Ivor ‘The Engine’ Jones

Ivor ‘The Engine’ Jones is a decent, law abiding citizen.   He’s never been in trouble with the police in his life.  However, in the days when he took centre stage in the ring, if they had made stealing the show a criminal offence, Ivor would have been up there with Britain’s most wanted.  Be it at York Hall or the Albert Hall, Ivor rarely took a backward step from the first bell to the last, and his drawing power was phenomenal.  His family and friends travelled from North Wales in their coachloads, the Newmarket racing crowd came to support him en masse, a throwback from his days as an apprentice jockey, and he rapidly built up a staunch army of devotees from London, where he made his home in 1979.  In a sport where selling tickets plays such a crucial part, this quiet man of boxing and his barmy army of fans were every promoter’s wildest dream – although perhaps with the exception of the night when he came in on the wrong end of a close decision in the ABAs, and his followers became so irate that they send a pool table flying out of the window!

Born in Holyhead on 8^th April 1954, Ivor comes from the most solid and supportive family.  “My dad’s name is William, my mum’s name is Elizabeth, and I’ve got two brothers, Colin and Robert, and one sister, Sharon.  My dad was the coxswain and the pilot on the Holyhead Lifeboat for about 30 years.  When my dad used to go out to sea, I didn’t really understand the danger he was in, to be honest, because I was too young to realize.  But I remember my mother used to sit up at night worried sick, listening to the radio in case there was any news.  When my dad was on the lifeboat, he was awarded a silver medal and two bronze medals for saving people.  My dad is 90 years old now, and he’s always supported me in whatever I’ve wanted to do.  We’re best friends, and we get on absolutely brilliant.  That’s meant a hell of a lot to me over the years, as it would to anybody, I should think.  My Uncle Llewellyn Jones boxed as a professional.  He’s passed away now, but, when I boxed, he used to follow me everywhere.  He loved coming to see me, and he was there every time.  He was all ‘Ivor this’ and ‘Ivor that’ and he supported me like anything, being an old pro himself.”

“I was working when I was 12 years old.  I done paper rounds and everything like that, but labouring on the building sites was my first job.  Then I left home at 15 to become an apprentice jockey at Newmarket for the trainers, Fred and Robert Armstrong.  I was at Newmarket for five years, and I enjoyed it.  I never had any races, but I went out on the gallops all the time and it was brilliant, fantastic!  I rode with some of the best jockeys in the world, like Lester Piggott, Brian Taylor and Willie Carson.  There were loads.  We didn’t really get to know them.  We just used to say little things about the horses, but that was it really.  Then, about 25 years ago, I was working in London and I was looking after a big house in Victoria, and who knocked at the door?  Lester Piggott.  I couldn’t believe it!  I was just looking after the house and he’d come to meet the owner.  He didn’t recognise me, but I knew who he was obviously, so we had a nice little chat then.”

Aside from the racing, as did many of the stable lads, Ivor also enjoyed boxing.  He was 17 when he first met his then-to-be trainer, Colin Lake, and theirs was a friendship that has lasted to this day.  “I was in my teens when I met Lakey for the first time.  All the lads used to spar in the loft at the Exeter House Stables.  There was an old ring in there, and we used to have to sweep up the straw first.  We used to have wars and I was useless really, but Lakey was coming up there watching and he said he could see a bit of potential in me.”

The bond was formed, and Ivor became one of Colin Lake’s protégés.  As an amateur, Ivor won the prestigious National Stable Lads Championship three times.  “Winning the Stable Lads was very important, definitely, not just for me and Lakey, but for the Armstrongs as well.  So it was good for everybody, and I got a big picture in Sporting Life.  But I was always going to turn pro.  So, in 1979, Lakey brought me to North London.  I stayed with Lakey for a while, and then I got a flat.”

That’s my boy (Ivor with his trusted trainer, Colin Lake)

In October 1979, Ivor made his professional debut against Carl Gaynor at the Lewisham Concert Hall.  “When I turned professional, I had to go for my medical and this doctor was trying to find my reflexes.  He kept hitting me on my knee with a hammer and nothing was happening.  In the end, I was getting fed up, so I just kicked my leg out.  He said ‘I knew I’d find his reflexes,’ but he didn’t find nothing.  I’d just had enough of him hitting me with his hammer!  When I came out to fight Carl Gaynor, I felt great.  I really wanted it.  Carl was a nice little boxer, but I was so confident and I stopped him in the third round.  I loved being a boxer.  I loved the discipline it gave me, and I only cared about winning.  I would have fought for nothing, to be honest.  If I’m going to do something, I’m going to win.”

“I had some decisions that went against me that I definitely didn’t agree with.  To tell you the truth, the same thing happened to me in the amateurs.  I fought the best and I knew I beat them, but that’s what boxing can be like.  It’s all politics and promises.  I beat Robert Hepburn on points in my fourth professional fight.  But, when I boxed him in the amateurs, in the ABA quarterfinals, I knocked him down five times in three rounds, and they gave him the decision.  The crowd didn’t like it and there was a riot.  That was at the Cambridge Leisure Centre, and the pool table went right out the window!  I think all the later fights were put off, they went right into one, but I wasn’t even thinking about any of that.  I was mad because I didn’t get the decision, and that was all I could think about.”

“In the pros, I boxed John Dorey twice, both times at York Hall.  Me and John used to spar nearly every single day up the Thomas A’Becket and we were good friends.  But, when it comes to boxing, it’s business.”  The Engine was firing on all cylinders for both of his fights with the Eltham man.  The first time, in September 1982, Ivor beat Dorey by half a point, and the pair of them received a standing ovation, together with a generous cascade of nobbins.  They fought again the following March, this time for the vacant Southern Area bantamweight Tttle.  It proved to be another blazing battle and, this time, when the referee raised Dorey’s glove at the end, Ivor could only stand bewildered in his own corner.  “You see, for me, the Southern Area Tttle was going to be a steppingstone.  It was a starting point.  I was looking much further ahead than that and, when the referee raised Dorey’s hand, I couldn’t believe it.  I believe I won the second one easier than the first one.”

“One of my favourite fights was when I stopped Kelvin Smart at the Albert Hall.  Frank Bruno was top of the bill that night, and me and Bruno shared the same dressing room.  I think Bruno knocked his man out in three, and I stopped Kelvin Smart in two.  I got him with my favourite shot, my left hook to the body, and I really wanted that win, because do you know what he said?  The referee called us to the middle of the ring before we started boxing and, as we touched gloves, Kelvin Smart said to me ‘You Welsh bastard!’  I wouldn’t mind, but, when he won the British Title, I went and congratulated him and shook his hand.  So I knocked him down the first time and he jumped back up, but I think that was just reflexes.  So then I had to knock him down again.  My Uncle Llewellyn had just died before that fight, so, after I’d won, I grabbed the microphone and I done a speech at the Albert Hall.  I dedicated that fight to my Uncle Llewellyn.”

The Engine pulled into his final station in December 1985, when he lost a points decision to Shane Sylvester on a National Sporting Club dinner show.  “I already knew that it was gone by then.  The spark had gone away, and I knew I wasn’t the same fighter.  I never told Lakey at the time, because I knew he would have pulled me out and I didn’t want that.  But, after that fight, Lakey knew and he said ‘Right, you’re never fighting again,’ and I respected his decision, because, to me, Lakey is the best trainer in the world.  He’s my best friend.  We’ll argue.  It don’t matter where we are, and we’ll argue.  But everything I’ve learned has been off Lakey.  When he trains a fighter, he gives everything.  He did it with me, he did it with Colin Dunne, and I’ll always stick up for Lakey, no matter what.”

“The thing was, I was working all the time during my boxing career, on the roofing mostly, and the only regret I’ve got when I look back is that I should have packed work in really.  I knew I needed a few quid to live on, but I should have roughed it a bit more, so I could have concentrated more on the boxing.  I think, for any professional boxer, it is hard when you retire.  You don’t know what to do.  Some people go drinking.  But I was lucky, because I went straight into training.  I started working with Lakey down the Angel ABC, and we’re still doing that to this day.”

Ivor and Lakey enjoying a pint after training the lads down the Angel ABC in Islington

On the face of it, Ivor’s demeanour is quiet, a trait that some mistake for shyness.  But, give him half a chance and, in what he deems to be the right circumstances, he’ll give you a glimpse of his mischievous sense of humour.  Along with Colin Lake, he is still very much a regular face on the ex-boxers circuit, and Lakey’s feelings for his longstanding pal came through loud and clear when I asked him for a quote to finish off this piece:  “When Ivor was boxing, he fought the best, and you wouldn’t want him in front of you, I’ll tell you that.  I’ve worked with some great fighters, and Ivor is one of them.  All these years, he’s worked with me training the lads at the Angel, and I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Ivor.  It would be too hard.  Me and him are the same.  One minute we’re arguing, and the next minute we’re laughing, but I’ll tell you this.  Ivor is like a son to me, and I think the world of him.”

Joe with trainer, Bill Wakefield

Joe Crickmar is a much loved regular at the London Ex Boxers Association (LEBA) meetings which take place on the first Sunday morning of every month at a pub in Old Street.  With his craggy good looks and silver hair, together with his warm character and quiet wisdom, Joe could effortlessly put one in mind of an actor, or maybe a vicar.  As a boxer, he fought the best British heavyweights of his era, and he held his ground admirably with them all.  Born in Stepney on 4th January 1930, Joe’s fascination with boxing came to fruition in 1947.  “I first got into boxing when I was 17.  I went to the Stepney Institute, initially for carpentry lessons.  A lot of my friends were there who I knew in school, and they were boxing.  Johnny Gudge was the trainer at the boxing club.  Actually, Johnny went onto become a member of LEBA, and it was him who got me to join the association about 40 years ago.  Johnny Gudge was a terrific trainer.”

“I had about ten amateur fights, and then, when I was 18, I went in the army and did my National Service.  It was 1st April, the day I joined up, April Fool’s Day!  I joined the Royal Engineers as a sapper, working with the bombs.  I was stationed in Singapore, and I won the Inter Services Heavyweight Championship at Changi Barracks.  I got beat in the Far East Championships by Lance Sergeant Huggins of the Grenadier Guards.  Then my sergeant said ‘I’ve matched you in the Amateur Championships of Singapore.’  I went straight into the final, and I beat a big Malay Indian.  I knocked him out and I won the Championship at the Happy World in Singapore.  During my time in the army, I got made up to a Lance Corporal, and then I got made up to a full Corporal after that.”

“When I travelled over to Singapore it took a month to get there, and when I finished in the army it took a month to come home again.  The Empire Windrush took me out there, and the HMS Devonshire brought me back.  I went back to the boxing club and I won the London ABA Championships against a fella called Eddie Hearn.  I beat Hugh Ferns in the National semi-finals, and I got beat in the finals by a fella called Albert Halsey.  That was in 1951.  I can’t remember exactly how many amateur fights I had, to be honest, but I know I had a lot.”

“Then, when I was 22, I turned professional.  I used to idolise Freddie Mills, and he used to come round my house to try and sign me up with Nat Sellers, but I’d already said to Wag Wakefield that I’d go to him, so that’s what I did, and my trainer was his brother, Bill.  They looked after me all right.  When I was boxing, I used to model myself on Freddie Mills’ left hook and Joe Louis’ left jab.  Bill Wakefield used to say ‘Punch through them, not at them.’”

“My last amateur fight was a win against Dinny Powell.  Then, funnily enough, in September 1952, I had my professional debut against Dinny, at Wembley Town Hall, and I beat him on points.  I also fought Dinny’s brother, Nosher, later in my career at Harringay.  Before I boxed Nosher, I’d just had a hernia operation and my spring wasn’t in my feet the way it usually was.  Anyway, I got Nosher in a corner in a clinch, and he had his tongue out.  I caught him with a right uppercut and he nearly bit his tongue off!  The bell went, and he won the fight on points.  If that had been a little bit earlier in the round, I would have beat him.  Nosher had to have five stitches in his tongue after that.”

The boxing fraternity moves in mysterious ways, and it was a random conversation between fellow LEBA member, Ivor ‘The Engine’ Jones, and one of his workmates that resulted in Joe being visited last year by a real blast from his past.  Ivor’s colleague said he knew an ex-fighter from the 50s named Mick Cowan, who had boxed a man named Joe Crickmar, and you can guess the rest.  It had been 60 years since these two onetime warriors had met, which was when they boxed as professionals at the Royal Albert Hall.  So Joe had the surprise of his life when, out of the blue, Mick came strolling through the door of a LEBA meeting to find him.

Old opponents, Joe with Mick Cowan

“I boxed Mick Cowan twice as an amateur, and I got the decision against him both times.  Then we boxed as pros in April 1953, and I won that one on points as well.  Then, after we boxed, he came over to my house in Stepney Green twice to see me, and both times he missed me because I was out working.  So the first time I saw him after all these years was when he found out about LEBA because of Ivor.  He came all the way from Battle in Hastings to see me, and now he’s one of our members.  Mick was a good fighter.  I was frightened of his left hand, because he had a good left hand.  In fact, it took me all my time to get out of the way of his left hand. He had a better left hand than Joe Erskine!”

“I boxed Joe Bygraves three times, and I stopped him twice.  The first time was in June 1953 at White City.  It was one of Jack Solomons’ competitions, and they were picking the names of the boxers out to box each other.  They said “Joe Bygraves will fight”, and they all went quiet in the dressing room, and then they said “Joe Crickmar”, and they all started talking.  We got in the ring and Bygraves came out in the first round, banging and banging, and I was covering up.  The second round I let go with a left hand, right hand, left hook, and he was on the floor.  He was completely knocked out, and his handler said afterwards that it was because the sun got in his eyes.  So I had a return with him up in Liverpool five or six weeks later, and I knocked him out in the fifth round.  My wife, Rose, wrote to the paper and asked, ‘If the sun got in his eyes at White City, did the fog get in his eyes at Liverpool?’”

“The first time I saw Rose was when I was doing demolition work for my dad.  I used to work for my dad as a builder and we used to do work down her street on the bomb damage, and I used to see her then.  We got married in 1953, and we got a letter from the Queen, because it was the same year as the Coronation.  We received a photograph of the Queen and a big congratulations card, and we’ve still got that on the sideboard.”

Joe was the first man to beat Derbyshire tough-guy, Peter Bates, in 1954.  “I boxed Peter Bates up in Birmingham.  Rose came to see that.  She was at ringside.  I beat him on points, but he did put me down in the last round.  I got up straightaway, and then the bell went, and the local paper said ‘Crickmar saved by the bell’, but I beat him on points easy.  That was the first time Rose came to watch me box, and the last time.”

“I boxed Joe Erskine in February 1955 at the baths in Leicester, and he won it on points.  When Joe wrote his life story in the Daily Telegraph, he said ‘I boxed Joe Crickmar.  I beat him then, but I’d like to fight him again to make sure I’d learnt what he had taught me.’ Joe Erskine said that, and I’ve got in black and white.  So that was nice.  A month later, I boxed Henry Cooper at Earls Court.  He stopped me in five rounds.  I wasn’t as fit really as I was when I fought Erskine, or anybody else like that.  In the fifth round, he cut my eye and the referee stopped it.  I had to have eight stitches in my right eye.  But I kept getting cut eyes all the time, like Cooper.  We were the same like that, because we both had very prominent eyebrows.”

“My last but one fight was against Albert Scott, the South African Champion.  That was at Belle Vue, Manchester, and he cut my eye in the fifth round.  Then, in my last fight against Ron Redrup, I got cut again.  Wag Wakefield used to say ‘Your eyes are your life,’ and I was getting too many cut eyes.  In the end, that’s why I turned it in, and also because my wife wanted me to as well.”

“The thing I loved most about boxing was the fitness.  I used to love being fit!  I was running over the park every morning.  I’d go to the gym every night straight from work.  It was nice, and I loved all the people as well.  It was really lovely.  But retirement didn’t affect me at all.  I was a jobbing builder, and I just went to work to earn a crust of bread.  I’ve got three brothers, Reggie, Ronnie and Kenny.  We were all in the building trade with our father, and we were all happy together.”

These days, Joe is well-known at our LEBA gatherings for keeping us all in the picture with his excellent photograph books, which are made of clipped photos from old editions of the Boxing News. “When I first started coming to LEBA years ago, some people used to show you little photos, and I got an interest in it.  So I’ve been doing that for many years now.  What I look forward to most about our meetings is meeting up with all the boxers. They all come up to me to talk to me. They really make you feel like you’re a somebody, and it’s lovely.”

Joe with the Author at a LEBA meeting.

Dixie Dean back in the day.

Dixie Dean, a popular Londoner who boxed out of Covent Garden, held the position of landlord of the Prince Arthur Pub in Shoreditch for 35 years, where he was very much the host with the most.  Indeed, many an ex-boxer could be found supping at Dixie’s place on a regular basis.  The Prince Arthur was a stone’s throw from where the London Ex Boxers Association hold their meetings on the first Sunday morning every month.  Before Dixie’s retirement from the pub game, as the LEBA meetings were winding down for the day, one of the most bandied about questions in the place used to be “Are you going over Dixie’s?”  These days, Dixie is free on Sunday mornings, so LEBA is the big winner because now he comes to us, and his effervescent company is always in big demand.

“I was born in Islington on 13th November 1942, and I’ve been called Dixie since I was one day old.  I was born in St Mary’s Hospital, and my aunt came to see me.  My mum had called me Clifford, and my aunt said, ‘I ain’t calling him that.’  My dad was nicknamed Dixie, so that’s what I got called by the family.  My aunt and uncle were killed during the war and my mum brought up my cousins.  When my youngest cousin was 17, she picked a letter up one day that was addressed to me, and she went to my mum, ‘Who’s that?’  She didn’t realise that Clifford was actually my name, because everyone called me Dixie.”

“I had a very good childhood.  I had one brother.  My father was away during the war.  My mum was Italian, and my grandparents had a café in Clerkenwell, but it was bombed out before I was born.  So we got put up in temporary accommodation in Islington, and that’s where my family have been living for most of my life.  Personally speaking, I’ve been away a lot.  I went to Jersey when I was 15 and I spent a year working on the docks with a lot of Scottish boys.  Then I come back and went down Smithfield Meat Market.  Then, when I was 17, I went in the Merchant Navy for just over two years on the Australia and New Zealand run.  Then, after I finished boxing, I lived in Spain for 12 years.”

“From when I was at school, I always wanted to be a boxer.  There was no one boxing in my family.  They were all cricketers.  My father played for Middlesex with Denis Compton, but he was more in the second team than the first.  I had my first amateur contest when I was eight years old at Holloway County School and I won, and I’ve still got the plaque.  My first club was Covent Garden.  Then, when Covent Garden closed down, we all moved to Fitzroy Lodge.  There was me, Kenny Field, Vic Andretti, all us.  I was very good friends with Vic Andretti.  We went to school together, and we’ve known each other all our lives.  Bill Chevalley was my trainer there, and he was a great man.  I had a really good time in the amateur boxing.  I had 141 amateur fights altogether and I had quite a good record, although, funnily enough, I lost the important ones really.  I lost about 30-odd, I suppose.  I did win the London Schoolboys final, and I got beat in the National Semi-finals.  I got to the London ABA Finals, and I got beat by Ralph Charles.”

Whereas nowadays, there are more southpaws about than you could shake a stick at, when Dixie was boxing, they were a rare commodity.  As such, they were often encouraged to adopt the orthodox stance.  “Bill Chevalley used to say to me ‘You’d be much better off turning round.’  I’m not saying I didn’t try, but I probably didn’t try hard enough, because I am naturally left handed, although, when I had an operation on my hand and I was out from boxing for a year, I learnt to write with my right hand and I write right-handed now.  So it just goes to show that you can do these things if you have to.”

“I turned pro when I was 21.  I was working for the Evening Standard in those days.  My father was the publisher of the Evening Standard, so he got me so I could work 10 until 3, which meant that I could do my running, go to work, and then, at 3 o’clock, I’d go to the Thomas A’Becket and train.  Danny Holland took over as my trainer and Jim Wicks was my manager.  I had a very good relationship with both of them.  My first professional fight was with Vic Brown at the Empire Pool at Wembley.  Going in for my professional debut, I was a bit overawed.  When the bell went for the first round, Vic Brown ran right across the ring, stopped in front of me, and he was jumping about all over the shop, hitting the air.  Joe Lucy was in my corner with Danny Holland, and I froze.  Joe Lucy had to pinch my bum to galvanize me into action, and I stopped Vic Brown in the first round then.”

“After my fourth fight, the British Boxing Board of Control said I had to box an eight-rounder.  I fought the Welsh Featherweight Champion, Billy Thomas, at Lewisham Town Hall.  In my first four fights, two ended in the first round, one ended in the third and the fourth one ended in the second, and you always worried about stamina when you were going up in distance.  I beat Billy Thomas on points over eight rounds, and that was a big step up for me.”

“When I look back, I often wonder whether they pushed me too quick.  Also, I was unfortunate.  I got to about fifth in the rankings, and I broke a bone in my left wrist called the scaphoid.  It happened while I was sparring.  I was boxing with it broke for two or three fights, and I was always complaining about the pain.  So Jim Wicks sent me to Lord Tucker in Harley Street, and the operation took seven hours to do.  I was out of boxing for a year, and then I came back, but it wasn’t the same because I found that I was hesitant to throw my left.  The good thing is that, these days, I’ve got no problems with it whatsoever.”

On his second fight back after his recuperation, Dixie experienced his first professional loss against Terry Gale at the Albert Hall as a result of a badly damaged eye.  “That was a tragedy!  I had him on the floor three times in the first round.  In the second round, I jack-knifed him.  I hit him in the stomach, he came forward and smashed my eye.  The referee had to stop it.  He told me afterwards, every time my heart beat, the blood was spurting, and it wasn’t really a disqualification thing because it wasn’t intentional.  It was just one of those things.”

“My favourite fight as a professional was probably when I got a draw against Colin Lake at Bermondsey Baths, because me and Colin were friends.  I knew Lakey and he knew me.  We didn’t used to spar because we were in different gyms, but we used to go running every Sunday together.  Obviously, we both wanted to win, and he thought he won it and I thought I won it, so the draw was the perfect thing really.  One funny thing that I remember was the Krays were on one side of the ring supporting me and the Richardsons were on the other side of the ring supporting Lakey.  Lakey is a great guy.  We’ve been great friends all these years.  That’s what I miss about boxing now.  The youngsters don’t become friends.  They hate each other before they get in there.  I know it’s putting bums on seats, a lot of it, but I think it’s a shame because it’s sort of degenerated boxing a little bit.”

Dixie and Colin Lake, old friends.

Dixie’s last ring appearance was against Jimmy Anderson at the Lyceum Ballroom.  “I didn’t know that was going to be my last fight. To be honest, I simply walked on to one and I got stopped.  That fight was in the April, and we never used to have boxing in the summer in them days.  So I went to Italy for six weeks, just to have a rest.  When I came back, I couldn’t make nine stone again.  I tried and tried, but I just couldn’t.  The tragedy was, about a year after I retired, they brought in the junior lightweight division, which I would have done comfortable.  I wanted to move up to lightweight, but Jim Wicks wouldn’t have it because I was too small.  I would have been giving away too much weight.  I fought some tall featherweights, but lightweights, they would have been well above me.  So Jim Wicks was 100 per cent right, although I didn’t think so at the time.”

“Because I was so despondent, I went and lived in Spain, where I met some very rich Arabs who set me up in a big business.  I was a partner in three nightclubs, and a big café on the front of Benidorm.  I had 12 good years over there.  It set me up money-wise, and I lived like a millionaire.  When I went to Benidorm in 1966, there were only five hotels there, so I was there right at the beginning.  Then, when I came home in 1978, the Arabs bought me out of the business.”

“That’s when I went into the pub business.  I was landlord of the Prince Arthur for 35 years, and it’s a big chunk of your life.  I loved it, because I like talking to people.  That’s why it’s taken me a bit of time to adjust in retirement.  But I think retiring from boxing was probably harder because, when I retired from the pub, it was my decision to call it a day.  With boxing, it wasn’t my decision, although it was the right decision, without a doubt.”

“I’ve been a member of the London Ex Boxers Association since the early seventies, right from the beginning.  It’s great because, now that I’m retired, I can attend regularly.  The thing I love about it is you can see all your old friends, and make new friends, because we’ve all boxed at different times.  It’s great, because it’s all to do with boxing and boxing personalities.  Obviously, you can’t like everybody.  But, in boxing, it seems that you do.  They’re all polite, especially the ones from my generation.”

With respected trainer, Harry Monger.

Life, as they say, can be a funny old game.  When Tony Rabbetts was eight years old and his father sent him down the boxing gym to follow in the footsteps of his brothers, Tony was far from over the moon about the prospect.  However, the way things worked out, Tony’s dad did boxing a hell of a favour.

Founder of the Twickenham Brunswick Boxing Club, for 30 years Tony has worked hard at the grassroots level of our sport.  On a personal basis, Tony is very much one of the lads, although he freely admits that he loves a game of bingo.  He is a straight talker who doesn’t beat around the bush and, in his own opinion, he is one of the stricter types of trainer.  At the same time, Tony has solid compassion for the young men in his charge, men being the operative word, as he doesn’t hold with women boxing because he thinks they should look nice and he doesn’t believe that they should have flat noses.

“I was born in Whitton in Middlesex on 22nd June 1960, and my childhood was great.  I started boxing because my two older brothers were doing it.  I had to follow them because my dad said so.  My brother, George, boxed in the ABAs and he won the London Finals, and I’ve got another brother called Roy who boxed, but he had to pack up because he had bad ears.  I boxed for Southall ABC, which became Hogarth Boxing Club.  My trainers there were Harry Monger and Harry Holland.  Me and Harry Monger were very close.  He was the one who showed me the ropes as I’ve gone along, and that’s why I’m a boxing coach now.  He taught me about everything, and he was always there for me until he died in February 2009.  Harry Holland was a mate of my dad’s, so that’s why my dad took us to him when we were kids, and me and Harry are still friends to this day.”

“I had my first bout when I was 11 years old.  I fought a boy called Paul Kettle from Kingston at Battersea Town Hall.  I only went to watch, but I was carded by then and there was a boy called Steve Tennant and I borrowed his shorts and vest.  Anyway, I won on points.  By the time I got to 13 or 14, all of a sudden it just fell into place.  I can’t remember how many amateur fights I had altogether, but I think I had about 40.  I boxed in the Schoolboys and I was Middlesex Champion four years on the trot, from 1971 to 1975.”

“After I finished in the amateurs, I was working at Smithfield Market.  I was having a break from boxing.  Then I started doing a few unlicensed fights.  They called it unlicensed, but it’s just that it wasn’t recognised by the Board of Control, but we always had paramedics there and everything was just the same.  That was in about 1980 and I used to train up the Thomas A’Becket.  I was up there one day and Harry Holland walked in with Rocky Kelly and Gary Hobbs.  I think I was sparring with Terry Marsh at the time.  Terry Marsh was absolutely brilliant.  I couldn’t even get near him in sparring, he was that talented.  He wasn’t rough in sparring, but he was just too clever for me, and he was a very nice person.”

“I hadn’t seen Harry Holland for a few years, and he said ‘What you doing?’  I said ‘I’m doing a bit of unlicensed.’  He went ‘Don’t be daft. Come and do it the proper way,’ and that’s what I done.  Harry was our trainer as well as our manager, and he was a good trainer.  I was training with Rocky and Gary, and we used to have a great time.  We all got on really well.  Me and Gary have been friends since we were kids.  Me and Rocky used to spar together, and we used to have a pint and a fag after training every night on the way home, and a lot of people didn’t know that.  Harry certainly didn’t.”

“When I first turned over, Gary got me in the ring and he bashed me up in sparring, and he went ‘This is what it’s all about.  Are you going to do it or what?’ and I went ‘Yeah.’  There was this one time, I’d had a fight in a car park and some bloke had kicked me, and I was being stitched up at West Middlesex Hospital, and then I saw Gary in there.  Some bloke had hit him over the head with a bottle.  So we’d both got into fights at different places at different times, and there we were, both of us professional boxers, both getting sewn up in the same hospital!”

With former stable-mate and old pal, Gary Hobbs.

“After a while, I left Smithfield and I became a dustman, and I’m still there now.  I’m a driver, and it’s a good job with good hours and good money.  While I was boxing, I had two supervisors who loved me.  I might be fighting on a Wednesday night, and on the Monday they’d say ‘Go on, Tony, we’ll see you next week.  Make sure you win.’  They used to give me loads of time off.”

“I think I had my last fight at light-middle, but, apart from that, I was a welterweight all the way through.  I made my professional debut against Sean Campbell in October 1982.  He was a southpaw and I hated fighting southpaws, but I felt brilliant that night and, to be honest, I thought I won it.  I put him down in the second round, I think, and again in the fourth, and I got a draw.”

“I had 15 professional fights and the only time I ever got stopped was in my second fight with Sean Campbell.  We boxed at Hornsey Town Hall and the referee stopped it in the third round.  What happened there was I slipped, I got up and the referee just stopped it.  I had the right hump!  I wanted to attack the referee at the time, but that’s just the way it is and you’ve got to accept it.”

“One of my best fights was against Dave Harrison when I beat him on points in the Lyceum Ballroom in February 1983.  We got £64 slung in the ring for nobbins that night and I’d really like to meet him again, but I don’t know where he is.  There were times when I took a fight at a day’s notice and that was fine with me because we were fit all the time, and at short notice you didn’t have to sell any tickets, so it took the pressure off.  I just loved everything about boxing, getting in the ring, the adrenaline, the nerves, the lot.  It was all there.  The excitement of performing, it’s just really fantastic.”

Tony Rabbetts landing a right cross on Dave Harrison at the Lyceum Ballroom in February 1983.

Tony’s last fight was against Newton Barnett at the Merton Civic Hall in Croydon.  Having drawn with the London-based Jamaican the previous year, this time Tony conceded a points decision.  Incidentally, after boxing Tony, Newton Barnett shared the ring with the likes of Derek Grainger, Robert McCracken, Kevin Lueshing and Kirkland Laing.  “I knew that was going to be my last fight, because I had married my wife, Colleen, and we had two kids, Robert and Sarah.  I had a good job on the dust and I was happy.  I think I’ve been really lucky to have been a professional fighter, and I’ve got to say I had a pint with every single one of my opponents afterwards.”

“After I packed up boxing, I started doing a bit of karate.  But I missed competing, I started to miss it so bad, so that’s why I thought I’d go and get my own club and do the boxing.  I done all the courses and I founded the Twickenham Brunswick Boxing Club.  In 1995, I persuaded Harry Monger to come and join me at the club, which was lovely.  I’ve got two other trainers working there with me, Ford Davey and Lee Williams.  I do all the pad work, I teach them the technique of boxing and I take all the sparring.  Ford and Lee do the physical fitness side of it, and Lee is our competition secretary as well.  I tell every kid I teach that the hardest fight they’re ever going to have is going to be their first fight and, once they’ve got over that, they’ll either love it or hate it.  Every lad I’ve had who has got in the ring has come out and asked ‘When am I fighting next?’”

“I look after all the kids I train.  If they’ve got anything to tell me, if they’ve got problems, they come and see me and it goes no further.  I’ve had kids come down my gym from broken families, and the mother has said to me six months later ‘What have you done to my boy?  He’s turned out to be really nice now.’ Mind you, I don’t have parents in the gym.  I tell the parents to drop their kids off and, if they don’t like it, they can take them somewhere else.  I’d say I’m definitely a strict coach, because I think the idea of the sport is discipline.  If a boy keeps turning up late, I’ll send him home and I’ll say ‘Come back Tuesday.’  The class has already started, and they should all know that.”

“I do the judging on amateur shows as well.  I’ve done the course and I go to shows, and sometimes they say ‘Can you do a bit of judging tonight?’  Sometimes I say ‘Yes’ or sometimes I say ‘No,’  I like judging actually, but they’re changing it again now.  In the amateurs, we’re seeing changes all the time.  One change that’s good is the rules about head-guards.  Personally, I think head-guards are more of a target.  When I was boxing as an amateur, I didn’t wear a guard.  A lot of the time they don’t fit properly, and the referees are always pulling the boxers apart and sending them back to the corner to strap up.  My boxers all prefer to box without head-guards, but I make sure they all spar with guards on.  I don’t have no sparring without head-guards on.”

“Every time a kid is in the ring, it’s me in there again.  That’s the way I look at it.  What I love about it is I can get a kid come down my gym and he don’t know the difference between his left hand and his right hand, and all of a sudden he’s going in the ring and he’s fighting.  We’ve had a few boys over the years who have been really good and we’ve thought we’ve had a star on our hands, and it just hasn’t happened.  You put all the work in, and they get to an age and go, and that’s the way it goes.  But, from the day I started coaching, I’ve loved training kids. I absolutely love every minute of it.”

With The Explosive Rocky Kelly, still great friends after all these years.

Tasty Young Amateur

Ronnie Smith fought as right-handed southpaw whose love of boxing kept him hooked for over half a century.  A prolific amateur throughout the sixties, he boxed for London eight times, the first of which took him to Uganda.  He also represented England eight times, including appearances in Russia, West Germany and Italy.  As Ronnie grew from light-welter to light-middle, he won the North West London divisional championships five times in a row and the London finals twice.  There were a tough bunch of contemporaries on the prowl at the time, including Bunny Sterling, Howard Sharpe and Mark Rowe, all of whom he beat, although Mark Rowe repaid the compliment in their next fight, which turned out to be Ronnie’s last.  At the age of 25, he became a trainer at St Pancras ABC, where he remained for 45 years and produced a string of champions.

Ronnie was born in Kentish Town in 1942.  “I was a war baby.  There were a lot of derelict houses all over the show because Kentish Town got hit quite hard, and they wanted to take all the children away, but my mum said ‘No, we’re all staying.’  I came from a family of seven children and I was the youngest.  I had two brothers, but they didn’t box.  As I kid, I used to collect pictures of all the boxers, especially Randolph Turpin.  He was my idol and, every time Randolph boxed, I stayed up to hear him on the radio.  So my interest in boxing went from there.”

“My brother-in-law lived up Hampstead, so he took me to Hampstead Boxing Club.  It was only a bus ride of three stops up the road.  Mind you, I used to walk there, as it happens, and walk back home again with my bag.  So I joined Hampstead when I was ten years old, I started boxing when I was 11, and I boxed for them all the way through.  Charlie Webster was my first trainer there, but he went into the pub game and became a landlord.  After that, Danny Hallett took over, and he was my trainer all the way through my career.  I had quite a few junior bouts.  I ended up a Class C champion, which is just before you become a senior, at 17, and I boxed in the ABAs from the following year onwards.”

“I boxed as a southpaw, but the funny thing was I shouldn’t have been a southpaw really.  Although I was right-handed, when I started, I used to lead with my right, and I boxed like that for so long that it was too late for me to turn round.  If I’d have been changed round as a junior, I think I would have had a good right cross.  I could have thrown it with my shoulder behind it, put my weight behind it.  But I had a good right hook, I must admit.  That’s what I caught a lot of people with, the right hook.”

“There were so many good fighters around in my day.  One time, I had five fights in one day at welterweight in the North West London divisional ABA championship, which obviously wouldn’t be allowed nowadays.  That was when they had four rings going at the same time at the Stanmore Arena.  That was the year when I stopped Larry O’Connell in the semis.  Being a southpaw, I caught him with a right hook and it was a lucky punch.  Larry went down and, when he got up, he walked into a neutral post thinking he was going back to the corner.  The referee waved it off, because Larry didn’t know where he was.  But, after it was stopped, Larry was saying ‘I shouldn’t have been stopped.’  To be honest, it probably shouldn’t have been stopped.  It could have carried on if he’d moved away and put his hands up.  If he’d have done that, he probably would have been all right.  Anyway, later on in life, when Larry became a referee, he came over to me and he said ‘Ron, I’ve got to admit that it was right that our fight was stopped.’  All the way through, Larry and I have always got on well, and it was fantastic for him to say that to me after all that time.”

“That was my first year that I went right through to the national ABA final, and I boxed Brian Brazier.  I think Brian didn’t expect me to produce what I did on that night, and I thought the bout was quite even.  It could have gone either way.  But I must admit, when I had a match with him a year later, he stopped me on a cut eye.  I think he trained a bit harder that time.  But I’m not taking anything away from Brian, because he was a very good boxer.”

“The first time I went abroad to box was for London against Uganda, and I won over there.  I was the first winner out of our team and, after that, all the other London boys went on to win.  It was a terrific place, really beautiful, and they treated us well.  They put us in a top hotel.  But, to be honest, I felt a bit out of place really, because I felt uncomfortable with the hospitality they gave us.  It was like they gave us too much.  When we were touring, we saw the people were living in mud huts and straw huts, and things like that.”

England Team in Red Square, Moscow – Ronnie’s hand is on Larry O’Connell’s shoulder.

The following year, Ronnie travelled to Moscow where, wearing an England vest, he had his hardest fight that he can remember.  “My first international was against the Russians, and I was the only winner out in Moscow.  The hotel where we were staying was in Red Square, and we had a lovely tour of the country.  It was December and it was snowing, but we all took our overcoats with us so that was okay.  I think the toughest fight I ever had was against the Russian in Russia, because I got my nose broken.  I came out of the ring and, when you’ve got a broken nose, you know you’ve been in a fight.”

“I boxed for London against West Germany twice, once in Hannover and once at the Albert Hall.  The one against the West German in England, I can’t remember what round it was, but I put him down twice anyway.  I well won it, and the verdict went the other way. Everybody booed and booed, and they all stood up.  They ripped their programmes up and threw them in the ring, and there was so much commotion over it that they re-checked the score cards, and one of the judges had the red and blue corners mixed up.  So they called me back in the ring and the verdict went the other way.  So I won that one, but I was going to pack up boxing altogether after that.  I got a lot of close decisions, but I’m not having a go at anyone.  When I fought Tom Imrie at England versus Scotland, that one could have gone either way.  I lost on points in Italy, against Rome, and I thought I was robbed there.”

“In 1965, I beat Mark Rowe in the London Finals, and then I got through to the national finals and I boxed Pat Dwyer.  I think those two were the hardest of all the British fellas that I boxed.  When I fought Pat Dwyer, we’d both stopped our boys in the semis in the second round, I think it was, so it was always going to be a punch-up, and that’s how it was.  We never moved from the middle of the ring.  He ended up getting the verdict.  It was very close, but I never complained about it, and the audience enjoyed it anyway.”

“In the North West divisionals the next year, I beat Bunny Sterling and Howard Sharpe, and both of them were outstanding fighters.  Then I got beat by Mark Rowe in the London finals.  So I ended up fighting Mark twice in the last two years of my boxing career, and both of them were hard fights.  After the second fight with Mark, that was it for me.  I’d been at the top over a period of about six years, and nobody backed off from you because you represented England.  They all wanted to beat you and get a name for themselves.  To tell you the truth, I got a little bit tired of it.  I was having a bit of trouble with my nose from when I got it broke in Moscow, and I’d just had enough.”

Ronnie never had aspirations of turning professional.  “To tell you the truth, I was happy with what I was doing. I was a glazier by trade, and I was earning pretty good money. I was only 25, and I became a trainer.  In those days, you had to complete a GLC course, and I took that course and I become a trainer at St Pancras.  I think they were short of trainers in those days, and I just wanted to pass something on, give a bit of knowledge back to the game.  So I was lucky to be around at the right time, and I stayed at St Pancras for 45 years.”

“I always liked the training side of it.  When I was boxing, I used to run over Parliament Hill Fields on Saturday and Sunday every week.  So, when I became a trainer, I used to take all the boys over there, and we had quite a few boys coming through the running track, right over the back, across the country, and it was beautiful.  When you come back after a run and you have a shower, you feel so refreshed and so relaxed.  When I was fighting for England, I used to get up at about half past 6 and do the outer circle around Regent’s Park every morning before I went to work.  So I was always fit as a fiddle.  My fitness was my main weapon really.  I would say that I was definitely an aggressive fighter.  I tried to do a bit of boxing, but it wasn’t me.  I used to hook all the time and body punch.  I was a good body puncher.  Well, I think I was a good body puncher anyway!”

“I enjoyed my time as a trainer at St Pancras, and I had some nice boys that I looked after, like Jim McDonnell [Commonwealth silver medalist] and Mickey Hughes [Olympian at Los Angeles].  They were both ABA champions, and so was David Dent, and one of the most experienced ones out of the lot of them was Herman Henry.  I’ve had schoolboy champions, Federation of Boys’ Club champions, junior and senior ABA champions, and England reps.”

“My proudest moments were when my boys won the ABAs and represented England.  That was quite a good achievement.  The thing was, I always made sure that they got matched up in bouts they could handle, and they weren’t over-classed.  I made sure that their first bout for England was an even bout.  It wasn’t against a Russian, like my one.  So that’s what I passed on, my knowledge of representing London and England.  With most of the boys I trained, they got to a certain level, the level I got to, and then they turned pro.  Quite a few of them stay in touch.  I still see Jimmy McDonnell now and again.  Funnily enough, Herman Henry phoned me up about three days ago because he’s heard I’ve got the old Parkinson’s disease.  He said ‘Look, we must have a meet and have a meal.’  I still see Micky Hughes and David Dent.  I still see a lot of them.”

“To tell you the truth, I honestly don’t know how many amateur fights I had, but I won the majority of them. I went to some great places, and I had some great fights with some great people.  I think our elite amateurs today get looked after very well.  I think we got £1.25 a day spending money and, if you had to have time off work, you never got paid.  But I just wanted to represent London and my country, I had a lovely time, and I really enjoyed my whole amateur career.”

Mark Rowe, Larry O’Connell and Ronnie Smith.