Both sides need to get the balance just right between everyone knowing who they are and no one getting up in their face too much. That’s why those relationships which used to shock everybody, say Barbara Windsor and Ronnie Knight or Diana Dors with Alan Lake, always kind of made sense to me.
The big stars in the sixties would always be in the clubs in the West End, and a lot of those clubs were owned by the Krays and whoever else was about. The glamorous people got looked after – ’cos obviously it’s good business for the management if they’re in your gaff – and all of a sudden they’re in this world of intrigue and it’s very exciting. The gangsters have got some style and they know how to turn on the charm. Plus anyone else gives you a problem and they’re out on their ear sharpish.
With David Bailey and Diana Dors doing the business for them, the Krays couldn’t have had better PR if they’d employed a firm (rather than simply being The Firm). And all these stories you’d hear about George Raft coming over and being with the boys and them having major connections in the States only kept the pot boiling even more. Obviously the pot was well and truly off the stove by the time I got to the Repton, but the reality that the twins wouldn’t ever be cooking with gas in E2 again took a long time to sink in.
Luckily, joining the Repton gave me access to a glittering array of more suitable role models. Going down the stairs to the gym I’d look at the pictures on the wall and think, ‘Every one of these boxers is a champion.’ Looking back now, the Repton roll-call was amazing: Maurice Hope – Olympic champion, going to be a world champion; Billy Taylor – what a fighter!; Graham Moughton, captain of the Olympic team; John H. Stracey, another world champion; Johnny Whitehorn; Dave Odwell, another Olympic team captain . . . It was quite daunting to walk into the Repton and see those pictures, especially at first, but once I found my feet I soon realised how lucky I was to be at such a special club, because if you’re training alongside these guys, you can’t help but learn.
You walk down those stairs for the first time and straight away the place smells of blood, sweat and tears. What I didn’t understand at the time was that a lot of the really important things the Repton was going to teach me wouldn’t be about how to handle myself in the ring, they’d be about ethics – having respect for myself and having respect for humanity. It was only years later that I began to look back and think, ‘Fuck me, I learnt a lot more than boxing.’
The boxing had to come first, though, and I had some great teachers there. The head coach was a guy called Tony Burns. Burnsy was the Repton, and for me he epitomises what’s good about boys’ club boxing trainers the world over. He never once trained you as a boxer – although he was more than capable of doing that – his greatest gift was as a matchmaker. A lot of them will overmatch you to try to move you up the ranks too fast, but Burnsy would always do his best to make any imbalance in your favour. If he thought there was any chance of you getting hurt, he just wouldn’t put you in there.
Another guy I owe a lot to was Billy Howick, who taught me ringcraft, which is basically how to unbalance your opponent whilestaying within the law, or at least within the law in the referee’s eyes. Billy’s big thing was that if you make your opponent miss you the whole fight but you hit him once, then you’ve won the fight (I suppose he was the Sam Allardyce of his day in that regard). This always seemed pretty logical to me. Also at the Repton I was able to watch a lot of boxers like Dave Odwell and Billy Taylor, who were tremendous counter-punchers, so I styled myself that way too.
Amateur fights last for three rounds of three minutes each, which might not sound like much, but believe me it’s long enough when someone’s trying to hit you in the face from
The big stars in the sixties would always be in the clubs in the West End, and a lot of those clubs were owned by the Krays and whoever else was about. The glamorous people got looked after – ’cos obviously it’s good business for the management if they’re in your gaff – and all of a sudden they’re in this world of intrigue and it’s very exciting. The gangsters have got some style and they know how to turn on the charm. Plus anyone else gives you a problem and they’re out on their ear sharpish.
With David Bailey and Diana Dors doing the business for them, the Krays couldn’t have had better PR if they’d employed a firm (rather than simply being The Firm). And all these stories you’d hear about George Raft coming over and being with the boys and them having major connections in the States only kept the pot boiling even more. Obviously the pot was well and truly off the stove by the time I got to the Repton, but the reality that the twins wouldn’t ever be cooking with gas in E2 again took a long time to sink in.
Luckily, joining the Repton gave me access to a glittering array of more suitable role models. Going down the stairs to the gym I’d look at the pictures on the wall and think, ‘Every one of these boxers is a champion.’ Looking back now, the Repton roll-call was amazing: Maurice Hope – Olympic champion, going to be a world champion; Billy Taylor – what a fighter!; Graham Moughton, captain of the Olympic team; John H. Stracey, another world champion; Johnny Whitehorn; Dave Odwell, another Olympic team captain . . . It was quite daunting to walk into the Repton and see those pictures, especially at first, but once I found my feet I soon realised how lucky I was to be at such a special club, because if you’re training alongside these guys, you can’t help but learn.
You walk down those stairs for the first time and straight away the place smells of blood, sweat and tears. What I didn’t understand at the time was that a lot of the really important things the Repton was going to teach me wouldn’t be about how to handle myself in the ring, they’d be about ethics – having respect for myself and having respect for humanity. It was only years later that I began to look back and think, ‘Fuck me, I learnt a lot more than boxing.’
The boxing had to come first, though, and I had some great teachers there. The head coach was a guy called Tony Burns. Burnsy was the Repton, and for me he epitomises what’s good about boys’ club boxing trainers the world over. He never once trained you as a boxer – although he was more than capable of doing that – his greatest gift was as a matchmaker. A lot of them will overmatch you to try to move you up the ranks too fast, but Burnsy would always do his best to make any imbalance in your favour. If he thought there was any chance of you getting hurt, he just wouldn’t put you in there.
Another guy I owe a lot to was Billy Howick, who taught me ringcraft, which is basically how to unbalance your opponent whilestaying within the law, or at least within the law in the referee’s eyes. Billy’s big thing was that if you make your opponent miss you the whole fight but you hit him once, then you’ve won the fight (I suppose he was the Sam Allardyce of his day in that regard). This always seemed pretty logical to me. Also at the Repton I was able to watch a lot of boxers like Dave Odwell and Billy Taylor, who were tremendous counter-punchers, so I styled myself that way too.
Amateur fights last for three rounds of three minutes each, which might not sound like much, but believe me it’s long enough when someone’s trying to hit you in the face from
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