Authors: David Essex
Leaving the house and taking a gentle jog to the park, Danny felt amazed at the way the world seemed to carry on as usual. The cranes in the docks loaded and unloaded in the near distance, people went about their business, a postman rode by on his red Royal Mail-issue bicycle. Strange, Danny thought, when it was such a big day for him personally. Strange that life carried on just as usual. Didn’t they realise that today he had a date with destiny?
As Danny ran past the pond, he saw Albert busily feeding the ducks.
“Hello champ!” Albert shouted. “How ya doing?”
Danny breathlessly joined Albert on his favourite bench.
“Nervous, you know,” he admitted. “Full of butterflies about the fight.”
Albert nodded. “That’s a good thing,” he said. “If you was complacent or over-confident, you’d be an easy target.”
Danny looked curiously at Albert. “How did you used to feel?” he asked. “Did you feel nervous when you was in the army?”
“I was too old to join up and fight in the last war,” Albert replied. “But I saw the suffering of the Docklands first hand. These people suffered, Danny. Me, and others like me, we worked night and day to put out the fires and try and rescue the innocent civilians from the endless bombardment. I was terrified. They were tough times.”
Danny saw the hint of a tear in Albert’s blue eyes. There was something very moving, seeing this powerful man show such emotion.
“When I was boxing,” Albert continued, “deep down inside I was always scared. But the trick was, not to show it. Although you must respect your opponents, never let them see that you’re quaking in your boots.”
They were quiet for some time. Just the sound of a horse-drawn milk cart in the distance, floating across the park, the clip-clopping on the cobbles and the clinking of bottles, broke the silence.
“Do you think my dad was scared when he was a fighting soldier?” Danny asked quietly. It was a question that had troubled him for a while. “What do you think he was thinking about before he was killed? Was he scared? Was he thinking of Mum back in England?”
Albert sighed. “I’m sure your dad was a brave man,” he said. “A lionheart. He gave his life for your freedom, Danny. I’m sure he would’ve thought the world of you.”
Danny reached into his pocket and brought out his father’s medal for bravery. He showed it to Albert. “I’m taking this with me tonight, you know, to give me courage,” he confided.
“You do that, Danny boy,” said Albert, smiling. “You’ll be invincible.”
*
There was a real sense of togetherness as Albert and Danny walked side by side through the park. The smell of newly mown grass always reminded Albert of school and the playing field, and the birds were singing in the summer trees. All was calm in a battle-scarred London. The calm before the storm, that physical storm of fighter against fighter.
When they reached the park gates to go their separate ways, Albert and Danny instinctively hugged each other. Men seldom hugged, but now, at this moment, it felt right.
Looking into Danny’s child-like eyes, Albert said: “You will make that dad of yours proud, Danny. I know that. Meet me and Lenny about six at the Baths, champ.”
Danny answered with a nod. A nod that said, there was a job to do and he was going to do it.
The afternoon seemed to last for ever. Danny kept an eye on the hall clock, which at times seemed like it was going backwards.
At five o’clock, it was time to make tracks. A wave of apprehension coupled with excitement filled Danny’s mind. This was it. The forthcoming battle was for real.
He made his way through the streets to West Ham Baths. On his shoulder, he carried his carefully packed sports bag, which he had checked over and over again to be sure he had all he needed for the forthcoming fray. Everything was present and correct: gloves, gum shield, shorts, boots, head guard, West Ham boxing vest. And, most importantly, his prized father’s medal.
Albert and Lenny were already waiting for him outside at the Baths. Silently they walked in together. Part of Danny felt like he was walking into a lion’s den. Part of him felt like the lion itself.
Inside the hall, chairs were being put out. The ring was already set up and overhead lights shone down on the scene, highlighting the centrepiece for the event.
Danny surveyed the scene, nerves raw and jangling. The canvas-covered floor of the ring, the ropes, the red and blue corners. The arena where dreams could become reality and nightmares waited in the shadows.
He turned to Albert. “Why do they call it a ring when it’s actually square?” he asked.
Albert scratched his head. “You got me there, Danny. I don’t know. But I’ll tell you what I do know. You’re gonna do well tonight. Just believe, that’s all.”
Danny, Albert and Lenny made their way to the shabby changing rooms. Patsy nodded at them as they came in.
“All right, son?” he said. “I’ve seen many a young fighter make his debut, and know how insecure and nervous you can feel.”
Seeing Patsy made Danny feel better, more confident. A couple of the other fighters were in the corner warming up, punching pads and skipping ropes. Danny felt stronger being part of the team, surrounded by young fighters like himself. Boys feeling the feelings he was experiencing.
“Listen up,” said Patsy. “Your contest is the second one on the bill. You gotta forget about nerves and concentrate on the job at hand. Can you do that?”
Danny could hear the crowd arriving in the hall: the sound of chairs scraping on the wooden floor, voices from a mixture of ex-fighters, family, friends, small-time crooks and boxing fans filtering through. There was no turning back.
“I can do that, Pat,” he said. “Yeah, reckon I can.”
After hitting a few pads, Danny went to a quiet corner to compose himself. He felt focused and ready, an inner strength welling up inside him.
“I am the lion,” he said to himself.
Inside the hall the level of excitement was rising. The first three-round fight was about to start. An upbeat Patsy left the changing room to monitor his red corner and the progress of the first West Ham boy: a kid from a Traveller family called Elijah Cooper. Elijah had a strong punch and a brave heart, but lacked the necessary boxing skill to overcome his Bermondsey rival. One nil on points to Bermondsey.
The disappointed Elijah came back to the changing room with Patsy’s arm round his shoulder and his dad by his side. Danny watched enviously. How great it would be if his own dad were here. He convinced himself that he could feel his father’s spirit. It was here in the building, he was sure it was.
Patsy delivered a short post-mortem to Elijah and did his best to soothe the boy’s hurting pride. Then he turned to Danny.
“You next, Danny. I believe in you, son.”
Patsy’s words meant a lot. The big Irishman’s belief was not easily earned.
Albert gave Danny a man hug, followed by a mock punch. “You’ve got this, son,” he said, as Lenny gave him a pat on the back and ruffled Danny’s hair.
Patsy’s words filled Danny’s head.
I believe in you, son.
He was ready.
Things seemed to be in slow motion as Danny made his way to the waiting ring. The chatter of the expectant crowd sounded like it was almost under water. Climbing through the ropes and into the lights, Danny heard a ripple of applause for him, followed by a big cheer for the boy from Bermondsey as their fighter made his entrance: shorter, more muscular, and older, oozing confidence.
Danny did his best to not be intimidated, but it wasn’t easy. Albert grasped his face, turning him away from the swaggering gladiator making his way towards the ring.
“Just three two-minute rounds, Danny,” he said, looking into Danny’s eyes. “Six minutes to show what you’re made of.”
The words were going in, but not really registering. Danny felt like a rabbit in a searchlight. Everything felt surreal, like a dream.
Patsy checked Danny’s gloves and head guard. Danny became aware of an announcement, clouded in echo, coming from the stick-thin, bow-tied announcer standing in the centre of the ring.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer began. “In the blue corner representing Bermondsey Boxing Club... Michael Doherty!”
Doherty acknowledged the cheers and applause that accompanied his introduction with a wave to the partisan crowd and a spot of nifty shadow-boxing. There was a cockiness and confidence about him, and he certainly had his followers.
“And in the red corner, making his welterweight debut, representing West Ham Boxing Club... Danny Watson!”
Muted, respectful applause from the hosts greeted Danny, easily eclipsed by Lenny’s raucous cheers.
The referee called the fighters together to remind them of the Queensberry rules and request a good clean fight. He could have been speaking Chinese as far as Danny was concerned. Not much was registering. It was almost an out-of-body experience. Danny felt he was looking down on himself, watching the scene, but not really a part of it at all. He looked into the eyes of his opponent. The sheer hostility he saw there both fazed him and jolted him back to the reality and the gravity of the situation.
This was real.
*
Back to their respective corners, Patsy thrust a gum shield into Danny’s mouth, coupled with a splash of cold water to Danny’s face.
Albert could see that Danny was overwhelmed by the proceedings. The boy needed now to focus and focus quickly if he was to have any chance against the seasoned Bermondsey boy.
“Do it for your dad, Danny,” Albert whispered urgently. “Come on son, make him proud!”
*
Danny struggled to focus as the fighters were summoned to the centre of the ring by the referee, a portly man with an enormous moustache and a bow tie to match.
“Touch gloves now,” the referee instructed them. “Remember – we want a clean fight.”
Danny took another look at his opponent. Doherty smiled mockingly.
“Seconds out!” shouted the referee with a chain-smoking voice.
The bell rang, indicating the start of the match. With one last supportive look to Danny, Patsy left the ring.
“Round one!”
The level of noise from the crowd lifted considerably as the two fighters squared up to each other. Used to the training bubble of the gym, Danny found the shouts and noise distracting. His own breathing inside his protective head guard sounded even louder than the crowd. His legs felt weak, his arms heavy.
He heard Albert’s voice shout from his corner.
“Get your guard up Dan, use the ring!”
Danny was lost and finding it difficult to focus. Blow after blow landed from the Bermondsey southpaw. Danny felt bemused, lost, as the points against him registered and the punches kept coming.
He could smell the leather as Doherty’s gloves made contact, he could taste the blood from his own nose. With just ten seconds to go before the end of round one, he had failed to connect with a single punch. He hadn’t even thrown one.
More by luck than judgement, Danny managed to duck an enormous left hook just a second before the bell. Patsy jumped into the ring and led him back to his corner, amid the derisory boos of the partisan crowd.
Danny felt cold water on his face as Patsy’s fighting tactics flowed over him. Albert was nowhere to be seen. Danny tried to listen to Patsy’s instructions, but wondered where Albert was. Perhaps he had left. Given up on him.
Danny was trying to clear his head for round two when he got a tap on his shoulder. Albert was back. In his hand, he held Danny’s father’s medal.
“For courage, Danny, for courage,” Albert whispered. “Do this for your father.”
The bell sounded for round two.
Something big had changed, Danny was back in the hall, and back in the fight. No more back-pedalling. Now he was the aggressor.
“Yes Danny, jab jab!” Albert cried.
“Keep moving, son!” rang out from Patsy.
Danny was boxing. Motivation, concentration and courage accompanied his every punch and move. With quick footwork and fast hands, Danny won the second round convincingly on points. The Bermondsey boy had met his match.
Danny’s corner was now more confident.
“Keep moving, son,” Patsy barked, sponging Danny’s face. “Keep going, you’re doing good.”
“You can win this,” Albert said simply.
“Seconds out, third and final round!” coughed the referee.
Patsy wiped the blood from Danny’s nose and put the gum shield back into his mouth as the bell for the decisive third round rang out. A slightly stunned but vocal crowd roared the fighters on.
The Bermondsey boy knew this was the round that would decide the winner. It was clear as he sprang away from his corner that he wanted to turn the fight into a brawl and not a boxing match, and he came at Danny in search of a knock-out. But Danny kept to the plan, jab and move, as Doherty’s wild flaying arms missed Danny’s elusive chin.
Danny was ahead on points when a straight left from Doherty made contact, followed by a vicious right hook. Danny literally saw stars as his knees buckled. He should have gone down, but spinning in his head were Albert’s words.
For courage, Danny, for courage. Do this for your father.
A power seemed to come over Danny as he fought back. Having almost been down and out, now he was winning. Punch after punch, blow upon blow rained down on Doherty, a barrage of aggression that brought the crowd to their feet.
Who was this boy, Danny Watson?
In the dying seconds of the round, Doherty was caught by a glorious straight right from Danny that signalled a convincing end to the contest. Doherty, a worthy opponent, crumpled to the canvas.
Albert, Lenny and Patsy were cheering like they’d won the football pools. Lenny was even doing a sort of celebration calypso dance.
“The winner in the red corner, Danny Watson, West Ham Boxing Club!”
Bruised, battered, but elated, Danny and his new family left the ring.
“Get up on my shoulders, man!” Lenny yelled.
“Steady on, Len,” said Patsy, smiling. “That’s a bridge too far.”
Back to the changing room, Danny was walking on air. Handshakes and pats on the back rained down on him.