Frank Hough - Battersea's Singing Boxer
Nicknamed 'The Fighting Hussar' because of his army connection, Battersea's Frank Hough was well known for serenading fight crowds with renditions of popular songs. No, not before a bout, but actually after one: having just gone 12 or 15 gruelling rounds.
Quite apart from this unusual quirk, Hough was one of Britain's leading middleweights of the 1930s. He beat top-class men such as Eddie Peirce, Glen Moody, Moe Moss, Jack Hyams and Archie Sexton, and was Southern Area champion.
As an interesting aside, he was also the subject of a portrait by the Marchioness of Queensbury, Cathleen Mann, and sat for the artist in his boxing attire at her Chelsea studio.
In the article below, Hough recounts how he first got involved with boxing while serving in the British Army.
The KO That Amazed a Regiment
By Frank Hough
How I first came to take up boxing was funny in a way. I joined up in the Royal Fusiliers. I didn't somehow think that was my right berth, so I moved to the 13th Hussars. Not liking that either, I went to the Northants regiment - without official permission!
I never fought in those days. One day I was hurrying to lunch when another soldier stopped me and said, "Get me a knife and fork". I didn't like the fellow's tone. But I never looked for trouble.
"I'm in a hurry myself," I said. In those days I talked with a lisp. This johnny mocked me as he said, "Never mind about that, get me a knife and fork."
There was only one way to end the argument. When he swung a punch at me I swung one back. For a few seconds there was a swirl of waving and arms. Then I was rather surprised to see the other fellow on the floor - out!
I got a great reception from members of the regiment who had gathered round. I couldn't quite understand the excitement. Then someone let me in on the secret. "He's the middleweight champion of the regiment - he was!"
Anyone who shows an aptitude for boxing in the Army is encouraged to develop the talent. I was practically forced into it. And I did so well that when the championship came along I fought my way into the final.
Final Never Fought
The final was held at Hounslow. I travelled down full of hope. I was preparing for the fight when an n.c.o. who was passing by turned back and said, "Surely I recognise that voice. Your name's Hough, isn't it?" When I assented he recalled that I had left the regiment without permission. I was taken to the guardsroom. That final was never fought.
I won everything I entered for in the Army, and some of the fellows thought they would like to see me take a hiding. One day they brought down Wally Dakin, heavyweight champion of the Eastern Counties, to give me a leathering. I didn't take it. I dished it out.
After punching Wally all over the ring he shook me by the hand, congratulated me, and said that I would go far in the professional ranks if ever I fancied the change.
It was Wally who put me on the first rungs of the ladder when I decided to buy myself out of the Army to try my hand at professional boxing.
Forgot His Shorts
There is not much room for fun in professional fighting. But that is not to say that we do not have a laugh now and again. When I fought Sandy McKenzie at The Ring, Blackfriars, I received the surprise of my life.
We sat in our opposite corners waiting for the gong to go. I was stripped for action, McKenzie was still wearing his dressing-gown. He stood up and threw it off his shoulders. There was a roar of laughter from the crowd. He had forgotten to put his shorts on! Confusion in the corner for a few seconds while he put his dressing-gown on again. Then he hurried back to his dressing-room for his shorts. He need hardly have troubled. He took the full count in the first round.
Strange Incident
Then there was that strange affair at Ipswich. I fought Les Ward, and I had tuned myself up for a hard fight.
We swapped punches from the moment the bell first sounded. Only half the first round had passed when Ward suddenly went down. I did not know I had landed a hard blow at all. I could not understand why he went down. But when they carried Les Ward to the dressing-room I got the surprise of my life. A doctor examined him, and it was found that I had fractured his jaw. And yet I didn't know I had landed the punch.
Compelled to Croon!
I have fought Glen Moody of Wales, several times. One of the hardest fights I had with him was over twelve rounds at West Ham. I won a gruelling fight on points. And as soon as the referee's verdict was given the crowd were shouting for me to croon to them. I had made a habit of rendering a few songs after fighting, and by this time it was expected of me.
But on this occasion it was a bit of a tall order. However, I have been given the name of "the crooning boxer", so I determined to live up to it. I managed to get the songs off my chest, but it was a great effort.
Songs brought £27
On another occasion I was billed to meet Glen Moody at Rochester in aid of the unemployed. Glen Moody could not appear, and we were told that a last-minute substitute had been called in named Charlie Thompson, of Wales. I knew nothing of this boxer. It is always a good tip to learn all about your substitute, for you never know when you are meeting a real dark horse.
There wasn't time here, and I went into the ring not knowing what sort of opposition I was to face. For several rounds I went along very carefully, knowing that I had all to lose and nothing to gain.
Meanwhile the other fellow was piling up the points. At the end of the sixth Nat Seller, in my corner, was quite worried. Thompson was ahead on points, and I did not look like making much headway. As I went out for the seventh session Nat Seller called out, "Finish him off, Frank, otherwise you'll be too 'blown' to sing."
His words seemed to make me wake up. I sailed into Thompson, cracked him on the jaw and put him down for the full count. Afterwards I learned he had a KO victory over Glen Moody under his belt.
Then I sang a couple of songs. The collection which followed brought in £17. The crowd yelled for more, and I said I would only sing if they would stand for another collection. Two more songs yielded a further £10.
What's in a Name?
Recently there was a controversy started by a boxing scribe, on how my name was pronounced. The writer in question even went the length of writing a poem about it. He inspired the following reply from me:
A question raised by a man of prose,
Concerning how one should dispose
Correctly, and in English grammar,
And in fitting pugilistic manner.
Editors turn pale and ill
When pronouncing "Yggrasil".
What's it matter anyhow
If my name should rhyme with cow?
Office staff with furrowed brow
Ponder is it "Huff" or "How"?
M.C.s take a month's vacation,
Solving its pronunciation.
As you would say it's rough and tough,
So I will say it's simply H-U-F-F.
Not "How" or "Sow", "Cow" or "Miaow"
Let's hope the matter's settled now.
Now I wish to give my thanks,
While I'm rising in the ranks!
But getting my return with Hyams
Is harder far than writing "rhyams"!
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