jimmy’s account to balance things out.

  Jimmy Stockin fought 180 amateur fights – that’s some going. One day at Peterborough fair, Jimmy had been on the ale all day and he was well pissed. He was well aware that his arch rival Henry Francis was at the fair. Jimmy bumped into Henry, stumbling, not in an aggressive way but just drunk. Jimmy wasn’t looking to start a fight but Henry thought he was and threw a few punches at Jimmy, cutting his face. Henry was hardly affected by drink at all, unlike Jimmy, so Jim knew this was not the time. They made arrangements to fight in the morning but Henry had gone. He had left the site and gone back up north. A man called out: “Henry didn’t know it was you, Jim.”

  “Too bad, I’m coming after him!”

  The next meeting should have been in a Doncaster pub, right on Henry’s doorstep. About thirty travellers from West London went along because you have to prepare for the worst. This was a bold move: this was really northerners only and a London “face” was on his way looking to fight. As they pulled up, Henry’s father and brother were there but said again: “He didn’t know it was you, Jim.”

  They were sure that Henry’s mob would be in the pub and burst in through both doors to keep everyone in, but once again, no Henry Francis! They waited around for a few hours but he didn’t show, so they went back south. And that was that. Now, when Henry hit Jimmy a few times, Jimmy would have been well pissed. I have seen Jimmy after a few “sherbets” many times and if he hadn’t been leaning on the bar, you could push
him over with your index finger. It’s a very different story when Jimmy is sober, though.

  Jimmy Stockin and his brother Wally (another good fighter and one of the “firm”), Joe Smith, Johnny and Bobby Frankham are certainly not bullies but I think Henry Francis was trying to make them look like a pack of wild men.

  Unlike my experience of Lenny McLean, everybody has informed me that Bartley Gorman was a complete gentleman and family man. The problem again is that he was not the unbeaten superman he made out and was never the “King of the Gypsies”, as he claimed in his book of that title.

  Here’s an example. Gorman claims that he challenged Roy Shaw, Lenny McLean, Bobby and Johnny Frankham and everyone was too scared to fight him! Now, a lot of the gypsies had not even heard of Bartley before his book came out. Bartley Gorman claims: “I challenged Johnny to a bare-knuckle fight a couple of times at Doncaster Races. I was heavier than him but he was quick and experienced. I would liked to have tested my boxing skills against his.” I related this story to Johnny Frankham who nearly choked on his beer laughing! I know a hell of a lot of good gypsies and nobody had heard about these challenges!

  Bartley also claims with confidence: “If Mike Tyson and Lennox Lewis were fighting in one field and I was fighting in the next field, all the gypsies would come and watch me.”

  What do you think?

  I also personally asked Roy Shaw, Joey Pyle and Les Stevens about Bartley Gorman and no one knew who he was. If a challenge was made, Joey Pyle, who was Roy’s promoter, would have known but he didn’t. In Bartley’s book there is a photograph of him posing, with the caption, “Taken in 1974 when I challenged Roy ‘Pretty Boy’ Shaw”, but Roy wasn’t released from prison until 1975! Bartley says he was at the Shaw vs Donny “The Bull” Adams fight in December 1975, so why didn’t he challenge Roy in the ring then, or at any of Roy’s fights, as this is how fights were made back then?

  Bartley’s book makes the “King of the Gypsies” sound like an official title given by a well-organized body. It’s not, and just like “the Guv’nor” it’s a very loose term. You don’t fight for the title of “Guv’nor”, then defend, lose or get stripped of it, and it’s not an ongoing event. It’s not like a pro world champion who has to first win a world title and then defend it.

  “King of the Gypsies” is the same. It’s not an official title as Bartley Gorman makes it sound. That’s why, after all these years, John Frankham is still thought of as “King of the Gypsies” because it’s to do with the type of man you are – it’s more a lifetime achievement award. Otherwise, Joe Smith could lay a claim because he had nine unlicensed fights and no losses, but Joe has never claimed it because, even to him, the title belongs to Johnny. It’s like Ali being called the “greatest”. When Frazier and Norton beat him, they didn’t become the “greatest”, did they?

  I remember the first time Roy Shaw ever laid eyes on Bartley Gorman and it wasn’t in a field or warehouse, it was at Reggie Kray’s graveside. Roy shook his hand like he has with millions of strangers everywhere. When I told Roy it was Bartley Gorman he looked at me as if to say, “Who’s that?” My mate Liam, who knows every “face” because he films them all the time, can be heard on the video asking Bartley, “And who are you, mate?”

  Bartley looked a bit put out and mumbled, “Bartley Gorman.”

  Sometime later, I showed Bartley’s book to Roy. When he read the bit about him being challenged Roy went completely mental and he said: “Why the fuck is everyone lying about me just to get a gee up? It’s lies and always about me just to make these slags look like something when they are nothing!” He then said: “Tel, you know every fucker there is to know, find this bloke and tell him I will fight him now! Fucking NOW!”

  Those instructions were pretty clear, so I rang Joe Smith as a starting point. Joe was with his cousin Billy and mumbled something to him as if he was checking something. Then he said to me:

  “Telboy, tell the Guv’nor to calm down. Bartley Gorman died a couple of months ago.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “Cancer I think, mate.”

  I mumbled, “God rest him,” and thanked Joe.

  I told Roy the news. He was still in a rage but as soon as I told him he said: “That’s terrible for his family. Did he have kids? Perhaps we should send flowers?” I respected Roy for that because the family man and the fighting man meant two different things to him. He could have said something really nasty but instead he was respectful.

  A few weeks later, Roy and Joey Pyle looked through Bartley’s book. They looked at the photos to try to jog their memories. Along with coppers, it’s obvious that a gangster or villain has to remember names and faces – you wouldn’t get very far without that skill. Neither Joe or Roy could place Bartley Gorman. When Bartley challenged Bobby Frankham, Johnny’s nephew, it was clearly a publicity stunt that Bartley would not have gone through with and none of Bobby’s team were contacted. Bobby himself thought it was a publicity joke. He was still in his early twenties but had assaulted a referee in a pro fight and lost his licence: his number one priority was to get his pro licence back. An illegal bare-knuckle fight on a boat was not the way to achieve this – that’s obvious!

  It’s hard to write about the dead. I have full respect for the way Bartley conducted his life, he was a true man – the problem is purely about his claims to fights. The man commonly regarded as the “King of the Gypsies” is “Gypsy” Johnny Frankham, that’s a fact.

  It’s also a fact that gypsies (mostly English) and “tinkers” (mostly Irish) for the most part hate each other. I know a place where one side of the street is gypsy and the other is tinker with the road being no man’s land. A lot of gypsies don’t even travel, they stay on a site. And I have had countless punch ups with idiots who claim to hate “pikeys”. If they went into a real gypsy home, they would be in awe, especially at Johnny Frankham’s. (I wouldn’t get any ideas about trying to rob it though. Ha!)

  Never underestimate a man just because he is not huge with bulging biceps. Billy Cribb (author of Tarmac Warrior) is also a rather small man but he has the heart of a lion. Most people think that the bigger the muscles in your arms, the harder you will punch; that if you pump iron like a maniac, the size of the muscle will increase and therefore so will your strength. It doesn’t happen like that. What you are given naturally in terms of power is pretty much where you will stay. I used to tell people this in the gym but it usually fell on deaf ears.

  Say, for example, you are doing bicep curls with heavy weights: yes, your strength will improve but ONLY on bicep curls! If you are pumping out leg extensions you will get stronger but ONLY on leg extensions. In other words, bicep curls will not make you punch harder. In fact, if you don’t stretch the muscle enough after the workout (which 99.9 per cent of people do not!) you will actually decrease your power by losing range and making you more open to injury because you are so tight. Look at Ali or Sugar Ray Robinson or Joe Louis: they are loose and supple which means they can throw punches from every angle.

  The key is to keep the muscles lengthened and well stretched, and to have perfect timing and accuracy. Arnie-type biceps are no substitute for a shot of speed and timing that your opponent never saw coming and carries the element of surprise. Remember heavyweight flop Bruce Seldon? He should have been able to knock a barn door off with the muscle he carried and so should Frank Bruno, but it doesn’t work that way. Evander Holyfield, my particular hero, may spend an hour training his arms but he would make sure he spent an hour-and-a-half stretching them back out again.

  About seven years ago, I was pure muscle because in my free time I worked out in the gym. But I was as stiff as a board and my restricted movement actually decreased my punch power! Yet I have seen many a good fighter lose a fight before it started because he has seen the size of his opponent’s biceps! I have sparred with countless people and don’t think I have ever been in trouble with a body-builder sort. The most painful are the tall, sinewy, snappy, natural punchers.<
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  You can’t put muscles on your chin. Bruce Seldon had huge built-up arms but no heart – it’s like a lovely looking car with no engine. So never underestimate a man by his muscle or general size, it’s a recipe for disaster. A man like Freddie Foreman is not a huge muscle-bound lump but he has the heart of five lions! If you want to beat him, you really would have to kill him. Now, that’s a lot more useful on your firm than a steroid-filled lump who in truth is only doing that to himself to try and cover some sort of insecurity in the first place. Why else would you want to take steroids, get to mammoth size and oil your muscles? It’s because you are trying to hide something or make up for the lack of something. The heart of men like Foreman cannot be trained into you, it is something you are born with.

  Richy Horsley from Hartlepool fought on one of my shows and displayed all the attributes that a real fighter needs. In his second unlicensed fight he showed power, movement, mental strength and raw primitive courage. That’s pure fighting instinct. It’s not thinking – it’s just sheer, raw, caveman-type survival. Richy has had many street fights and I can imagine has done some real damage. Richy and I didn’t see eye to eye all the time but my respect for him as a modern-day fighting man is 100 per cent. There’s such a very small circle of respected, staunch men left who could be so strong together and make some real money, that I do actually find it upsetting when people in such a small, trusted group fall out. It’s a tragedy because you can’t just replace them, they are tried and tested and it’s usually misinformation or something stupid that screws up what should be a team!

  On this occasion, Richy had accused me of things that must have been planted in his head because it came out of the blue and I honestly could not make sense of it. I was accused of getting him beaten on purpose. Well, only the fighter can win or lose, not the promoter, plus the fight was a classic and he lost – just! If I had wanted him beaten, I would not have put someone in who was going to struggle!