Faded Glory (7 page)

“Well done, Danny!”

“You beat him, mate! You got him!”

This was respect. This was it.

“Keep calm for the losers, boys,” Patsy reminded them. “They was good fights, all of ’em.” But his words fell on deaf ears.

Albert was taking off Danny’s gloves when a happy Lenny came back in through the door after picking up his winnings from a very suspicious bookie.

“There’s a visitor for you, champ,” Lenny said, grinning.

Just as Danny thought the night could not get any better, he saw Wendy standing in the doorway.

“I wouldn’t like to meet you down a dark alley,” she said with a smile.

“Wendy, you came!” was Danny’s joyful reply as he picked Wendy up in his arms. “Thank you!”

WITH Wendy now on board and cautiously behind him in his quest for glory, Danny was feeling invincible. He started slacking off on the training, coasting through gym sessions. The world was his for the taking.

“Don’t let it go to your head, lad,” Patsy warned. “Your next fight’s against a boy from Dagenham, a lad called Trevor Grey. He’s never fought in an amateur contest, so it’s going to be tough to judge his form or work out tactics for the fight.”

“No problem,” Danny said with a shrug. “I’m gonna teach him a lesson.”

Patsy looked concerned as Danny shadow-boxed around him.

“I know what I’m doing, Patsy,” Danny insisted. “This kid don’t stand a chance. You worry too much.”

On the night of the fight, the venue in Dagenham was packed. Danny started showboating when the referee introduced him, to boos and catcalls from the local crowd. The kid he was fighting, Trevor Grey, looked nervous.

“Be careful out there,” Albert warned as Patsy shoved the gum shield into Danny’s mouth. “Don’t take this boy for granted. We don’t know nothing about him.”

Danny felt irritated. Did his last fight count for nothing? “Ain’t you seen the kid’s face? He’s scared,” he said. “This is gonna be over quick.”

He leaped up, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Wait,” said Albert, fumbling in his pocket. “I’ve got the medal.”

“Don’t need it, Albert. Not for this one.”

Danny touched gloves with Trevor Grey. Winked.

“Seconds out!” cried the referee as the crowd roared.

Ding ding!

Danny came out, his guard held low. He wanted to laugh at his new opponent as he moved around the ring. He could have done this in his sleep.

“Come on then,” he challenged, grinning. “Ain’t you gonna hit me?”

Hit him Trevor Grey did. A massive right hand almost lifted Danny’s dancing feet into mid-air. Danny saw stars, felt the rough canvas on his cheek. Then nothing.

*

“...nine, TEN!”

Danny became dimly aware of cheering and the stink of smelling salts under his nose. His voice sounded groggy, like it didn’t belong to him.

“What happened?”

“You lost the fight,” growled Patsy. “And it was bloody embarrassing. Albert? Get this Wonder Boy out of my sight.”

Albert led Danny silently through the yelling crowd to the changing room. Danny could barely put one foot in front of the other. He winced as Albert slammed the changing-room door behind them.

“I thought you were serious, Danny.” The disappointment in Albert’s voice filled Danny with deep regret. “I thought you wanted to be a fighter. You lost that fight because you thought you were too good, you thought it would be easy. You need to take a good look at yourself.”

Danny sank on to the bench. “Leave it, will you?”

“Remember I told you to always respect your opponent? Well, you didn’t. You took the piss and you paid for it. Listen to me. If you want to keep working with me and Patsy, you need to change your attitude. You’ve done well up until tonight, but you’ve got too big for your boots. Think about it.”

Albert left Danny by himself. His head felt full of cotton wool and his heart ached. It wasn’t just himself he’d let down. It was Albert and Patsy too. The knowledge hurt worse than his jaw.

What would his dad have thought of his performance tonight?

Not much. That was for sure.

Patsy and Albert came back into the changing room. They stood side by side, arms folded.

“I’m sorry,” Danny croaked. “It won’t happen again.”

*

Training continued. Albert and Patsy monitored Danny closely, making sure that the boy’s training regime was up to scratch and Danny’s commitment was restored. Danny worked hard to build himself up. He was determined not to let down his team again.

Months wore on, and then years. Danny fought in amateur contests all over London, building his experience, and often maintaining his winning form. Albert was especially pleased with the fights where Danny won with a knock- out, as he had spent considerable time teaching Danny to use the power of his shoulders as well as his arms in his punches.

Danny’s reputation grew with the passing of time. He was often stopped now for a handshake and a respectful “Hello” from the locals. Wendy and her rather snobby parents were impressed and beginning to enjoy the reflected fame.

“My daughter’s boyfriend is making waves as an amateur boxer,” Mr Bristow was fond of telling his workmates, in a bid to enhance his manliness at the factory and prove to them all that he wasn’t just some distant supervisor, detached and out of touch. “The boy’s future looks bright.”

For all his increasing fame, Danny was still working part-time as a hod carrier on one of the many building sites in London sprouting out of the bombed ground. Because of the job’s physicality, it was almost like training, and of course it brought in some much-needed money. There were times though, when the alarm clock shook and rang on those dark damp mornings, when Danny wished that his boxing path would move up a gear, bringing glory and a more secure financial future for him and Wendy.

They sometimes talked of getting engaged.

“You could be my fiancé,” Wendy would sigh, and Danny would choke and laugh and warn her off ever calling him something so poofy.

Mr and Mrs Bristow, together with Rosie, were both of the opinion that Danny and Wendy were too young. But it didn’t stop the young couple from dreaming. They talked about weddings, and a family in the future maybe, and where they would like to live. Chigwell seemed top of Wendy’s list.

The riches, fame and glory that his new career could bring him shone like a light at the end of a long dark tunnel. Danny wanted it all and more. But at the same time, he had a true passion for the sport, and an even stronger wish to be remembered as a good fighter, just as Albert was.

On the evening before any contest, Danny had now developed a sensible regime. He would spend a quiet night in, collect his thoughts and try to relax. Tonight he had a fight in Peckham. Thankfully Rosie had gone away for the weekend, for a short break in Southend. Danny wasn’t really sure who she was with. Ricky or Ted, most likely. He felt the usual nervous anxiety, but there was a different feeling tonight. A feeling of wanting to prove his commitment, take the next step up the career ladder. After a good night’s sleep, he set off on his daily run along the road to the park. These days he had proper running shoes, kindly donated by Lenny. As he pounded the streets, he went through the instructions and tactics for the fight, making meticulous preparations over and over in his head.

Albert was on his way out of the park after his morning duck feed.

The two friends met by the park’s red and green bandstand.

“All right, son?” said Albert.

Things were indeed all right, thanks in many ways to his unlikely friend and mentor. Danny felt the need to thank Albert for all he had done, and reassure him that he was serious about his boxing career. But Danny wasn’t sure how to put his gratitude into words. He didn’t want to sound like a softy. Knowing Albert and his dislike of sentimentality, he settled for a less potentially embarrassing, more general conversation.

“So, how do you think I’m doing?” he asked as they sat side by side on the park bench.

“You’re doing good.”

There followed the kind of comfortable silence that is perfectly fine between friends. After a few minutes, Albert broke it.

“You’re a special fighter, Danny. All right, you let yourself down on your second fight, but I’ve seen hundreds of would-be champions, boys who never had the skill and the attitude needed to make it. You have the skill and the attitude. You just gotta believe, that’s all.”

Danny felt indescribably moved by Albert’s words. They meant a lot to him. “Right,” said Albert, standing up. “I’d better get going.”

Danny called as Albert walked off. “See you later.”

Albert bent down to pick up a piece of stray litter and put it in a nearby bin. Danny smiled at Albert’s love and care of his park. He’d wanted to say so much more to thank Albert for guiding him to this new horizon, but when they’d been sat side by side, the words hadn’t come out.

“Thank you, Albert,” Danny whispered now as his mentor moved on across the park, dead-heading dying roses as he went. “Thank you.”

*

As the sun went down behind the ships and dormant cranes in the early evening, Danny made his way to the battleground, alone as usual. It was the best way to do it. With just himself for company, he could focus more on the job in hand. The distraction of small talk, or indeed any talk, would be a nuisance.

On top of the bus to Peckham, he visualised the fight, the tactics. Patsy had been on at him to keep his guard up as lately, in training, he had started to let his hands drop. The burly Irishman had also reminded him to concentrate on moving; to box, not brawl.

“Show your natural gift as a boxer,” he’d said. “And make sure you avoid getting drawn into a toe-to-toe slogging match.”

Reaching the hall, Danny found his way to the changing rooms. Most of the West Ham boys were already there.

“All right, Danny?”

“How’s it going?”

Danny felt strengthened by their presence, like he always did. They were a strong and close unit. Being part of a winning team and training side by side brought them all closer. It was almost a brotherhood.

Patsy was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s not too happy with the way the temporary ring has been erected,” Elijah told Danny when he asked. “He reckons it’s loose or something.”

“A bit like your arse Elijah!” said someone else, to a burst of laughter.

The door burst open and an irate Patsy came storming in.

“Bloody amateurs,” he snarled. “What a piss hole. Everyone here? Danny? Good lads, listen up. Peckham has some dangerous fighters, but there’s none more dangerous than our Danny’s opponent tonight, the toast of South London, Billy Anderson.”

The West Ham boys hissed. Anderson had an enthusiastic following and a really impressive record of twenty-six wins, including eight knock-outs and just one loss. And this was only the beginning of his career.

“The boy is a scrapper, not a boxer,” Patsy continued, fixing Danny with his gaze. “If he catches you, you will know it.”

Danny knew all about Billy Anderson. He listened carefully as Patsy outlined the tactics for the fight once again.

Wendy wasn’t coming tonight, as over the last few days she’d been feeling sick. Danny had told her to stay at home and not to worry, he would be fine. But it was still good to see Albert and Lenny arrive to support him. They felt like family these days.

“Looking good tonight, Danny!” Lenny said cheerfully. “That Peckham lad ain’t got a hope!”

Danny’s bout was second on the bill. With Lenny’s words of encouragement ringing in his ears, he made his way to the ring with Patsy and Albert at his side.

“Jab and move, Danny,” was Albert’s advice as the crowd cheered and crowded around. “Out-box him, don’t get involved in a street fight.”

“Yeah, out-box him, son,” Patsy agreed. “You’re the better boxer, keep your distance.”

Danny could still hear Albert’s stinging rebuke from all those years ago, when he’d lost to the Dagenham first-timer through stupidity and over-confidence.
Don’t you ever take for granted that you’re gonna win a fight. You must always, always respect your opponent.
It had been a humiliating defeat that had hurt Danny badly, and one he was determined never to repeat.

When Anderson arrived in the ring, it was clear that he was the local crowd’s Big White Hope. There had been a lot of talk in recent weeks about him turning professional. He was the hot shot, and Danny, for all his growing reputation, was the underdog.

Anderson seemed to have muscles on his muscles, and Danny could sense his aggression. Tonight, Danny was far from over-confident, and his nerves were raw.

“Seconds out! Round one!”

Just as Patsy had warned, Anderson came out with a vengeance. Danny tried to box, to keep his distance, but the fury of his opponent was intense. He managed to avoid some of the more telegraphed, windmill-type punches, but was caught by a body shot that winded him badly and brought home the vicious power of Anderson’s punch.

Round one went to Anderson, the Peckham boy.

“Keep out of trouble, lad,” Patsy barked, back in Danny’s corner.

“You’re doing OK,” Albert encouraged. “Keep moving, jab and move!”

The bell went for round two. Anderson, buoyed by the winning first round, came out like a Tasmanian devil, aiming for the kill, spurred on by a partisan crowd baying for blood.

Danny tried hard to follow his corner’s advice, but when three vicious blows landed on his head guard and chin, his knees started to buckle.

Dimly he heard Patsy yelling.

“Get your guard up, Danny!” Patsy yelled as a right to the ribs winded Danny again. The referee was looking anxious and on the verge of stopping the fight. If the fight stopped, the contest would be awarded to his opponent. Danny felt a slow, burning anger as he lifted his gloves. He’d had enough of being a punch bag. It was now or never.

With a power he had not shown before, he summoned all his energy and began to fight back.

“Box him, Danny!” Patsy shouted. “Box him!”

But Danny wasn’t listening. If Anderson wanted a street fight, he was going to get one.