The Last Gangster: My Final Confession by Richardson Charlie

Author:Richardson, Charlie [Richardson, Charlie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781448151288
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2014-01-20T00:00:00+00:00

16. The court of the kings

My clubland tours revealed some extraordinary characters. George Best was the king of football; Jack Lemmon had to be the king of comedy at the time; Orson Welles was the king of film directing; and Henry Cooper was the king of the ring.

I plodded on with my dubious reputation as the king of the long firm; I would have preferred something more businesslike, but there you go.

Jack Duval, at first sight, could have been a High Court judge. He could have played a comical oaf in a typical English TV farce. He would not have looked out of place on the hustings as an overfed pampered MP, trading political points.

The Astor Club was packed around midnight, but Jack Duval stood out from the crowd. I was doing my usual thing, reflecting on my business plans with a few associates and chatting to everyone from the doorman to a dodgy-looking lawyer. As Duval held court with a group of potential clients, loud guffaws boomed across the bar. I opted for a quick chat with Henry Cooper.

‘Our ’Enery’ had just popped in for a quick bite after a hard day’s training. He looked in fantastic condition, and I knew he was building up to his bout with Cassius Clay. Henry had a couple of manager types with him, but he made a point of chatting in his usual friendly way.

Now, I’d bumped into Henry before, so he knew about my early boxing career. He also knew the Krays had enjoyed the sport; in those days most of the young lads seemed to take up boxing.

‘How is the training going?’ I enquired, as it was the obvious thing to say with the fight of his life only a few weeks away.

‘It’s good, it’s good,’ he said, demonstrating a pretend left jab in my direction.

‘You won’t be giving him a right-hander, then,’ I joked, knowing that Henry was famous for his left hook. He didn’t stand like a traditional ‘southpaw’, or left-handed person, though. He had his left foot and left hand forward, so he looked like he would deliver a right-hander!

‘Cassius does look mean,’ Our ’Enery admitted. ‘I’m amazed he drops his guard sometimes. It looks as if he wants to get hit. I wonder if he’ll write a poem about me. He’s always writing poems about his fights.’

I agreed that Cassius Clay had taken the world of sport by storm, not only for his fighting abilities but also from his wit, charm and poetic skills. He read out his rhymes to millions of fans throughout the world before his fights.

‘I’m going to have a go at a poem,’ Henry declared. ‘I have to get him on equal terms. I didn’t make up this rhyme – someone else did – but I can remember it.

‘“This fight is going to be really super. There’s only one winner, Henry Cooper. I have to make Cassius understand. He’ll be floored by Henry’s hammer hand!”’

I laughed out loud: ‘Well, there’s no problem with the verse.

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