Post by dragon1010 on Dec 20, 2005 18:50:06 GMT
Red-haired gipsy boy Bartley Gorman was only nine years old when he first witnessed the misery that violence brings.
It was Boxing Day, 1953, and his family had gathered in the Three Horseshoes pub in Exhall for his aunt's wed-ding reception.
Christmas decorations were up and the place was filled with drinking and laughter. Bartley and his brother Sam were running around with the other children when a fairground operator had his drink spilt.
The showman vented his anger instantly on Bartley's uncle Jimmy Wilson, killing him with a single punch.
Only the swift arrival of the police prevented the showman being torn limb from limb by the gipsies.
Although Bartley's grandfather and great-grandfather had both been champion gipsy boxers, his father Samuel was a law-abiding, religious man who was not a fighter.
Samuel had brought his family from Wales to Bedworth to give the children some schooling. They made their home in Warner's Yard, a travellers' plot next to the Queen's Head pub in Newtown Road.
His parents couldn't read but wanted their boys to learn, so Bartley and Sam were sent to St Francis of Assisi, the town's red-brick, slate-roof primary school.
It was here Bartley learned two things which would shape his life - how to read, and how to fight.
The fighting came naturally - starting with playground tussles, then after-school scraps, followed by proper training at Bedworth Labour Club and a string of schoolboy amateur fights, including some for his secondary school, Nicholas Chamberlaine.
Bartley's mother Katy had bought him a Bible, which the inquisitive youngster read avidly.
This thirst for wisdom would play a big part in his future, but it would later cause him to question the violent life he had led.
The lion's share of Bartley's biography is taken up with tales of brutal fights at fairs and race-courses, in car parks, pubs or quarries - anywhere travelling men met, argued and brawled.
Although fellow travellers gambled thousands of pounds on his fights, Bartley prided himself on boxing for honour and felt he was the natural successor to his great-grandfather Boxing Bartley - Ireland's King of the Tinkers in the 19th century - and his grandfather Bulldog Bartley - another unbeaten bareknuckle fighter.
When he won the gipsy title aged 28, he was 6ft 1in and weighed 15½ stone.
MANY of Bartley's scraps and scrapes took place in and around Coventry.
The best punch he ever took was delivered by Coventry boxer Roger Barlow during a gloved sparring session in a rickety gym in Merthyr, Wales, in 1972.
Once after a drinking session in Coventry, Bartley was challenged to take on Blond Simey, one of two top fighters in the vast Irish clan of travellers, the Dochertys.
He arrived at the old building site where the Irish clan were staying, tore off his shirt and fought off two dogs which were set on him.
When it became clear his opponent wasn't there, he overturned a car in anger and made off.
Although Bartley proudly revelled in his prowess with his fists, he also had a sensitive, thoughtful side, and he grew tired of the mindless violence
B a r t l e y was almost killed by a mob near Doncaster Racecourse on St Leger Day in 1976. He had turned up expecting to fight a challenger to his gipsy crown, but arrived to find an armed mob, who he was later told had been paid £25,000 to attack him.
It took Bartley more than a year to regain his fitness, and he bore scars for the rest of his life.
Shortly after the attack, he told the Evening Telegraph: "They smashed iron bars over my head. I was in the car and my left leg was trapped in the door as I tried to close it.
"They smashed a bottle and then started to saw my leg with it. I pleaded with them not to but they just smiled. Some of them held me while one cut and went through the flesh to the bone. I really believe they were trying to kill me."
Former Evening Telegraph journalist Peter Walsh, Bartley's biographer, said: "The Doncaster incident affected him emotionally. He was a man for a fair fight, but they were trying to kill him." a n d h a t r e d w h i c h k i l l e d many of his friends.
Bartley came close to losing his crown as "the best man in England" when he dislocated his shoulder during a fight at a Coventry pub in 1980.
The pub - thought to be the old Port O'Call off Hearsall Common (now the Old Clarence) - was packed with travellers.
Many of the country's toughest fighters were drinking together when Bartley was challenged to fight Mexicana Webb, a moustachioed giant with a bushy Afro hairstyle. Bartley remembers the crowd clearing the tables away for the fight.
When the landlord reached for the phone to call the police, someone grabbed his arm and warned him off.
Bartley eventually won but only because his opponent failed to notice his shoulder had been dislocated in the bout.
Other fights Bartley recalls took place on the Aston Firs travellers' site near Hinckley, where his family lived for many years; at the Squires nightclub in Hinckley at his brother Sam's wake in 1991; and at the Coventry Crock Fair in 1994.
Although he spent a good deal of time in and around Warwickshire, Bartley's adopted hometown was Uttoxeter in Staffordshire, where his name is now etched on a plaque commemorating the town's most famous residents.
Hundreds of gipsies from across the country came to the town for his funeral in January after he died from liver cancer, aged 57.
Peter Walsh, who got to know Bartley during the last 18 months of his life, said: "He was a unique man, a one-off. He was a lovely man with a wicked sense of humour but a streak of melancholy that never left him."
It was Boxing Day, 1953, and his family had gathered in the Three Horseshoes pub in Exhall for his aunt's wed-ding reception.
Christmas decorations were up and the place was filled with drinking and laughter. Bartley and his brother Sam were running around with the other children when a fairground operator had his drink spilt.
The showman vented his anger instantly on Bartley's uncle Jimmy Wilson, killing him with a single punch.
Only the swift arrival of the police prevented the showman being torn limb from limb by the gipsies.
Although Bartley's grandfather and great-grandfather had both been champion gipsy boxers, his father Samuel was a law-abiding, religious man who was not a fighter.
Samuel had brought his family from Wales to Bedworth to give the children some schooling. They made their home in Warner's Yard, a travellers' plot next to the Queen's Head pub in Newtown Road.
His parents couldn't read but wanted their boys to learn, so Bartley and Sam were sent to St Francis of Assisi, the town's red-brick, slate-roof primary school.
It was here Bartley learned two things which would shape his life - how to read, and how to fight.
The fighting came naturally - starting with playground tussles, then after-school scraps, followed by proper training at Bedworth Labour Club and a string of schoolboy amateur fights, including some for his secondary school, Nicholas Chamberlaine.
Bartley's mother Katy had bought him a Bible, which the inquisitive youngster read avidly.
This thirst for wisdom would play a big part in his future, but it would later cause him to question the violent life he had led.
The lion's share of Bartley's biography is taken up with tales of brutal fights at fairs and race-courses, in car parks, pubs or quarries - anywhere travelling men met, argued and brawled.
Although fellow travellers gambled thousands of pounds on his fights, Bartley prided himself on boxing for honour and felt he was the natural successor to his great-grandfather Boxing Bartley - Ireland's King of the Tinkers in the 19th century - and his grandfather Bulldog Bartley - another unbeaten bareknuckle fighter.
When he won the gipsy title aged 28, he was 6ft 1in and weighed 15½ stone.
MANY of Bartley's scraps and scrapes took place in and around Coventry.
The best punch he ever took was delivered by Coventry boxer Roger Barlow during a gloved sparring session in a rickety gym in Merthyr, Wales, in 1972.
Once after a drinking session in Coventry, Bartley was challenged to take on Blond Simey, one of two top fighters in the vast Irish clan of travellers, the Dochertys.
He arrived at the old building site where the Irish clan were staying, tore off his shirt and fought off two dogs which were set on him.
When it became clear his opponent wasn't there, he overturned a car in anger and made off.
Although Bartley proudly revelled in his prowess with his fists, he also had a sensitive, thoughtful side, and he grew tired of the mindless violence
B a r t l e y was almost killed by a mob near Doncaster Racecourse on St Leger Day in 1976. He had turned up expecting to fight a challenger to his gipsy crown, but arrived to find an armed mob, who he was later told had been paid £25,000 to attack him.
It took Bartley more than a year to regain his fitness, and he bore scars for the rest of his life.
Shortly after the attack, he told the Evening Telegraph: "They smashed iron bars over my head. I was in the car and my left leg was trapped in the door as I tried to close it.
"They smashed a bottle and then started to saw my leg with it. I pleaded with them not to but they just smiled. Some of them held me while one cut and went through the flesh to the bone. I really believe they were trying to kill me."
Former Evening Telegraph journalist Peter Walsh, Bartley's biographer, said: "The Doncaster incident affected him emotionally. He was a man for a fair fight, but they were trying to kill him." a n d h a t r e d w h i c h k i l l e d many of his friends.
Bartley came close to losing his crown as "the best man in England" when he dislocated his shoulder during a fight at a Coventry pub in 1980.
The pub - thought to be the old Port O'Call off Hearsall Common (now the Old Clarence) - was packed with travellers.
Many of the country's toughest fighters were drinking together when Bartley was challenged to fight Mexicana Webb, a moustachioed giant with a bushy Afro hairstyle. Bartley remembers the crowd clearing the tables away for the fight.
When the landlord reached for the phone to call the police, someone grabbed his arm and warned him off.
Bartley eventually won but only because his opponent failed to notice his shoulder had been dislocated in the bout.
Other fights Bartley recalls took place on the Aston Firs travellers' site near Hinckley, where his family lived for many years; at the Squires nightclub in Hinckley at his brother Sam's wake in 1991; and at the Coventry Crock Fair in 1994.
Although he spent a good deal of time in and around Warwickshire, Bartley's adopted hometown was Uttoxeter in Staffordshire, where his name is now etched on a plaque commemorating the town's most famous residents.
Hundreds of gipsies from across the country came to the town for his funeral in January after he died from liver cancer, aged 57.
Peter Walsh, who got to know Bartley during the last 18 months of his life, said: "He was a unique man, a one-off. He was a lovely man with a wicked sense of humour but a streak of melancholy that never left him."