May - Old Scarborians

other. The adrenalin flowed. There was no finesse,no feinting, nothing at all fancy. With thecrowd roaring and baying for blood we wentinto non-stop battle. Soon enough, blood therewas, almost exclusively mine, although Lawrencewas sporting the beginning of a black eye.He was declared the winner. Afterwards, Lawrenceand I became firm friends but within ayear he lost his last fight and was killed in actionin France.Many years later Bill Nicholson visited theHigh School, (he was a friend of Brad’s) andalong with others I was introduced to him.There was not a flicker of recognition. Whyshould there have been? Along with Hov andStod we talked reverentially about Bill’s illustriouscareer in football. He still had the samesmouldering, saturnine look which I recalledfrom years earlier. It was no wonder that hebecame such a successful football manager.In a strange, paradoxical way after my illstarredbout with Lawrence I became interestedin boxing. Hov, shortly after my arrival at theHigh School, asked me if I would like to helphim with the boxing club. I agreed. We meteach week after school in that small gym downstairswith about twenty boys. I believe that weall enjoyed those evenings. Hov and I wereaware of certain basic techniques, (indeed weboth eventually qualified as boxing judges) andit was pleasing that so many boys developedskills way beyond whatever we had taughtthem. I suppose that we justified the activity asbeing character building. Certainly, being in thering with an opponent is a severe form of selfexamination,and that, at least, is a factor in selfdevelopment.Mainly, though, it was an enjoyableactivity, which fostered camaraderie.We held fixtures with other schools and, invariably,we won. There were some notablestars like Malcolm Dunwell who reached thefinals of the National schools boxing tournamentin London. There was “Alfie” Leng whosniffed as he boxed, but combined bravery anddetermination with great technical skill. I recallanother boy who was technically brilliant but32rarely won his bout, because, as he put it, hedid not like to hurt people. “Alfie” Leng wentout to Australia where he became professor ofAnimal Husbandry at the University of Newcastle,New South Wales. He beat the Australiansat their own game, becoming an internationalauthority on sheep. There were few Aussieswho could counter his left jab.The highlight of the boxing year was the interhouseboxing tournament for the Le Peton trophy.(Who, I wonder, was Le Peton?) A boxingring was acquired from Burniston Barracks,some soldiers came along to erect it in the Hall,and the whole school foregathered around it. Insome ways this foreshadowed the days of Theatrein the Round that were to follow. Joey Marsdenalways had mixed feelings about it all.Scarcely anything of his fingernails would beleft by the end of the afternoon. Pride in whatwas taking place was subordinate to his fears ofwhat might happen. At the end of it all, as hepresented the trophy to the winning team, hewould beam, and then retire to his room with asigh of relief.The finals produced many memorable contestsbut annually the one to savour and admire wasthe one between Stephen Williamson and JohnPitts. Two able (in every sense) and courageousboys, they were well matched. John, who was asouthpaw, created many problems for Stephenwho had an orthodox, upright stance. The outcomescarcely seemed to matter; it was theirdisplay, which remained in the memory.Stephen later became a distinguished criminallawyer, John a lecturer in music. I had thepleasure of meeting them both again manyyears afterwards.At the end of the afternoon the soldiers movedin, the ring was dismantled and returned toBurniston. The tumult of the day succumbed tothat end of school silence which Harry Johnson,the caretaker, once told me often made him feelrather sad.Finalities do have that effect, but without wallowingin nostalgia, we can now look back witha great deal of pleasure on our days at the High