David Essex - Faded Glory

“Is it all right if I use the phone?” he stammered, hardly able to speak for excitement. “I want to tell Wendy.”

Patsy laughed and slapped him on the back. “Don’t make it a long one, or I’ll get you to pay the bill.”

The Bristows’ number seemed to ring for ever.

“Wend!” Danny shouted the moment Wendy picked up. “Patsy has put me in the club team. It’s brilliant ain’t it!”

Wendy sounded cautious. “Is it?”

Danny was taken back by Wendy’s lack of enthusiasm. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “It is.”

“So what does it mean? That I’ll see even less of you?”

Danny’s excitement leaked out of him like air from a balloon. “I’d thought you would be pleased,” he said. “It’s an achievement. You can come and watch and that.”

“What, watch you get your face punched in? I don’t think so.”

“Look, I’ll come round tomorrow and we can talk about it.”

“Not much to talk about, is there Danny?”

There was an awkward silence. Danny hadn’t been expecting Wendy to be so down on his news.

“I love you,” he said.

Again Wendy was silent.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” said Danny, still trying to sound upbeat.

“See you,” Wendy replied and put down the phone.

Danny slowly put the phone down. From being full of elation, he now felt deflated. This breakthrough had been what he had been training for, but the most important person in his life still seemed against it.

“Good on ya, Danny!”

“You’re ready, champ!”

Leaving Patsy’s office, Danny was cheered and congratulated for his achievement by all the boys at the gym. He couldn’t help feeling the irony as handshakes and congratulations showered down on him. All their good wishes and congratulations felt somehow empty without the girl he loved feeling the same.

THE next few weeks were spent in jogging round the park under Albert’s watchful eye, intense training at the gym with Patsy, and attention to diet.

Danny had knocked the fags on the head and was trying to eat decent food.

He was in good shape and felt ready for his debut.

He’d told Wendy about the upcoming fight the night after he’d been selected. Things had thawed a little with Wendy as Danny explained how proud he was to be representing the much-respected West Ham boxing team, and how it could be the first step on the ladder to a successful career. Although there’d been a glimmer of respect in Wendy’s eyes, Danny had also felt her indifference.

“You will come, won’t you?” Danny asked. “I want you to be there supporting me, Wendy. There at the ringside. Will you do that?”

“I don’t like you boxing, Danny,” she said quietly.

“But will you be there?” Danny persisted.

She didn’t say yes, but at the same time she didn’t say no. Danny was hopeful.

A week before the contest, Danny, now registered as a welterweight at ten stone and ten pounds, was called into Patsy’s office.

“I’ve just heard that you’ll be fighting a dangerous Bermondsey southpaw called Michael Doherty,” said Patsy, coming straight to the point like he always did. “How do you feel about that?”

Danny felt apprehensive. “A southpaw is a bit tricky, ain’t it?”

“The boy has a reputation. He is experienced, and was on the threshold of turning professional but didn’t quite make it,” said Patsy. “He’s holding a strong record of sixteen wins to his name and just three defeats. This is going to be a challenge, Danny, and you need to be up for it.”

The reality of the forthcoming battle was now dawning on Danny with force. “I’m up for it, Patsy,” he said after a moment. “You know I am.”

Danny couldn’t deny that the southpaw conundrum was daunting. He began sparring with the two left-handers at the gym, but found the unorthodox style a bit of a mystery. Time and time again he was getting caught by big shots, but kept going. After all, he wanted to win this battle, to repay Patsy, Albert and Lenny, to make Wendy and his late father proud of him. Albert was impressed by his dedication, and Lenny, a betting man, was intent on putting some money on Danny.

“Now all you have to do is actually win, man,” Lenny chuckled.

Fight night was imminent.

Danny had told his mum about the fight, but she wasn’t coming.

“I ain’t gonna watch my lovely son get bruised and battered,” she’d said. “I’m going down the pub with Ricky instead.”

Danny wasn’t surprised. He was familiar with taking second place to Rosie’s liaisons. And Wendy hadn’t yet said if she would actually come.

Danny decided to go to bed early, to get a good night’s sleep for the big day ahead. However, Rosie and Ted the train driver’s noisy bedroom antics (not unlike a train coming out of a tunnel) meant not too much sleep was actually had. The tunnel of love wasn’t a good combination with Danny’s nervous anxiety. Tossing and turning till the early hours, long after Rosie and Ted were spent and with a head full of Albert’s and Patsy’s tactics for his big fight, sleep proved elusive.

With dawn peeping through the window, Danny reached underneath his bed for his treasured tin box, looking for solace, comfort and resolve. As he looked at his father’s photo, his dad’s war medal for bravery seemed to strengthen his own courage. At that moment, there in his small familiar bedroom, he felt invincible. Reassured and tired, he fell back into a restless sleep.

By the time Danny awoke at about ten, Rosie had already left for work at a shop in Stepney that sold electrical appliances. Ted had scarpered in the early hours, keen to avoid Ricky, who had a bit of a reputation.

It felt right to be alone this morning. Danny had a job to do, a point to prove. Any distraction would be a negative.

Albert had kindly bought Danny a steak, a luxury in those post-war days, and had told him to make himself steak and eggs for breakfast. “Give you strength for the fight on the day,” he’d said. Danny cooked up the suggested menu in a frying pan and tucked in, not feeling that hungry, but following orders.

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.”