The headmaster rose to his feet as Evelyne and Freedom entered his study, and gestured for them to sit down in the two chairs opposite his desk. He could see where the Stubbs boys got their size from, and he remarked that they were fine, big lads.
‘My husband was Heavyweight Boxing Champion of Great Britain. I don’t suppose the boys told you?’
He was surprised that they had never mentioned it. He shook Freedom’s hand and asked him if he would be good enough to give the sports prizes in assembly. Freedom was tickled pink, and he gave such a dazzling smile to Evelyne that she gave his hand a quick pat.
‘Now then, Mr and Mrs Stubbs — about Edward. It must be obvious to you that he is a more than excellent pupil — he is our star pupil really, not that we like him to know that, but if it is permissible I want him to go into the sixth form.’ He paused, peered at them for a moment, ‘I am fully aware of how hard these times are for us all, but I think Edward might be a suitable candidate for Cambridge University. He cannot take the entrance examination until he is sixteen, more likely seventeen. I shouldn’t be surprised, with the state the country is in, if war were declared. However, in special cases, and I believe your son is a special case, enlistment can be deferred.’
The headmaster was really feeling his way around the Stubbs family’s financial situation. It was rare, nowadays, for families to be able to afford to keep their boys at school for the sixth form. However, Mrs Stubbs’ reaction was immediate. She smiled, brimming with pride. ‘He’ll stay on, sir, and thank you very much.’
Freedom, not fully comprehending what the headmaster was saying, said nothing. He knew, as did everyone else, that war was imminent, so he presumed it was some sort of military training the head was referring to.
The assembly hall was filled to capacity, the boys lined up for their prizes and the school choir sang on the platform. Edward was up and down like a yo-yo as he collected prize after prize. Alex, in the lower class, had gained a special prize for endeavour, and one in maths. Evelyne applauded so often her hands were red. She couldn’t help but turn to the parents sitting next to her to say, ‘That’s my son.’
The majority of the parents were very middle class, but the Stubbs couple only stood out because of their height. Evelyne wore a new hat and coat, and Freedom was in one of his American suits, altered for the occasion by Freda.
‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, as you know, the school boxing team has done well this year, and the school’s senior boxing champion has become the overall grammar school champion. We are very fortunate to have an honoured guest to present the medal. I ask to join me on the platform, Freedom Stubbs, the ex-British Heavyweight Boxing Champion.’
They met Freda and Ed as they arrived home with the prizes, and they listened as Freedom told them about how he had gone up on the platform to present the boxing prize to the school champion. Alex wanted photographs of Freedom’s boxing days to show the boys at school, and Ed had them enthralled with stories of Freedom’s boxing matches. When they left, the boys went along to bring Freda’s scrapbook home.
Freda had saved all the newspaper cuttings and photographs taken in America. The boys were fascinated, and Alex wouldn’t let Evelyne turn a single page until he had asked every possible question. He wanted to know who was who and where all the places were.
‘Freedom, come and sit with us; you know all these people better than I do … come on.’
Freedom pulled up a chair. He had not seen many of the photographs himself, had tried to forget that part of his life. Now, after his success at the school, he was almost as eager as the boys to go over old times. He drew the book towards him. ‘Now then, lemme see … ah, see this fella here, on the side of the picture, that’s Jack Dempsey, the greatest boxer I’ve ever seen.’
Alex hung on his father’s every word, and clung to him. Edward had read the article and tried to turn the page. Alex stopped him. ‘Did you fight him, Dad?’
‘No, son, he’d retired when I met him … Now, then, this man on his right was Jack Kearn, a promoter, and this was Ted Rickard, they were a famous team, known as the “Golden Triangle” … An’ look, see, this is Dempsey’s thoroughbred stallion, ain’t it just lovely?’
Evelyne had relinquished her place at the table to Freedom, and she looked up from her sewing and smiled at the boys hanging onto their father’s arms, shouting and clapping.
‘Now, lads, this is a great fighter. Gene Tunney. I I was to fight him for the title, but then he stepped down and left his throne vacant, see. So fighters from all over the world came to try for the belt. See this, it’s a picture of the belt, an’ it’s solid gold, pictures hand-painted round the sides, seer Oh! An’ will you look at this, this was the Danish contender, name of Knud Hansen, big fella, eh?’ He turned the pages, animated, eager, ‘And Monty Munn … this chap’s a Frenchman, can’t remember his name. Here … here’s the villa where we stayed in Miami, Florida. You wasn’t born then, Alex, an’ you was just a toddler, Eddie.’
Evelyne came back into the kitchen, clutching her own scrapbook. It was immaculate; all these years it had been carefully wrapped in brown paper. Beneath each article was the name of the newspaper and the date, in her neat handwriting.
‘I notice your Dad is not showing you himself. Now, you’ve not seen this, it’s a really big occasion.’
The book was such a contrast to Ed and Freda’s, as theirs was full of their own memorabilia, and very well-thumbed as Ed had taken it down to the gym at every opportunity.
‘Now then, you’re going to learn something tonight, boys. Take a look at this — it’s a programme, but see the front. There were posters, twenty, maybe twenty-five feet high. As you came in on the plane, your Dad’s face was the first thing you saw.’
The two boys gaped as she turned the page. Freedom had to swallow tears. He reached for Evelyne’s hand and she gave him such a look it made his heart swell. He had never known about the book. It was so precious it touched his soul.
‘See, he was surrounded by autograph hunters, he was more famous than a film star. There was not a street in Miami he could walk down without crowds gathering.’
Freedom laughed and said she was exaggerating.
‘Oh, no I’m not, and this should be a lesson to you both. Your father was a champion, a very famous man, but you don’t see him pushing it down people’s throats like some people from around these parts who have never gone further afield than Brighton.’
The boys were agog, holding the book between them, shouting, vying with each other to turn the pages. And then there was the programme for the match between Freedom and Sharkey.
The boys fell silent, their eyes popping out of their heads. This was a man they scarcely recognized. The handsome face stared back at them, the hair long, the fists raised. Alex was close to tears of pride, touching the pictures, patting them. Edward looked at his father, then his mother. They were so close to the boys, had their arms around them, and yet it was as if they were alone. Evelyne bent to kiss Freedom, their eyes hungry for each other.
‘What happened then? At the big fight, Dad, what happened?’
Freedom turned the pages, trying to change the subject. ‘This man was Sir Charles Wheeler, he was my promoter, an English knight he was …’
Edward turned the pages back to look at the fight programme. ‘Well, did yer beat ‘im, Dad? Jack Sharkey?’
Freedom gave him a sad smile. ‘No, son, he beat me, wiped the floor with me, knocked me out of the ring.’