David Essex - Faded Glory

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.