By Lindsay Ash
IT’S strange how the death of a stranger can affect people. We saw it with the recent death of Ricky Hatton.
The explanation is a fairly simple one; they have in some ways touched our lives and therefore our emotions. The sport of boxing has done that more than most over the years with the likes of our Enery Cooper, big Frank Bruno and the legendary Ali.
I grew up with my Grandad talking of boxing greats such as Pedlar Palmer, the “Box of tricks”, who was World Bantamweight Champion. His father had been a bare-knuckle boxer and his mother was rumoured to be able to take on and beat any woman in East London. Sadly, Palmer was a heavy drinker and, following a fight on a train, was imprisoned for five years for manslaughter. For the last 20 years of his life, he worked as a bookmaker at Brighton races.
It was stories like these that gave me my interest in the noble art. Probably one of my earliest sporting memories was being round at my Granddad’s listening to the rematch of Ali and Cooper on the radio (or wireless as he called it) in their kitchen …no Sky pay-per-view then.
What is it, though, that makes these boxers a part of people’s lives, some of whom have no interest in the sport at all? Maybe it’s that, by the nature of the game, many have a “rags to riches” backstory and sadly, in many cases, a back to “rags from riches” ending. It could be the very nature of the one-on-one pugilism and the danger of the gladiatorial event surrounded by celebrities eager to brush shoulders – who knows?
It is undoubtedly a lonely place once you step through the ropes, probably only comparable with centre court at Wimbledon, only there, of course, you haven’t got someone trying to rearrange your face and “work the body”!
John H Stracey, the former Welterweight World Champion, explained during an after-dinner speech at Chiswell Street of how you train for the fight for months; roadwork, gym, work, diet, and you become one with your team. Before you do the ring walk, the trainer will give you last instructions: “We’ve worked hard for this, John. We’re ready, we fear no one…Let’s go…”
You then walk out and climb into the ring: “Few last words…Remember what we’ve said, John. Remember what we’ve got to do. Remember we need to be first.”
The bell goes, you look around and you are the only one in there: “Oi, what happened to the ‘we’ business?!”
It’s a sport, of course, that spawns numerous discussions as to who was the best. This is made more difficult due to the different weights and across different eras. Many speak of Rocky “The Rock” Marciano, who fought 49 times and won 49 times. He stopped every person he fought against for the world title.
I grew up with the man who dubbed himself “The Greatest”, the incomparable Muhammad Ali. It would certainly be hard to argue that he wasn’t the greatest character boxing produced and, at one time, the most famous man on earth. However, US Ring Magazine – the bible of Boxing – has as its number one boxer Sugar Ray Robinson, and many respected scribes agree with that verdict.
So if a British fighter had beaten the legendary Mr Robinson, he would himself be long remembered and revered. Well, no, he wouldn’t… How do I know this? Because a British man did beat him – when he was at his peak and for the world title – yet very few now, outside boxing aficionados, would be able to tell you of Randolph Turpin.
Turpin was born in Leamington Spa to a black father who had come to England from Guyana to fight in the First World War. He fought on the Somme and was gassed, from which he never recovered, dying just a year after Turpin’s birth. Randolph was one of five children whose mother worked morning to night as a cleaner. She was, by all accounts, a feisty woman who taught her kids to take no nonsense. He started boxing, as most do, as an amateur where he had an impressive career winning the ABA crown, winning the junior and senior titles in the same year.
He turned professional in 1946 and, after a poor start, worked hard on weights to build himself up and possessed a knockout punch in either hand, making him a formidable opponent. He then won the British and European crowns and was given his crack at the world title against Robinson. Few gave him any chance at all, many considering it a mismatch, but Turpin more than matched him, winning on points after 15 rounds.
He subsequently lost the rematch in New York in front of 61,000 people, but gave a good account of himself, losing in the tenth round. He went on still to have some good wins, most notably over Don Cockell, who gave Marciano a run for his money.
Sadly, away from the ring, things were not as happy. He was accused of domestic abuse by his first wife and, although the charges were dropped, he did admit to slapping her. He had by now developed a reputation as a womaniser and playboy and was named in a divorce by a husband alleging Turpin had an affair with his wife.
His business affairs were no more successful than his romantic ones, with a string of failed ventures but, more significantly, owed substantial sums to the Inland Revenue, which led him being declared bankrupt in 1962.
If you are hoping for a happy ending, there isn’t one. He was found dead in 1966 from gunshot wounds, with his 17-month-old daughter also shot, but fortunately she made a full recovery. His death was ruled a suicide as he had been suffering from depression, but his family disputed this, especially as he’d always been a doting father to his girls.
I’ll leave the final words with the legendary boxing commentator Harry Carpenter: “No British boxer of modern times ever captured the public’s affection as Turpin did… or lost it as tragically.”
Lindsay Ash was Deputy for St Clement between 2018 and 2022, serving as Assistant Treasury and Home Affairs Minister under Chief Minister John Le Fondré. He worked in the City of London for 15 years as a futures broker before moving to Jersey and working in the Island’s finance industry from 2000. Feedback welcome on Twitter @Getonthelash2.
