Show No Fear: A Bouncer's Diary (3 page)

After the warm up we had some sparring matches and then to finish off we practiced our unarmed combat techniques. We trained like that four times a week, every week.
I felt that this was enough to get us into good condition, hard training without knocking your pipe out completely; I didn’t want to leave my best fight in the Gym, we were now ready for anything. We had a regular little crew who used to turn up, Tony, Pete and my old mate from my school Peter, Andy and John. Tony was the smallest and lightest of the lads but pound for pound the strongest. He trained like a demon and was as hard as nails. Pete was six two and seventeen and a half stones and all ways trained very hard and had perfected an excellent left jab, one of the best I’ve seen (and felt). Peter my other mate whom I have known since I was at school was the biggest and the heaviest of us at over eighteen stones and a touch over six two. He presented a formidable opponent, initially he trained for many years in Kung-Fu but adapted to boxing very well, I think I’ve still got a lump under my chin to prove it. Andy was the new boy weighing in at eleven stone and with no previous experience. He had to start from scratch, but was a fast learner and very game, he also never pulled a punch. He would try and knock your block off every time, which was good in a way, because it kept you on your toes, in one match Andy received a really hard blow from Peter which resulted in a broken rib. I think it’s called learning the hard way; he healed up pretty quick and was back training about a month later, a little bit wiser. And John who is a professional doorman and the only one still training with me today, at fifteen and a half stones and six-foot, strong, fast and determined and has a very potent right hand punch. And last but not least myself, at six-foot and sixteen stones I considered myself to be a good all-rounder in the fistic arts. You know about my Martial arts background but the Boxing was something that came naturally to me. I studied a great deal of fight film; the fighters I used to watch most were Joe Louis and Rocky Marciano. Joe Louis was one of the best combination punchers ever and reined for eleven years as the Heavy weight Champion of the world. Rocky Marciano has got to be the toughest of all time and with his murderous right hand punch was never beaten. He had forty-nine fights forty-nine wins with fourty-three knockouts. He has remained the only world heavy weight Champion in history to retire undefeated. These are the guys I would study to see how they delivered their punches and how they got themselves into position to unleash their devastating attacks. I also studied a fighter called Jack Dempsey from the 1920’s; his fight against the giant Jess Willard for the world heavy weight title was one of the most brutal ever to be shown on film. So with the Joe Louis combinations and with Rocky Marciano’s right hander with a bit of Jack Dempsey thrown in for good measure I set about adopting their techniques and incorporating them into our training routines.
We trained hard, still using the training schedule. Press up’s, sit up’s, bag work and skipping being the fundamental building blocks. The sparring at the end of each session was as tough as I could make it. I felt it had to be made as real as possible. Quite a few schools that teach martial arts for example don’t ever get anywhere near the kind of realism that you need for an actual encounter with someone. The person who has been training at a school that teaches a semi or a non-contact type of sparring is going to get battered big time in the real world. I call it the fantasy island syndrome.

Once a week we decided that one of us would stay up and fight for ten three-minute rounds, it was a great test of stamina strength and spirit. One sparring match which springs to mind was with Pete, as usual it would start off relatively normal and gather momentum as it continued. Tony was doing the time keeping, two rounds gone and Pete was fighting really hard with absolutely no quarter. The third round had started when Pete caught me with a superb left jab followed by another left into the rib cage, quickly followed by two more left jabs to the head. It put me on the defensive and I started to go backwards, but my training determination and spirit kept me going, if you get caught in the solar plexus or floating ribs there’s nothing you can do but cover up and weather the storm.
I was in the corner and under attack from Peter’s persistent left hand jabs; I lured him in and waited for the right moment to counter attack. I threw a fast left hand followed by a right cross-combined with a hard left uppercut to the jaw followed by a rib crunching right hand. It sent Pete crashing through the door of the gym and out into the back garden where the fighting continued. Much to the surprise of the builders who were putting in some double glazing next door, two of them turned around quickly to see what was going and on one of them almost fell off the scaffolding.
At that point Tony calls a halt to the proceedings. Pete commented afterwards that when the upper cut landed on his chin he thought he saw the sun and the moon rise simultaneously and that it was only sheer bloody mindedness and a refusal to give in that made him carry on. I call it spirit. You’ve got to be able to take it in the gym if you can’t you will be in a lot of trouble in a real street fight. The lads came in all shapes and sizes and so one round you would be fighting someone who was six two; the next round you would be fighting someone shorter and faster. Which was good, because in a real fight you can’t pick and choose your opponents. It was all done with the right kind of attitude and each of us had gained each other’s respect, and there was absolutely no malice, in fact quite the opposite. We had some right old punch up’s in there. Believe it or not it was all extremely enjoyable. You have to take part in it to understand what I mean; we were all very fit and strong and could take the punishment it was also a great confidence builder as well. The sparring that I advocated was also intended to remove the fear of fighting. Basically we were not afraid of taking a few and so if you can remove a little of that fear and except the fact that you may have to take a clump or two in a real fight, violent confrontations are slightly easier to handle.

My good friend Andy had sadly died, he was just into his late thirties, and I have been thinking about him a lot during the writing of this book, what a waste. He was a troubled character who found it difficult to handle the real world. We both shared a common interest in art, drawing and sketching etc. I remember going up to the Tate Gallery with him and studying all the great works of art. Sadly we won’t be able to make those trips any more. We had some good laughs with Andy he really was a likeable man. I did my best to help him when he was in trouble and I know that my efforts were appreciated by him, he is remembered with great affection by me, my family and friends. We drifted apart over the last few years and only bumped into one another very occasionally. I had received my usual Christmas card from him and then found out that four months later he was dead. He was cremated and his ashes taken away by his family. I’ve still got his old boxing gloves in the Gym and every time I hear a knock or a creak in there when I’m training I like to think it might be the spirit of Andy mooching around.
Strange isn’t it? Only when someone is no longer around do you begin to realise what you really thought of them. Wish you were here mate…Life goes on.
Back to the door work, John phoned and asked if Peter and I would like to work
Saturday night.
“Ok mate, where do want us to go”?
He gave me the location and I asked my usual question.
“What’s the money like”?
“How does £90 a piece sound”?
“Sounds fine mate, we will be there.”
“You will have to be there from 10pm till about 8am”.
Kings Cross was our destination, we boarded the train and left the leafy suburbs of Ealing behind and after about 45 minutes we arrive at Kings Cross. Grey and uninviting a run-down inner city dump where every vice imaginable was on offer. As we exit the station the Police were everywhere and six coppers are trying to arrest some black guy who is brandishing a large carving knife and is taunting them with it, it took them ages to deal with the situation, we were tempted to go over and show them how it should be done. Mind you they would have probably nicked us for being too rough with the gentleman. Eventually they all jump on him and then he is very gently placed in the back of the Police van. I thought that they were far too hesitant with the guy; anyone who carries a weapon of that nature and then decides to use it should get absolutely no mercy. I have no idea what sort of training the Police receive with regards to tackling situations of this nature. It all looked very amateurish and haphazard from where we were standing and a lot of luck was involved. He will probably get some tea and biscuits and a slap on the wrist when they get him back to the station. A good start to the evening…
We arrived at our destination about half an hour to early and so we set off in search of the nearest battle cruiser. We find a pub close to the venue, it had a few a hells angels mooching about inside but they didn’t take much notice of us, the music was excellent. As we walked in the jukebox was playing one of my favourite pieces of heavy rock music, paranoid by Black Sabbath. Two halves of lager later and it was time to shoot over the road. The venue was and still is a very popular place, three massive warehouses linked together with enough room for five thousand partygoers. As we enter the venue John was standing in the main entrance.
“Hello lads, you made it then.” He said
“Hi mate what’s happening?” I said as we shook hands.
“You two come with me.”
We follow him down a flight of stairs and through a long corridor, to where we were to spend the majority of the night. The two of us where introduced to the other member of the company who jointly runs it with John.
“Alright lads if you’d just like to listen in.” He said in a loud confident tone.
He then proceeded to show us how to search someone for any drugs or weapons etc.
Firstly everyone must be searched without exception, ask them if they have any needles on them, search their hats boots bags everything. Then underneath of the collar on the shirt or jacket is one of the favourite hiding places for small amounts of drugs.
He then proceeded to demonstrate the search on one of the staff. Start at the top and work down, tell them to raise the arms, feel down each sleeve, ask them to remove any head gear, then do the collar, and over the shoulders and around the back.
Then grab hold of the waist band of the trousers and give them a good shake you never know something might fall out, then down the inside of legs and then the outside and finally the boots, ask them to take them off if you feel it’s necessary. If we found any drugs they were all put into a steel drugs box which was taken to the local police station the next day. A few minutes later the first of the night’s revelers started to emerge. We were stopping and searching the punters for a good couple of hours, we had most definitely drawn the short straw. Two huge queues were formed which stretched right back to the high street. Boys on the left and the girls over to the right hand side. There were hundreds of scantily clad young females, scruffy looking dudes and undesirables of every description descending on the place. A couple of old Trannies were parading themselves up and down the never ending ranks of impatient young people, dressed in over elaborate costumes trying to amuse the punters who were having to wait forever to gain entry. The guy who had organised the event who incidentally was dressed in a long flowing purple gown topped off with a witch’s hat was making himself very busy. Flitting about in an excited fashion with an over the top foppish manner, giving orders left right and centre with animated gestures like some kind of demented Orchestral conductor.
After about an hour Peter turns towards me as he was searching the lower half of some scruffy looking bastard, his face had the expression of someone who had just taken a bite out of a very bitter lemon.
“What’s up mate”? I ask.
Pete says I’ll tell you later, and so we eventually get a break, I ask Pete what happened when he was searching that bloke. Pete goes on to explain that while he was searching around the back of the guy’s trousers he had discovered that he had shit his pants..........
Two things immediately sprang to my mind, the first was that this fella is now going to be wondering around all night with his pants full of shite, secondly Pete has just had his hand around the back of this blokes trousers and is now munching away on a cheese and pickle sandwich using the same un washed hand. After our well-deserved break we were asked to patrol for the rest of the night. The sickly bittersweet smell of puff was inescapable and whilst doing our rounds we observe some curious sights. Some individuals were very lively jigging about furiously on the same spot head down looking at the floor and some were just standing staring into space open mouthed with blank expressions and soaked in sweat. If that was their idea of a good night out they could keep it, they paid fifteen quid a piece to come here and do that. An evening out at the races or a dog meeting for a piss up with a few pals that’s my idea of a good night out. It was absolutely boiling someone must have turned the heating on full whack. The best little earner must have been the water concession who ever had that must of made a fortune. At 6 am the end was in sight, a twenty-five strong team of bouncers form ranks and herd the remnants of the crowd towards the main exit. The snatch squads had a busy night though intercepting drugs and the people who deal in them, when they were caught they were given very rough treatment and literally kicked out.
After 10 hours we collected our cash and set off towards the station.... and home.
I think we did that venue three or four times, I didn’t like the place, it had too many bad vibes and on one occasion a member of the Security team was stabbed to death on the premises whilst trying to apprehend a drug dealer. This can be a very dangerous profession; and many doormen have been killed in the line of duty. It’s a statistic that I feel will only sadly increase especially with today’s growing gun and knife culture, and the willingness to commit these murders with very little if any provocation. When they are caught they are awarded a sentence that rarely befits the crime and they will probably only serve two thirds of it. With their defence Lawyers bringing out the old chestnut “he had a deprived childhood” or something of a similar nature, that’s all bollocks as far as I’m concerned. These do gooders who argue this way I feel have a lot to answer for, I think they may feel a little different if it was one of their own on the receiving end of a sharp blade. What we need are strong laws in place that protect the “victims” and not the perpetrators. The other day it was reported in the newspaper that a young boy who was just out on an errand for his Mother was stabbed to death for a mobile phone. Words cannot express how I feel about such things. If I had my way I would reintroduce the death penalty for such crimes. The taking of someone’s life in a premeditated cold bloodied attack with a knife, that person has to pay the ultimate price, anything less than that and I feel that justice has not been served. Take away the knife and what are we left with? A pathetic coward. There’s no margin for error with a knife they are designed to kill. Unfortunately the reality is that these cold, sick [people] for want of a better description do exist and so we have to be ready to defend ourselves against them as best we can. If one of these types of individual’s pulls a knife on me; my response will be a relentless unmerciful, devastating beating. I don’t like people who carry knives. Ok I’ll put my soap box away now. After the stabbing incident at Bagley’s we set about acquiring bullet / stab proof vests and every knife self defence manual I could lay my hands on. We studied and practiced the techniques that seemed to be the most effective and uncomplicated and incorporated them into our training routine and we practiced them over and over until they became second nature.
One of the most important things that we discovered while researching the subject of knife defence was the seizing of the knife hand, and not to let go of it. Literally hang on for dear life. Running away is always a good idea… if you think you can.
I have given some thought to putting together a practical self-defence manual in the near future. Not like some that you see with the use of flamboyant kicks and complicated blocking routines, they would probably get you killed if you tried to use them against someone who had a knife. My idea is to write a manual that deals with the reality of what is required to subdue your attacker so you can make your escape and survive the ordeal.
I have worn a covert kevlar vest ever since that tragic fatal incident; they are not cheap but an obvious essential piece of kit. I advise anyone involved in this type of occupation to obtain one. Another piece of kit we used to bring was a groin guard for obvious reasons and a pair of good quality leather gloves is always a good idea. I had the ones that were knife proof, they were ordinary leather gloves but with kevlar inserts. We always wore boots as opposed to shoes; the reason being is that they don’t come off. Pete was going in to deal with a fight one night closely followed by me, I accidentally trod on the back of his shoe and it came flying off. He was hopping around in the dark for a good few minutes trying to find it. By the time he had retrieved it the situation had been dealt with. Lesson learned.