Oh Henry!

Chapter Seven. The Noble Art.

Chapter Seven

The Noble Art 

I didn't need an alarm clock. I had learned a trick from the Rover, the comic that Gran bought for me every Thursday. All I had to do was to think deeply about the time I wished to wake up, bang my head on the pillow an appropriate number of times, and then go to sleep. That night I struck the pillow three times. 

As expected, I awoke just before three. The house was quiet as I stumbled into my clothes, silently manoeuvred the stairs, crept through the living room, and made my way out into the frosty night. It was another big fight night and I didn't want to miss a minute. Quickly I made my way down the street and into Gran's backyard. A candle was flickering in the window. Grumps was awake and probably already attempting to pick up the broadcast. I tapped on the window. Grumps raised the curtain and beckoned me inside. I was expected. 

"The reception isn't too good tonigh, Henry. There must be some bad weather over the Atlantic." 

This was an understatement. The crackling of the radio and the sporadic fading in and out of the announcer's voice made it difficult to follow the happenings at Madison Square Garden. All during the pre-fight announcements Grumps attempted to adjust the set and said very little, but then he never did say much. 

Left to my own thoughts, I wondered about my grandparents' strange habit of using candles for lighting even though electricity had recently been installed. Why did they go to bed by candle light? I eventually asked, so intense was my curiosity, 

"Old habits die hard," was the gruff reply. 

Now that I had Grumps talking, I tried to discuss the upcoming fight.

"Do you think we have a chance tonight?" 

Grumps smiled, obviously remembering the sorry history of British boxers in American fights. "I don't think you will be out of your bed too long, Henry. Woodcock has never fought anybody of world class and I've heard this fellow Mauriello is really tough." 

Grump's prediction proved accurate. Woodcock was pummelled throughout the fight and suffered the indignity of a fifth round knockout.  

"Why do our fighters always lose, Grumps?" 

"I don't really know, lad. Maybe the English are just born with glass jaws." 

I thought about this on my way home. My chin seemed firm enough, and maybe with a lot of training... 

It was quite rare for a British boxer to fight at the Garden but whenever it happened, the nocturnal visit was repeated. I mistakenly believed that these forays were a secret between my grandfather and me. However, my growing interest in the noble art did not go unnoticed by my parents. I awoke on the morning of my ninth birthday to find a beribboned box at my bedside. Attached to the ribbon was a card. 

To Henry, 

Gramps thought it was about time to start your training. Take care. 

Love 

Mum and Dad. 

Training for what? I feverishly snapped the ribbon, tore open the box top revealing straw packing. The smell of new leather was intoxicating. I just knew what was hidden under the straw - boxing gloves, not just one pair, but two. Now I could have my own boxing matches, but who with? Marie was no contest, Dad was away on some secret trip, Grumps knew a lot about boxing, but he was so old. It would have to be Rev and P.C..