Chris Eubank - Chris Eubank - The Autobiography

Although at times we were desperately poor, I was a happy child. I adored the very ground my mother walked on, still do. I went everywhere with her. Unconsciously I used to follow her every step around the house. Sometimes she would suddenly stop, playfully stick her bum out and boom ! I’d crash into her backside. I adored her, my mum. She ruled with a firm hand too – in Jamaican households you do what you are told and you do it the first time. That said, she only used to beat me with a foam slipper which weighed about two grammes! It was like being hit with a piece of paper, but I was more concerned about the expression on her face. I was desperate not to upset her. She never smacked me with her hand and my father only ever used a belt.

Despite my father’s difficult circumstances, he always said he had a good life. Why? Because he never let it weigh him down, he never had a chip on his shoulder. These are two facets of his personality that I have inherited and are vital factors in my psyche and subsequent success. Like father like son.

At first, life in the UK had been happy and in 1974 my parents were married in Hackney. However, shortly after, when I was eight, my mother left my father and went to live in New York. I didn’t see her very often between her leaving and me travelling to New York aged 16. It wasn’t until then that I found out one of the reasons why she had left. I kept asking over the space of a year why she had moved away; she broke down and explained the situation to me several times. She told me that when she would come in the front door another woman would leave out the back. He was a womaniser and she had had enough. At least, that’s what she told me. That is not what I subsequently found out to be the case, but I will come to that later in my story. Even then, as a 16-year-old boy, I knew that this is what some men are like, and I did not think ill of my father. The laws of morality are expounded by the scriptures but, to some people, actually applying these principles can prove very testing. I understand that a lot of men stray. I know men who stray; that is life.

Back in 1974, however, leaving the marital home was not a decision my mother could have taken lightly, especially in the light of her deeply religious views. I think removing herself from that situation as a wife was relatively easy; what was hard was walking away from her children.

Growing up without my mother, I knew that we had very little money even though my father worked incredibly hard. He took a job at the Ford plant in Dagenham, where he smoothed iron on long shifts, six days on days, six days on nights. He was a hard man, not least because he’d had a tough upbringing himself, but also this was back-breaking work for a pittance of pay. I can vividly recall us all getting up at 5am to jump-start his Ford Cortina so he could get to work. He earned £90 a week.

It is fair to say that my father was a disciplinarian. However, I wouldn’t say my upbringing was a hard life; it was correct. We got the strap as punishment so often that I began to become quite apprehensive of him. In retrospect, I have no problems whatsoever with him using the strap, even though I would not do the same with my own children (I use my hand on the bottom if I am going to smack them). The strap is not excessive, but the impression this gives a child is not necessarily always good.

Although he sometimes made me feel anxious, he was a brilliant, colourful character whom I loved dearly. My father was a very generous man. Although we had very little money, he was still very giving. He would often buy six or seven mangoes, which he would wash himself, then take the plateful out into the tenement courtyard for his friends and neighbours to enjoy. Whatever he had, other people could have. My father also had a very good sense of humour. He was a character, with his limp, his bald head and his short stature. I haven’t known any other man with his degree of charisma and humour. In a Jamaican sense, my father was ‘dread’, meaning ‘magnificently cool’. When I was a teenager, I thought he spoke very good English but in fact he didn’t really, it was like a dialect he could switch on at times.

He rarely gave me advice but when he did it was right; he was strict to ensure we behaved in a correct manner. He would talk to us into the small hours, making good points but repeating himself – as drunk people do. I would understand what he was saying the first time but we couldn’t fall asleep; if we were close to dropping off he would cut his eye at us, and bang the doors. This again was mostly for effect to get our attention. He was a man of few words but when he did offer advice, it was very telling, and as the months and years went by, I realised just how correct he was.

Dad slaved away, bringing us up on a shoestring; he stayed the course for us. I remember the police coming for my brother Peter one night when he had been up to no good and my father slammed the door in their faces – he would chastise us if we stepped out of line, but he closed ranks when it was needed. He didn’t quit on us.

One time I had broken into a games arcade with a friend of mine, stealing about £2000 in ten pence pieces. We were dragging these very heavy sacks of coins along the floor, and needed some help. I called my father and he helped us load the money into the boot of his car and take it to a friend’s house. However, the police arrived shortly afterwards and we had to jump across their neighbour’s balcony to escape. This may sound like my father was happy to see me carry on in this fashion: he wasn’t but he didn’t give me a hard time about it either because he was resigned to the fact that he had to help his son. This was one of the reasons I was sent to America, I couldn’t stay out of trouble and this was my father’s way of helping me break free.

His language was fabulous to hear; he was a yardman, a Jamaican. Ironically, he talked Jamaica down quite often, saying, ‘Jumayka a de wors’ country inna de worl’. Inglan a de bes’ cuntry inna de worl’. Jus’ look pon de nym . . . Jumayka!’

He lived his life to the full, for the here and now. He loved women, gambling, drinking and, when he was drunk, cursing. Life was never dull when my father was around. I loved my father. I adored him. I still do, even though he died in July 2000.

Even though my father’s behaviour with other women had provoked my mother to leave, it was his approach to life that I drew on to keep myself buoyant in difficult times. He would never allow himself to be weighed down, as I have explained. This had rubbed off on me so much that when my mother left, I just looked at that as having one less person to dodge. With father working such long hours, I was pretty much my own boy, so in many ways her absence was a marvellous thing. I had so much to do and see and get on with. I could let all my rage out, which was good for me.

Problems never lay heavily on my young shoulders, and that was, and still is, one of my greatest gifts. I know that parental splits destroy some kids, but I guess much depends on your frame of mind. Indeed, one of my brothers didn’t handle their split at all well and still carries some resentment towards my mother to this day. I have never held a shred of bad feeling towards my mother for leaving. That was the way my life was and I accepted that. She had not let me down because you have to take into consideration her circumstances. It wasn’t even a matter of forgiveness, that had nothing to do with it. It was a matter of acceptance.

So many people tell me how my childhood must have been very difficult. It wasn’t. It was life; it was fun. I enjoyed my early years and had a fantastic time. Yes, those council estates were miserable sometimes, but that never dragged me down. Maybe I don’t remember the bad parts because I don’t want to, but that is not how it seems to me. People who are always bemoaning their lot have the mentality of those who are losing. The mentality of people who are winning is to adapt and accept. Of course, I did not articulate or even have an awareness of such an attitude when I was young; it was just the way I was. My mother didn’t let me down, neither did my father.