his son, and waved to them all as the car disappeared down the drive. The villa felt very quiet without him and Ed, and the day seemed to stretch endlessly ahead for Freda and Evelyne.
Jack Sharkey and Freedom faced each other at the weighing-in. Freedom had learnt fast — he out-stared Sharkey, glared for the press cameras and whispered that he was going to wipe the floor with Sharkey. He held up his fist for the photographers.
In the stiflingly hot dressing room, the thunder of the crowd could be heard. Ed bandaged Freedom’s fists, and Dempsey came in, raising his clenched fist to Freedom in salute. Sir Charles, Tex and Kearn also made an appearance, Sir Charles bringing a crowd of visiting English aristocracy who all wanted to meet Freedom. Finally, Ed ordered everybody out and banged the door shut.
The seconds were sweating with nerves as they checked their equipment — the buckets, sponges, gumshield, plasters and towels. ‘.
Having finished bandaging Freedom’s right hand, Ed gestured for him to lift his left. When he was wrapping the cloth tightly between Freedom’s fingers, Freedom asked. ‘They in their seats yet, Ed? Is she here?’
Ed gave the nod to one of the seconds to check that the women were there, and he came back saying they were, and that the excited Edward was standing up in his seat waving a rattle. Having finished the bandaging, Ed started to massage Freedom’s shoulders. He could feel the tension and kept up a steady flow of chatter, easing the stiffness from the muscles. ‘Now remember the rules, Freedom. Make sure if
Freedom cuffed Ed good-naturedly on the chin. Before every single bout Ed went on like this, as if Freedom didn’t know. Ed was keeping an eye on the clock — it was almost time. They waited for the referee to come in and inspect the bandages. At last he arrived and checked each hand meticulously, then patted Freedom’s shoulder. ‘I’ll go over it in the ring, but I like to have a private word before the bout, understand me? Okay, you break when I tell you, no low punches, no holding. And remember, if either man goes down, you must return to the neutral corner for the count. I will not count until the fighter is in the corner — understand? We got judges each side of the ring, their decision is based on the effectiveness of your punches, they want nice, clean, forceful punches … Okay, right, we go in ten minutes, and good luck.’
Ed began to tie on the gloves, still talking in his soft, non-stop way. ‘Remember yer get points for aggression, so go in there ter win. Sustain the rounds, don’t pussy-foot up there, get in an’ take ‘im. This is the big one and the most important to date, so I want you in there ter win, you wiv me? You wiv me? Yer goin’ ter knock ‘im out, and yer goin’ ter get that title, yes? Yes, yes?’
Freedom slapped Ed’s open palm and yelled back, ‘Yes yes yes!’
There was a knock on the door and they were told to stand by. Ed pulled the robe around Freedom’s shoulders and double-checked that the corner men had everything ready. After one last look, he winked and they went out through the door.
The stadium was packed to capacity and the thunder of the crowd’s noise drowned out Ed’s pep talk. At the opposite entrance stood Sharkey, hopping from one leg to the other, waiting for the signal to enter the ring. A fanfare started up and the audience rose to their feet as the band played the ‘Victory March’.
Edward was jumping up and down in his — seat, not really understanding what was going on but loving every minute of it. Evelyne’s heart was thudding, and she felt the baby kicking inside her. The heat in the stadium was overpowering and the noise like thunderclaps overhead. Freda held Evelyne’s hand tight, both their palms sticky from nerves.
The crowd roared as Freedom entered the ring, hemmed in by Ed and the seconds, with eight attendants to keep back the well-wishers’ outstretched hands.
‘Ladies and gentlemennnn … in the left-hand corner, the British Heavyweight Champion Freedom Stubbs, wearing the black shorts. Weighing in at two hundred and two pounds. In the right-hand corner, Jack Sharkey, from New York City, weighing in at one hundred and ninety pounds!’
Not a single one of the ringmaster’s words about Sharkey was heard, the crowd rose with a deafening cheer, flowers were thrown and feet thudded on the wooden stands.
The two boxers met in the centre of the ring, while the band played first the ‘Stars and Stripes’, then ‘God Save the King’. The referee was introduced, to whistles and cheers, and the boxers retired to their corners.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, there will be twenty rounds of two minutes each round.’
The judges took their bows and went to their seats, flowers and streamers were removed from the ring, and the gong was held up for display. Slowly the stadium grew quieter and quieter as they waited expectantly for the bout to begin.
Freedom glanced quickly over at Evelyne and smiled. She wanted to cry out, reach out to him and touch him. His hair, oiled to keep it off his face, was tied back in a leather thong, and his eyes, brows and cheeks were smeared with Vaseline. The gumshield was put into place and he sat poised and ready.
Sharkey delayed getting his gumshield in, talking to his trainer. The gong clanged loudly, and both men were up and moving to the centre of the ring. The seconds were out, taking the stools with them. Freda was shouting, ‘Come on Freedom, come on Freedom …’
The boxers were well-matched, and it was not until round four that the crowd began to settle down. The two men were in close, jabbing, punching, trying to find each other’s weaknesses. It was a good, clean fight when suddenly a punch that Evelyne didn’t even see made Freedom’s whole body buckle, and he fell to his knees. The crowd went wild. Ed waved his towel, screaming at the top of his voice, and climbed into the ring. There was almost a fight between Ed and the referee, two judges conferred and Freda was on her feet screaming along with everyone else in the front rows. ‘Foul…Foul…Foul…!’
Freedom was helped to his feet by the ref, who looked into his face and turned, holding off Sharkey with his right hand. He was not counting. Sharkey, panicking, thought he had been disqualified, and turned to his seconds, who now got into the ring. The chant of ‘foul’ was taken up by a vast group at the back of the stadium, and the sing-song of ‘low punch, low punch …’
The referee was holding Ed off, and Freedom backed, bent over slightly and shook his head. To everyone’s amazement, the referee held up his hand and gave a two-minute respite to Freedom, throughout which Sharkey fumed and raged like a madman. Ed had to be hauled out of the ring, still insisting it was a foul, but the ref gave the signal for the round to continue.
The muscles in Freedom’s left leg were seizing up, and it felt as if it were paralysed. For the duration of the round he fended off Sharkey’s punches as best he could and at the end he limped back to his corner, which drew a series of loud boos and catcalls from the spectators.
Evelyne sat huddled in her seat. She couldn’t understand what was going on, he was in pain and she knew it. ‘He’s hurt, Freda, he’s hurt, he can hardly walk.’
In desperation Ed massaged Freedom’s leg, at the same time yelling above the noise to Freedom, ‘You want me to stop the fight? Tell me, shall 1 stop the fight, can you move it, Jesus God, can you move your leg?’
The seconds could see that Freedom’s old cut was an angry red, and they plastered it with grease … Ed had actually reached for the towel to throw it into the ring when the gong sounded for the round to begin. Ed knew his boy was hurt, it was obvious from his stance. This wasn’t Freedom’s style, he was a mover, and a fast one.
Freedom took a series of short, fast jabs to his face and keeled over backwards, lost his balance and fell heavily out of the ring. Evelyne was on her feet, tears rolling down her cheeks. She couldn’t stand to see it, see him hurt, she wanted him never to get back into the ring. The crowd around her were screaming like wild animals.
The referee started the count, holding Sharkey back as Freedom hauled himself back into the ring. The fall had cut him just above his left ear, and blood was trickling down on to his shoulder. Ed was at breaking point, but held back by the seconds. He wanted to throw in the towel; it was obvious Freedom couldn’t stand properly. His left leg was dragging, useless. Freedom was taking his punishment, gritting his teeth to hold on until the round ended. It was taking everything he had just to stand with the agonizing pain in his left leg and the feeling that someone was hacking into his spine … Every movement made it worse.
Sharkey took every opportunity, spurred on by relief at not getting disqualified, and came on to Freedom with punch after punch. He was a short jab man, and Freedom was on the end of his hard rights time and time again. He felt his nose split open and stood dazed as the bell rang for the end of the round.
Ed concentrated on Freedom’s face and begged him to throw in the towel. Blood was pouring from his nose, and the cut above his ear wouldn’t stay shut. ‘It’s over, Freedom, it’s over, he’s mauling you.’
