Monuments to Fighters
By Fred Tekell
[From Boxing, 13 May 1925]
Seventy-one years ago, on April 30th, a monument was placed in Woolwich Churchyard over the grave of that great Bristolian, the ex-champion of England, Tom Cribb. Tom died in the High Street, Woolwich, on May 11, 1848. He was born at Hanham, Bristol, on July 8, 1781, being just three months younger than his equally famous townsman, Jem Belcher.
The monument, a huge block of Portland stone, is surmounted by a lion, one of whose paws rests upon a funeral urn, across which is flung a representation of Cribb's championship belt. The inscription is as follows: "Sacred to the memory of Thomas Cribb, born July 8, 1781, died May 11, 1848." On the plinth is the following: "Respect the ashes of the brave." The whole, a very fine piece of sculpture, was the work of Timothy Butler.
Cribb was never, perhaps, quite such a wonderful fighter as Jem Belcher, for though he defeated Jem twice, the latter had lost the sight of one eye four years before their first contest. Yet despite this terrible handicap Jem had lasted for 41 minutes in the first battle and for 40 minutes in the second. Cribb, however, was a much stronger man than Belcher (he weighed 14st. 3lb.), and for coolness under fire and for downright, bulldog pluck, it is doubtful if he was ever surpassed...
John Broughton, champion of England from 1740 to 1750, is buried in Westminster Abbey. Broughton invented boxing gloves, which were then termed "mufflers". The dates of his birth and death are not recorded, which is the only thing which prevents the representatives of Spalding's from walking in solemn procession to the Abbey each year. Broughton, out of condition, was blinded by the Bristol man, Jack Slack (not Slack, of Norwich, as stated in "John o' London's Weekly") in fourteen minutes, at the Theatre, Oxford Street, London, on April 10th, 1750. One punch that landed between the eyes did the trick, and the Duke of Cumberland (who gained undying "fame" by his massacre of the Scots at Culloden) lost £10,000.
By some piece of spiteful jiggery-pokery Broughton's "theatre" was closed, but the Duke so far forgave the unfortunate Broughton that he secured for him a place in the ranks of the Yeoman of the Guard. Broughton drew up the first code of rules, his "special" punch at the solar plexus became known as Broughton's mark (since contracted to "the mark") and he died worth £7,000 at the age, I believe, of eighty.
Ben Brain of Bristol
Ben Brain (otherwise Brian, Bryan and Ryan) was born in Bristol in 1753. He won the championship from Tom Johnson, whom he beat in 18 rounds (21 mins.) at Wrotham, Kent, on Jan. 17th, 1791. Brain died in his 42nd year, April 8th, 1794, at his house in Gray's Inn Road. He was buried at St. Sepulchre's Church , and a tablet was erected in one of the walls to his memory.
"Gentleman" (John) Jackson was another pugilist whose last resting place was adorned by a monument. He deserved one, for not only was he an ornament to the Ring, but a charitable and kindly gentleman. He died on Oct. 7th, 1845, and was buried in Brompton Cemetery. On the plinth of the monument stands the nude figure of a man bearing in the right hand a leaf of laurels. On the top is the figure of a crouching lion.
Jem Belcher, of Bristol, succeeded Jackson as champion. You must excuse this constant repetition "of Bristol", but, being a West Countryman, I can never forget that Jack Slack, Ben Brain, Jem Belcher, Hen Pearce, John Gulley, and Tom Cribb were all Bristol men and all champions of England, and that Tom Spring (also champion) was a West Countryman. Belcher died on Tuesday, July 30th, 1811, at the Coach and Horses, Frith Street, Soho, in his 31st year. He was interred in the burial ground at Marylebone. His tombstone bears, or bore, the following inscription:- "In memory of James Belcher, late of St. Anne's Parish, Soho, who died on the 30th July, 1811. Aged 30. Universally regretted by all who knew him." I'd like to read that on my tombstone. Poor Hen Pearce, who died of consumption, got no monument of which I have ever heard. He, too, deserved one, if ever man did, if only for the following display of manly courage:- "In the month of November, 1807, a fire broke out on the premises of Mrs Denzill, a mercer, of Thomas Street, Bristol.
Heroism of "Hen" Pearce
"A servant girl, trapped by flames on the upper floor, would have surely met a horrible fate had not Pearce dashed into a neighbouring house and worked his way along the roof until he found himself above the girl's bedroom window. Flames were all around him, and the coping-stone was by no means safe, yet Pearce leaned over and, getting a grip on the girl's wrists, drew her up to safety. A few months afterwards he rescued a woman who was being maltreated on Clifton Downs by three burly gamekeepers. After a fierce battle one ruffian ran away, leaving the other two on the ground. Pearce died just after, expressing the hope that he might be forgiven by "all whom he might have ill-treated in his professional pursuits."
Gulley, who followed Pearce, became member of Parliament for Doncaster. He also won the Derby. This possibly was his monument. I have no record of any other. By the way, the late Speaker Gully, of the House of Commons, was not a descendent of John Gully, though it is often stated in print that he was.
"Poor" Jack Dempsey's Grave
You have possibly heard of "Poor Jack Dempsey's Grave" and of the pilgrimages made by devout pugilists to that so hallowed spot.
The Jack Dempsey referred to is, of course, not the gentleman who contributes to the gaiety of nations in the motion picture world, and who used to fight occasionally when in need of still more money. It is the middleweight Jack Dempsey I mean, who took such a beating from Bob Fitzsimmons. One day a sad-looking individual drifted into John L. Sullivan's bar. John was keeping a saloon then, although himself a staunch teetotaller between drinks.
"Don't you know me, John?" demanded the forlorn-looking one. The great John L. shifted his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. Fixing the man with that glare which used to send shivers up the back of the fellow who tried to stay three rounds with him for two hundred dollars when he was on the road, the "Boston Strong Boy" bellowed: "To the woods, you."
"But, John dear, listen. I've been to see poor Jack Dempsey's grave, an' I've a lil poem I've writ about it."
"Sit down," bellowed Sullivan. "Now then cough it up, an' let us hear what you can tell us 'bout poor Jack Dempsey's grave."
At the conclusion of the recitation Sullivan wept all over his big grey moustache. "Boy," he sobbed to the bar tender, "give this guy a bottle uv wine. See 'im drink ut, and den trow 'im out. 'Twas a lovely piece , it was, indade. He's fair bruk me 'eart."
Tom Sayers' monument stands in Highgate cemetery, and Dan Donnelly's boots were at one time preserved under a glass case with bits of the Curragh turf still adhering to the spikes; but what I am wondering is what sort of monument they would erect over some of our present-day worthies when they come to pass to the other side of the Styx.
Some Suggested Monuments
If I may be permitted I would suggest that over the tomb of Georges Carpentier there be erected a flat topped monument surmounted by the figure of Charity, weeping.
And if ever they decide to put one over the grave of that open-handed, generous man, Dick Burge, it should be that of a little child made happy by having a full belly at Dick's expense. For Dick was not only a great fighter and a West Countryman (excuse me) but also one who "did good by stealth and blushed to find it fame."
Monuments are usually erected over fighters' graves, not so much because they were fighters, but because they were Men.
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