East End boxing was floored by the flames
By Alex Daley
Today, the spiritual home of East London boxing is undoubtedly the York Hall, Bethnal Green. Where else can you watch great domestic action in an intimate atmosphere from a decent seat, and still have spare cash for the train fare home? York Hall is a special place, but it's really only the latest in a long line of similar grass-roots venues that have drawn fans to the East End since boxing with gloves began. The predominant cultures and customs have changed in recent decades, but the noble art is always there, as synonymous with East London as Bow Bells or jellied eels.
The first big East End hall in the post bare-knuckle era was Wonderland, which stood in the heart of Stepney borough at 100 Whitechapel Road, adjoining a pub and a Jewish theatre. It began as a venue for novelty shows (hence its name), and was first opened for boxing in the late 1890s by leaseholder Jack Woolf and a matchmaker called 'Professor' Joe Smith. Little is known of Smith, who faded from the picture fairly quickly and was replaced by Harry Jacobs, an irascible but brilliant matchmaker, who would steer Wonderland through its most successful phase.
With the astute leadership of Woolf and Jacobs, Wonderland quickly became the capital's leading working-class fight hall. It was crowded practically every Saturday night, to the extent where ringsiders often complained of spectators standing between them and the ring. After the 'house full' signs were up on the venue's official pub entrance, bar staff were not averse to taking backhanders to let spectators in through a private passage inside the pub.
The tiny ring, which was only around 12 square feet, allowed no room for back-peddling and ensured that each contest was a come-forward fight. The referee sat on a platform outside the ring and had a handy escape hatch in case of an angry post-fight mob. Jellied eels were quaffed by the bucket-load and the remnants spat beneath chairs and onto the backs of the heads of those sat in front. Ringsiders were showered with resin and fragments of disintegrating ring canvas whenever the stewards swept the ring between bouts, and throughout each show local pickpockets ran amok. Betting was supposedly strictly prohibited, yet bookmakers flagrantly flouted the rules and took bets round the hall before and during each fight. The setting was as rough and ready as can be imagined, but usually the action on offer more than justified the discomfort.
Some of the best fighters in Britain showed their wares at Wonderland: men such as Charlie Knock, Curly Watson, Ernie Veitch, Johnny Summers, Young Joseph and Bombardier Billy Wells. The last three were all British or European champions, and at least four world champions boxed at Wonderland as well. These were Jimmy Britt, the Dixie Kid, Kid McCoy and Tommy Burns. Burns defended his world heavyweight crown there against Newcastle's Jack Palmer on 10 February 1908. Admission was specially raised for the event and East Enders sat spellbound as the Canadian KO'd the Geordie inside four rounds. Burns lost his world title to the legendary Jack Johnson in their famous clash at Rushcutter's Bay in Sydney, Australia 10 months later.
During its relatively short life as a fight hall, Wonderland rose rapidly to national fame. Things were running swimmingly on the surface, but beneath it trouble was brewing between business partners Jack Woolf and Harry Jacobs. It soon became plain that the pair could simply not get on, and their disputes bubbled over into bitter public rows.
Jacobs, it was alleged, after paying a fighter a certain sum, would get the said boxer to sign a receipt for a larger figure, while surreptitiously pocketing the difference. Jacobs's counter claim was that Woolf admitted spectators through his private pub entrance without paying their fees into the partnership account. The pair remained at constant loggerheads. Something had to give and it turned out to be Jacobs.
Since Woolf owned the Wonderland lease, Jacobs was forced to move on and stage his own shows elsewhere. This he duly did, but his rival shows, at the nearby Paragon Music Hall, proved a dismal failure. And it is for this very reason that he became the suspected perpetrator of the astounding event that occurred next.
On 13 August 1911, despite the efforts of 140 firemen with 12 streamers and three motor pumps, Wonderland mysteriously burnt to the ground. The fire was attributed to a faulty electrical circuit in some cinema apparatus being tested for a screening that night. But few who had witnessed the angry public rows between Woolf and Jacobs fully accepted the official line. Rumours of 'foul play' were rife.
The East End was hard hit by the loss of its beloved home of boxing, but shortly afterwards another arena rose almost phoenix-like from its ashes. With the threat of serious competition removed, Harry Jacobs opened this new venue, Premierland (pronounced Pree-mier-land), on 16 December 1911. The new hall stood on Back Church Lane, only streets away from its predecessor, and its opening marked a new chapter in East London's rich boxing past.
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