While Geel Piet was growing rich and even seemed to be getting a little pot belly, he had also become indispensable to the boxing squad. He maintained the gym, organised the laundry and even had the blue and yellow boxing singlets and white trunks made in the prison workshop. But most importantly his knowledge of boxing was encyclopaedic and he was a demanding and resourceful coach. The squad kids had been turned into clever boxers, our natural aggression combined with real skill. From the under fifteen division down to the under twelve, the Barberton Blues hadn’t lost a fight in two years.
How I got my first real fight was a matter of sheer luck. The championships in Nelspruit were in early August, only days before my tenth birthday, and I had tried to persuade anyone who would listen that ten was almost eleven and that one year wasn’t much to have to forfeit. But Lieutenant Smit wasn’t the sort of man who changed his mind and nobody, least of all me, was willing to petition him on my behalf. In fact the two under twelves, Snotnose Bronkhorst and Fonnie Kruger, were almost twelve and therefore two years my senior, and being Boer kids were much bigger.
Geel Piet claimed he saw intelligence and speed in me that more than made up for my lack of size. He was a fanatic about footwork. ‘You must learn to box with your feet, small baas. A good boxer is like a dancer, he is still pretty to watch even if you look only at his feet.’ He taught me how to position myself so the full weight of my body was thrown behind a punch, and despite my size and my speed my punches were capable of gaining respect from a bigger opponent. ‘If they do not respect your punch they simply keep going until they knock you down, man. A boxer must have respect.’
I longed to have a real fight against an unknown opponent. In two years I had never missed a day of boxing and I had worked with all my heart and soul for the moment when I could climb into a boxing ring with real people watching and an opponent whose every blow, unlike those of my sparring partners, could not be anticipated.
On the Monday of the week of the championships Snotnose didn’t turn up at the gym. After the session Lieutenant Smit called Geel Piet over and they talked earnestly for quite a time, every so often looking in my direction. Finally Geel Piet came over to me. He was trying hard to keep the smile off his face. ‘Ag man, I’m a heppy man today, small baas. You want to know why?’
‘They going to let you out of jail?’ I said.
He laughed, ‘No, never no more. I’m heppy here, man. I got my own stable of boxers, I got a good scam going. I will die heppy in this place.’
‘What then?’
He bent down so his face was only inches from my own. His breath smelt foul. ‘You got your first fight, man! Small baas, Bronkhorst he is sick with the yellow disease, you got his place.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. Snotnose had jaundice, which had been going around school. I went to hug Geel Piet, but he quickly sidestepped. ‘No, no, small baas, the lieutenant will come over and beat me.’ He grinned. ‘Today this black bastard is too heppy to have his nose busted. Better go over quick, man, and thank the lieutenant. Make quick or maybe he changes his mind, hey?’
I ran over to where Lieutenant Smit was talking to Klipkop and stood and waited. They ignored me for a long time and then the lieutenant said in a brusque voice, ‘What is it, Peekay?’
‘Thank you for the fight, Lieutenant Smit,’ I stammered. ‘I will try my hardest.’
He massaged his knuckles. ‘That won’t be enough, you’re going to get your head knocked in, but it will do you good. Nobody should win their first fight.’ He turned and walked away.
Geel Piet told me to bring my tackies in the next morning so they could be properly cleaned for me to wear at the fight. Using a piece of string he measured my chest and my waist. When I got home after school I told Dee and Dum my tackies should be put next to my school satchel so I wouldn’t forget them, as Geel Piet needed to clean them. Dum got up quietly from where she was sitting on the floor at my feet while I drank a cup of coffee. She returned a few moments later with my tackies. They had been scrubbed and were spotless. ‘Who does this yellow man think he is?’’ she asked. ‘Does he think we let our baas go around in dirty things?’ She and Dee were clearly hurt. I had to go to some lengths to explain that Geel Piet did all the things for the boxers and that now I was one of the squad he would do the same for me. ‘He will not wash your clothes or clean your tackies,’ Dee said. ‘It is a woman’s work and we will look after the clothes of him who belongs to our own kraal,’ Dum added.
I wasn’t at all sure how my mother would take the news of my inclusion in the squad. Boxing was never mentioned, and as far as she was concerned my early morning journey to the jail was in order to take piano lessons. She had been very busy of late with a commission from a Johannesburg shop to make three ball gowns and her Singer machine could be heard whirring away late at night. I knocked and entered the sewing room. It seemed full of a plum-coloured taffeta evening gown which was almost finished. My mother rose and held it against her body and she looked just how I imagined Cinderella must have looked when she went to the ball. The neckline plunged in a deep vee-line and the sleeves were puffed. The skirt billowed from the narrow waist and as she moved, the taffeta caught the light and rustled in a most expensive and provocative way.
‘Such an extravagance, I can’t imagine where they found the material for this in the middle of the war.’ She kicked at the skirt and it billowed out to reveal a second layer of net in a peacock blue.
‘You look beautiful,’ I said, not thinking to flatter her.
My mother laughed, and reaching for a cloth-padded hanger proceeded to hang the dress up on a rod protruding from the wall. Even away from her body the dress had a life of its own, filling the small sewing room with glamour. ‘That’s the trouble with the things of the devil, they are often sorely tempting and very pretty,’ she said with a sigh.
I had forgotten for a moment that dances were very high on the Lord’s banned list. My heart sank. If dancing was frowned upon by the Lord, what would he think of a boxing match? I immediately consoled myself with the knowledge that, as far as I knew, God was a man, and therefore He’d obviously like boxing a lot better than dancing.
‘You’ve come about the boxing, haven’t you?’ my mother said, resuming her seat at the sewing machine.
‘Yes, Mother.’ I was unable to conceal the surprise in my voice.
‘Yes well, Lieutenant Smit, a very nice man, came to see me this morning, though I’m not at all sure I liked what he had to say. I’ve spoken to your grandfather about it and I made it the subject of my quiet time with the Lord after lunch. I have to tell you He gave me no clear guidance on the matter, though your grandfather seems to think it can’t do you any harm.’ Her head jerked back in a sudden gesture of annoyance. ‘Oh, how I do wish you’d stick to the piano. It’s quite clearly the Lord’s wish that you do so or He wouldn’t have made it possible for you to learn under such trying circumstances. Lieutenant Smit seems to think you have a natural talent as a boxer which is more than the professor has admitted about your music.’
‘Doc has said my Chopin is coming along extra good,’ I said, mimicking him ever so slightly.
My mother was sewing a press stud onto what looked like a cummerbund for the taffeta dress, and she now looked up at me. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t call him by that silly name. Heaven knows this town has few enough nice people and, after all, he is a real professor of music and merits your respect. His being German is simply unfortunate. I suppose we’d all talk German with a funny accent if Hitler won the war. You’ll have to sleep on Friday afternoon if you’re going to be up that late on Saturday night.’
I jumped with joy. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ I cried and gave her a hug and a kiss.
‘I’m not at all sure the Lord approves,’ she said, but I could see she was glad I kissed her. ‘Run along now.’
On Friday morning, after callisthenics, Lieutenant Smit called us all together around the ring. ‘I want to tell you first a few things,’ he said. He turned to the five kids standing to one side with Geel Piet. ‘The rules for under fifteen says you get knocked down, you out. No use getting up, man, you finished and
