By
TG Richardson
I had beaten all my friends and any other lad I could coerce into wrestling me around the area where I lived. I was starting to grow bored of it all.
With my friend George Collins I Joined a Youth Club at St Helens. It was held on part of the premises of a large clothing factory. Both George and I were thirteen years old at the time. George had taken up boxing and used to go through to the local boxing club at Shildon. He was he told me doing quite well and really enjoyed it. He had also joined the Army Cadet Force but this didn’t appeal to me. I did not fancy becoming a toy soldier. Strange really as in the end I completed 22 years in the army.
In the meantime Cecil Ramsey one of the trainers at Shildon was going to start training lads on behalf of the ACF at the youth club. A backroom had been suitably equipped with punch bags, balls and other boxing equipment.
George dragged me through to see it all. I watched him sparring with one of the other lads and he looked very good to my inexpert eyes.
Cess Ramsey (who was known to everybody as Cess) asked me if I’d like a go, Okay I reluctantly agreed and put on a pair of gloves. He sparred quite gently with me and I started to get the hang of it. Cess reckoned I was a natural and had talent. This geed me up no end.
It wasn’t long before I was persuaded much against my better judgement and on the understanding that I wouldn’t have to do any of that marching business that I joined the ACF and graduated to the boxing team.
Within six months I was fancying myself as a professional. Another Joe Louis I thought. George I had to admit was much better than I was but I reasoned he was taller and half a stone heavier, The truth was he was stronger, a heavier puncher and overall a much better boxer. But I was a trier. No one was too
My stock at my local grammar school King James the First rose higher and higher. For the first time my reports by the PE teacher were excellent. I was teaching other kids how to box at school and belting anyone I found bullying younger members of the school.
Cess had entered us in the army-boxing tournament, which would if we reached the final be on the telly. What an incentive.
For the Durham Championship we travelled to somewhere in Scotland. We were put up in an army barracks where the tournament was to be held George and I went exploring and we opened one hut door to the sound of "Attention. Stand by your beds". There was an embarrassed silence as our two small figures poked our heads around the door. Beds were lined up down either side of the hut and men were standing to attention waiting to be inspected.
'Come on in lads,' said one of the men.
We walked into the room viewing the kit on the bed in amazement. Everything gleamed and every article on each bed was line up with the one in the next bed and so on right down each side of the room. Laces were coiled like pieces of liquorice bootlace that we used to buy for a penny in the corner shop. Mess tins sparkled as if chromed. Boots with toes gleaming lay side by side. Blancoed webbing with gleaming brasses lay at the foot of the bed. It looked magnificent. The men must have spent hours cleaning and polishing to get to this standard. How many hours I was to learn when I too became a soldier and had similar inspections.
The men in the hut chatted with us for some time and then said we had better be off as an officer would be around any moment to complete the inspection.
(765 words 2pm 17 Nov 92 continue with description of tournament and results of fights and medals awarded)