by Toby Litt
After William had declared Harry Graham victorious, three throws to one, William overheard Graham’s friends give out that he was ‘a match for any man in the kingdom’. William stoutly refused to acquiesce to this assertion; Tom Nicholson remained the better wrestler – and, when it came to it, William was prepared to put the case to issue.
And now the moment for proving or disproving has arrived.
The umpire gives the word, ‘Tek hod’, and the men do.
Although to an outsider the men would look terribly awkward, William is so accustomed to this position that he finds nothing embarrassing or unmanly about it. Quite the contrary, of all occupations this is the one most becoming the healthy male. To enter a contest, one on one, with another.
William has believed this since, twenty years ago, as a boy, he first witnessed Wrestlers like Jemmy Fawcett and William Ponsonby and Adam Dodd, and wished to emulate them. To become a hero like them.
At this moment, William is very conscious of his breathing. To win the bout he will need his wind, so he breathes freely. Mostly, however, his attention is fully upon where he and his opponent touch – the breast and chest. Here is where a wrestler learns the most important things. Does the opponent hold tight or slack? Is he trying to begin by leaning to the left? A straight stander or not? William already has detailed intelligence of Harry Graham, but still Graham may change his approach. A wrestler needs to be all live sensation. ‘It is the feel and not the sight,’ William will one day write, ‘which generally regulates the movements of a good Wrestler, especially at the commencement of a contest’.
William and Harry Graham set for the bout. Right leg forward, left leg back – as if each were trying to walk straight through the other; which, in a way, they are. Their wills are opposed in a very simple way. One must thwart the other.
The texture of Graham’s rough hempen shirt is against William’s left wrist and the top of William’s right hand, which are already starting to feel hot, chafed.
The umpire is content that both men have an equal hold. It has not taken hours, as sometimes it does; occasionally, bouts are even delayed until the following day. This is good, this speed in coming to grips. Harry Graham is here to wrestle, not merely sport.
‘On guard,’ says the umpire.
This bout is the best of eleven falls. A fall could be won by William breaking Harry Graham’s hold, parting his hands, but this isn’t likely, and isn’t glorious. What William must do – somehow – is lift Graham off the ground then throw him down upon it. Either that or kick at his legs and unbalance him, till he goes down – goes unmistakably down. But not so hard, of course, as to injure him.
William wants this contest to be fair but decisive, so all the good judges, the knowledgeable onlookers, will agree he was the best man. In particular, he wishes to convince the Egremontians. It must be no dogfall of a bout.
‘Justice, and fair play between man and man, should be the invariable motto of every Englishman.’
William’s right ear is against Harry Graham’s left ear. This is the closest William ever comes to another man, because it is as close as any man may legitimately come. Now is when William is able to tell, by smell, whether – as some wrestlers do – his opponent has partaken of the ‘waters of life’. This may make William’s task easier, though to some it lends a wildness and energy they would otherwise lack.
William feels his feet easy and firm upon the ground.
And ‘Wrestle!’ calls the umpire.
Harry Graham instantly makes vigorous play. He is known for his activity.
The world, for William, is suddenly nothing but muscle and grass. What was far away disappears, and what was close by now seems almost inside him. He finds it hard to tell what is his weight and what his opponent’s – both must be used.
The beginning is important. To come back from falls down is difficult, for Harry Graham knows that William has to attack, and this gives him an advantage. Graham can wait, respond. The beginning needs to go well.
And it does not go well.
William is looking up at Harry Graham, and behind him at the pale sky – because William has been thrown, thrown again, and again.
But the loss of three falls, instead of depressing, only rouses William’s energies; the listlessness which pervaded his whole frame at the start of the contest now gives place to that animated feeling arising from exercise, and the situation in which he is now placed.
The situation being that his friends are looking on, Robert Gibson among them. William cannot allow himself to be defeated, not with honour at stake.
When William’s eyes accidentally meet those of his particular friends, they are surprised to discern in them that peculiar expression which clearly indicates he feels himself perfectly at home.
Yes, he is another Antaeus – invincible on his home turf. Hercules figured out Antaeus’ weakness. By holding Antaeus aloft, breaking the link between man and land, Hercules won.
But Harry is no Hercules; although by some pounds the heavier man, the advantages of length and strength are much against him.
A change has taken place in William. The situation is essentially altered. He well knows that Harry Graham, against a wrestler such as himself, has not the slightest chance whatsoever.
This is the moment of mystery that all sportsmen know – the man who is losing suddenly becomes aware, with complete surety, that he will triumph. He sees. Each grass blade. Each eyelash. His hands are more than hands. A god has descended, and the human form it has taken is William’s.
Perhaps Harry Graham senses this, for when the time comes to take hold again he pins William’s right arm down on William’s ribs, and grasps William as tightly as he can to his breast. This draws boos from the crowd. Harry ignores this, however – maintaining a grip that will give him an unfair advantage.
Perfectly aware of Harry Graham’s intentions, William regulates his own actions accordingly. He takes a gentle hold of Harry’s back, and stands as far away from him as he will allow, feet apart. Then, shifting forwards, William offers his body to his opponent’s grasp in a way that makes it impossible for him to refuse, without seeming weak.
Harry gives a grunt of satisfaction. He tries to pull William as close to him as he can. He is ready to push against William with all his strength. William resists for the moment, until the referee shouts ‘Wrestle!’ But then William gives way, stops throwing the weight of his body forwards and, at the same instant, he strikes his opponent’s heel with an inside clip. Harry Graham is off-balance, outwitted, not meeting the resistance he expected.
The instant his heel is struck, Harry Graham falls violently backwards – and in the act of falling, throws his hands loose; allowing William, therefore, to go lightly over, instead of falling heavily upon him.
To describe the electrical effect this scientific performance has upon the immense multitude is impossible.
William walks instantly to that part of the ring from which he had advanced, while the discomfited Harry Graham, after rising and looking for a moment after William, his newly-revived antagonist, with no very enviable sensations (he knows he is beaten), follows William’s example, being well aware that the best method of escaping the critical scrutiny of the crowd is to smile, and seem indifferent to the outcome.
William wins the next fall, and the next, and the next! And instead of the expected victory, Harry Graham is somewhat obligated to fortune for the one fall out of the other eight!
Eight falls to four.
The shouts of victory for the Champion of the Green.
He has won.
The other man has lost.
They shake hands.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Dad; Leigh, Henry & George; Aunt Shirley; Georgina & Charlotte; Uncle Tony; Australian Cousins John, Sandy, James, Sue, Jane.
Bill & Margaret Hartley, for thirty years of research into the Litts & Hartleys; & their daughter Jane, for perspective.
Roger & Sue Robson, & all their
family, Simon, Andrea, George & Eddie, Ian, Catherine, Anna & Gemma, for putting me up and setting me right.
Rebecca Shawcross, Shoe Resources Officer, Northampton Museums & Art Gallery, for Top-Boots.
Olga Patricia Holin, for The Fight Between Carter and Oliver catalogue image.
Josh Clayton, Jarndyce Antiquarian Books, for Henry & Mary information.
Aoife Monks, for typefaces.
Dr James Kneale, for pubs.
André Robichaud, for Montréal.
Vicki Onufriu, for Saint-Martin.
Dr Richard Virr, Archivist, Diocese of Montreal, James Sweeny, Archivist, Diocese of Quebec, and Lucy McCann at the Bodleian Library, for Reverend T.A. Young.
Pippa Griffin, for ponies.
Gordon Gray, for village bells (leading to my first appearance in The Carlisle Diocesan Guild Bell Ringers’ Newsletter, Issue 30).
Faith Lawrence, Ian McMillan, for Verbing.
Ms Victoria Slonosky, McGill University, Quebec, for research into William’s possible friendship with Charles Smallwood.
Cathryn Summerhayes, for agenting.
Mic Cheetham & Andrew Kidd, for previous agenting.
Jenn Ashworth, for dissecting.
Rachel Seiffert, for librarying.
Alex Warwick and David Cunningham, for housing.
Matthew Nichols and Guy Jaouen, for Wrestliana 2.
Cocteau Twins and Nick Drake, for life-support.
I received a grant from The Society of Authors’ Authors’ Foundation, which was bloody fantastic.
I would also like to acknowledge the support of Birkbeck College, and all my colleagues there.
PHOTOGRAPH AND OTHER CREDITS
The photographs on pages 63, 106 and 109 are by unknown press photographers.
I took most of the photographs of the 2015 wrestling. But those on pages 189 (Figure 16) and 192 (Figure 19) are by Jill Robson.
Photographs of me winning like a boss in the chapter ‘Actually Wrestling’ were taken by Linda Scott, Chairman (sic) of the CWWA Wrestling Body.
The photograph on page 287 is by the great John Minihan, taken in Cork, 2015.
The painting on page 198 appeared in the show ‘Sporting Art in Britain’ organized by Christie’s, 6–22 January 2003. The title is ‘The Fight Between Carter and Oliver at Gretna Green, October 4th, 1816’. It is in a Private Collection.
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Copyright
First published in 2018
by Galley Beggar Press Limited
37 Dover Street,
Norwich, NR2 3LG
All rights reserved © Toby Litt, 2018
The right of Toby Litt to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, so please don’t re-sell it or give it away to other people. We want to be able to pay our writers! If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please visit http://www.galleybeggar.co.uk and buy your own edition, or send a donation to make up for the money we and our author would otherwise lose. Thank you for understanding that we are a small publisher dependent on each copy we sell for our survival – and most of all, thank you for respecting the hard work of our author and ensuring we are able to reward him for his labours.
A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library
Paper ISBN: 978–1–910296–89–9
This ebook ISBN: 978–1–910296–91–2
Original typeset by Tetragon, London
