Born to Fight--The True Story of Richy 'Crazy Horse' Horsley
Page 16
‘No mate,’ I replied. Benny then eyed me suspiciously and looked at my plate – the food on it looked remarkably like his. I was eating his fucking scran! I had taken the wrong meal out of the fridge, you see. Benny was not amused. All that was left in the fridge was a scabby little shrivelled-up potato with a mangy bit of butter. I tried to explain to him that it was for his own good to keep the fire in his belly, eye of the tiger and all that, but he was having none of it and was in a foul mood all night. But who can blame him? He still thinks I did it on purpose.
My status as a boxing trainer was soon to come to an end though, as my past began to haunt me once more. Some time before I had been featured in a book called Street Fighters. The first story in the book is a short rundown about some of my street fights. When there was a story about me in the local paper talking about some of the brutal street fights I’ve been in and about the forthcoming book, the local Boxing Board asked me to go in for an interview about the Street Fighting. I didn’t want to sit in front of a bunch of people while they put me on trial – I didn’t see what business of theirs it was – so I packed the corner work in.
The publication of the book reinvigorated interest in my street-fighting credentials, and not long after I was contacted by a man who wanted me to have a bare-knuckle fight. I was guaranteed five grand, but the man I would be fighting was a former heavyweight boxer. We had a long talk and everything seemed kosher. I said I needed eight weeks preparation, which he agreed to. I had become so lazy and was moving slower, so I thought this would get my arse in gear. I got weighed and was 19st 12lb. I wrote a training diary so I could keep tabs with what I’d done. Some of you might find it interesting and some might not, but I’m putting it in all the same.
TUESDAY
* * *
Went to the beach and walked down to the water’s edge and sucked in all that fresh sea air. I start to jog for a couple of minutes and it doesn’t take long for me to start sweating. My legs become heavy. I walk for about five mins then jog for another couple. My heart, legs and lungs don’t know what’s hit them as I get back to the car soaked in sweat.
THURSDAY
* * *
Done the same as I did on Tuesday. I’ve decided I’m going to jog twice a week (Tue & Thur).
TUESDAY
* * *
Back to the beach. There were a lot of people with their dogs and I hate jogging past people looking like Mr Blobby so I went to the local athletics track and pushed myself round it three times. It’s a quarter of a mile round and I felt like stopping after one lap. It’s hard going when you’re unfit and this heavy.
THURSDAY
* * *
Same again, three times round the running track and felt like stopping after once. Some old women were walking their dogs but I wasn’t attacked by any of the mutts – that’s a first. I think dogs see me as a threat when I run towards them because they usually attack me but not these nice doggies. Went to see an old pal of mine and he said I can train in his gym any time, so I’m going down tomorrow.
FRIDAY
* * *
Went to John’s gym. He has one room for sparring and grappling, another is filled with free weights and a weights machine and the other is filled with kick bags and punch bags. He also has an office; it’s a really nice set-up. I’ve known John for twenty years and training is his life. He is a great instructor, conditioner and motivator; a good man to have in your corner is John. He’s a black belt fourth Dan in one style of fighting, fifth Dan in another and also the highest grade you can get in kick boxing and runs his own academy. A great guy, only small but not to be messed with. He could smash about six bones in your body before you could say Peking Duck. Anyway, I done a round of skipping and had a bit of a lather on because it doesn’t half get you warmed up. Charlie P took me on the pads for two rounds and that was enough for me – I felt like spewing.
MONDAY
* * *
One round skipping and three on the pads with John. I felt like I needed oxygen after that, John makes you work so hard.
TUESDAY
* * *
Three times round the running track. I like to do my running early so the air is as clean as possible.
WEDNESDAY
* * *
One round skipping. One light round on bag. Three rounds on pads with John. He never lets you settle and makes you work every second of every round.
THURSDAY
* * *
Three times round the running track.
FRIDAY
* * *
Three rounds skipping. Got a good sweat on and then done three rounds on the pads working on speed. It was all speed, speed, speed and I couldn’t breathe; it was intense. The gym was hot and humid and I drank plenty of fluids.
MONDAY
* * *
Two skipping. One heavy bag. Three on the pads again working on speed. When I got home I had a nice hot bath and felt great. I got a buzz I’d never had in years and it felt really good. Also every three days I’ve been doing 120 press-ups (3 sets of 40).
TUESDAY
* * *
Four times round the running track. I pushed myself to do an extra one and felt great after a bath. I can feel a big change in my body and it feels 100% better. Not bad for a fat bastard.
WEDNESDAY
* * *
One round shadow boxing. Two rounds skipping. Three rounds on the heavy bag.
THURSDAY
* * *
Four times round the running track again. I’m over the moon with myself. I’m gonna stick to four times round twice a week, that’s enough for me.
FRIDAY
* * *
Finished the week with a good session. Done some stretching and then three skipping. One shadow boxing. Two on the pads working on speed and finished off with two on the bag. I’m hitting a lot harder and getting a lot faster. Starting to buzz.
MONDAY
* * *
Two skipping. One shadow. Two pads. Two bag. Finished off with legs on weight machine.
TUESDAY
* * *
Four times round running track. 120 press-ups. Got weighed and was bang on 19 stone.
WEDNESDAY
* * *
Stretching. One shadow. Two skipping. One bag. Three pads. Finished with legs on weight machine.
THURSDAY
* * *
Woke up this morning with a trapped nerve at the bottom of my neck, right in between the shoulder blades. It’s the exact same nerve that’s been trapped twice before and had to be freed both times by a chiropractor as I was in agony. I still ran round the track four times but I was in pain.
FRIDAY
* * *
I’ve been awake most of the night with jolts of pain every time I move. I can’t go to the gym like this so I’m going for a massage.
MONDAY
* * *
Trapped nerve has knocked hell out of me all weekend. I had a couple of massages but they were only good for a short time. I’ve had a session with a chiropractor and it feels much better. £30 for the first time and £25 every time after that. I was told to do certain exercises in the hope that it might free itself. It has to get better soon as I need to be training.
WEDNESDAY
* * *
Just back from chiropractors and it feels 100% better.
THURSDAY
* * *
Four times round the running track. 120 press-ups. Trapped nerve has been released. Cushty.
FRIDAY
* * *
Back in the gym after a week. One round shadow. One round skipping. Three rounds on the pads. Felt OK. The break might have done me a bit of good even though you wouldn’t think it. I’ll give you an example here. When my mate fought for (and won) the British title years ago they had twelve weeks of training mapped out, as it was over fifteen rounds back then. After six weeks he felt like he was peaking and the people looking after him gave him a week off the gym but he still done his
morning run. It kept him from going stale. He felt fresh again when he went back to the gym and done the last five weeks and peaked at the right time and won the title in the fourteenth round.
SATURDAY
* * *
120 press-ups.
MONDAY
* * *
Two skipping. Two shadow. Three bag. Legs on weight machine.
TUESDAY
* * *
Four times round the running track. 120 press-ups.
WEDNESDAY
* * *
Stretching. One skipping. Two heavy bag. Three pads.
THURSDAY
* * *
Four times round the running track. 120 press-ups.
FRIDAY
* * *
Two shadow. Two skipping. Two heavy bag. Two pads. Legs on machine.
MONDAY
* * *
Two shadow. Three skipping. Four heavy bag. Legs on machine.
TUESDAY
* * *
Four times round the running track. 120 press-ups.
Later that day, I got a phone call to say that the fight was off. The geezer had pulled out. I wasn’t given an explanation. I couldn’t believe it. All that training for nothing – it would be an understatement if I said I wasn’t too pleased. All I got was an embarrassing apology. At the time I was fuming but, thinking about it now, it was probably for the best.
After all, in the grand scheme of things this was just a minor issue. I realised this most strongly one morning in July 2001, when our Debbie’s fella came walking up to my door and told me that my sister Jackie was dead. It took the wind right out of my sails. I asked what happened and he replied, ‘She killed herself.’ I couldn’t get my head round that: Jacqueline wouldn’t kill herself, she had six children at home and they were her life – she doted on them. I said I was going straight round to see Debra but he said she was visiting family and wouldn’t be back until two o’clock. When I did get round there I was in a complete daze. Debra was in the kitchen making a cup of tea and her eyes were red and bloodshot with crying. I was also choked up with red eyes. Debra started telling me about what had been going on.
She said Jackie had phoned her a few hours before she died. Jackie said that her oldest son Andrew, who she hadn’t seen for years, had turned up out of the blue a couple of weeks before. He was eating her out of house and home and wasn’t giving her a penny. She said to Debra that he was a stranger and was thinking about asking him to leave, but was worried what people would think. She had been married to Paul and then got divorced, but they were still together, although he wasn’t living with her. It turned out that she and Paul hadn’t been getting on and he was being very difficult. That afternoon, she went to a pub to see him and found him all over a woman. An argument erupted and she stormed off.
When she phoned Debra at 9.45pm, she told her what had been going on and after a few minutes said, ‘I’ll have to go because I’m going out.’ Debbie enquired, ‘This late?’ Jackie said, ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow,’ and finished the conversation. Those were the very last words they ever spoke. We don’t entirely know what happened afterwards. Paul and Andrew are the only ones who know what really happened; Andrew was having nightmares for weeks after.
Paul said Jackie went upstairs and they could hear her walking about. He said that she sat on the bedroom floor and had a cigarette. Then she wrapped the lead from the vacuum cleaner around her neck tightly, about nine times, and passed out through lack of oxygen to the brain. When he went upstairs, he struggled to get the door open as she was laid against it. He spotted the lead around her neck as soon as he got in. He said her eyes were vacant and he knew she was gone. The ambulance came and found a faint pulse and gave her the electric-shock treatment, but couldn’t bring her back. That was at 1.30am. At 2am, she was pronounced dead. She was only 38 years old.
Paul said there wasn’t a suicide note. If Jackie had planned to kill herself she would have definitely left a note. The six children were asleep in the other bedrooms. The post mortem said the cause of death was strangulation by ligature and at the inquest there was an open verdict. I went with Debbie to the hospital morgue to identify Jackie, and the marks on her neck were visible. We were shocked to see our sister like that. Deb and I did some running around sorting the funeral out. The day before the funeral, I had one hour alone with her and was talking to her and crying my eyes out. She looked beautiful, just like sleeping beauty. The morning of the funeral, I had another hour alone with her. I wanted to say goodbye to my sister in private, as it was very personal to me.
There is a turquoise stone that is sacred to the American Indian and I put one in her sleeve and kissed her. The funeral was very emotional and I still haven’t got over her death. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t think of her. She smiles at me every day from a picture I have of her on my wall. Westlife were her favourite band and we played two of their records at her funeral. I have a lock of her hair, which I value as my most prized possession. It can never be replaced. I still have a little soft spot for her daughter Stacey, as I looked after her for a short time when she was a baby. Paul is looking after all the children now with the help of his family. It is all very sad.
Two months after Jackie passed away, my mam’s second husband Ken died. He’d been in a home for a few years and died of natural causes. Soon after, the adopted daughter of my mam’s friend, Annie Bobbin, died of kidney failure. Joanne was buried on Christmas Eve. She left an eight-year-old daughter, who is now being brought up by her grandparents. There was another friend of mine who died around the same time, who choked on her vomit. She was the same age as Joanne, both only 25 years old. You can be talking to someone one minute and they’ll be gone the next. Life is so short; you have to make the most of it while you can because we are not here on this earth very long. Needless to say, all this anguish put my own problems firmly into perspective.
As I started losing family and friends, I was moved to try and find out more about my own ancestry. I heard of a good medium called Peter Crawford who lived in a town not too far from me. I had a private sitting with him and what he told me was unreal. He was spot-on with everything and everyone. I got messages from my dad, Granny Horsley, my sister Jackie and my pal H. He said Gran was with her sister Margaret, who had died when only a child. He also told me he could see horse-drawn gypsy trailers in a field and horses grazing and gypsy men sat round a campfire talking. He said if I checked it out I would find that I had gypsy blood in me and that these spirits were my family from generations ago. This corresponded with a similar message I have already told you that I had years before. When I told my sister Debra, she said that she thought there was a gypsy link somewhere. She was sure she’d heard something like that when she was a child but couldn’t be sure.
A few days later, she phoned me and said, ‘I’ve just been talking to my mother on the phone and I asked her if there was any gypsy blood in the family.’ She had said that her mother – my biological grandmother – was a pure-bred Romany gypsy who had been brought up in a children’s orphanage in Leeds; her name was Ellen Hopkins. Debra went on, ‘She doesn’t know how old she was when she went in or what happened to her parents. We don’t know if her name was already Hopkins or whether the orphanage gave her it. She died some years ago.’ That was a bit of a shock to me, but there you have it – I do have gypsy blood in me.
I have a good friend called Louis Welch, who is a Romany gypsy. The late Bartley Gorman, in his autobiography King Of The Gypsies, rated Louis as one of the best bare-knuckle fighters in the British Isles. One day, when he was at my house, I told Louis the story of my gypsy blood and he was a little surprised and then said, ‘We could be related.’ Then he told me something which really surprised me. He said that he was born in Hartlepool, at Cameron Hospital. I was shocked, especially as I was born in the same hospital. We came into this world on the same spot, probably only feet apart.