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didn’t like anyone laying a finger on any of her boys. She grabbed me by the ear and marched me across the road to the school and demanded that the headmaster explainwhy he’d punished me. He seemed terrified of her and even said he was sorry.
    My mum still reckons to this day that I don’t know my own strength. She’s never forgotten how I split my kid brother’s forehead when I chucked a plastic cup at him from twenty feet away. But that school fight helped persuade Mum to let me join the local boxing club, West Ham Boys’ Club, in Plaistow. She wasn’t keen on her kid being given a battering, but it was better than letting me wander the streets causing aggro. She knew I needed some kind of outlet for all my pent-up anger and frustration.

CHAPTER TWO
Earning Respect
    I loved it down at West Ham Boys’ Club because it was like an escape from all the problems at home and school. Boxing gave me a lot of pleasure and a real sense of achievement. I was fitter than most of the other kids because I was regularly running three miles, from home to the club, to save money on the bus fare.
    Boxing became my main interest in life. School was a waste of time and I didn’t take to most other sports – especially team games. I was so fixated on boxing, I’d stay behind late at the gym and watch other, older fighters and study their form. I even had a notebook in which I drew pictures of the ways they stood and the ways they punched. I wanted to be better than any of them and I was prepared to train myself. I really believed boxing could lift me out of the slums.
    At home, I was still constantly glued to the telly, but nowwatched the boxing on the BBC. Whenever they showed any of the old Ali fights I’d go into a trance and study every movement. My mum, brothers and sister would come home and I wouldn’t even notice them. I started trying to copy Ali’s technique and I’d stand up and shadowbox while watching him on the TV out of the corner of my eye. Down at West Ham Boys’ Club, they weren’t keen on a kid doing the Ali-shuffle routine because it meant I didn’t keep my guard up all the time, which was against all the training rules for a young fighter. So I did it when none of the coaches were watching.
    There were times when I went completely over the top during matches at the club. I’d get all pent up with tension during sparring and sometimes ended up being dragged off my opponent still punching away well after the bell had gone. That sort of behaviour got me a bit of a reputation at the club as well as with a lot of the other kids on the manor. The nasty ones were always trying to wind me up so I’d lose it and punch out their biggest enemies. Not surprisingly. I didn’t always keep my cool.
    One time I walked out of the club in a bit of a bad mood because I’d lost to a sparring partner, which didn’t happen often, and the kid who’d beaten me was standing there with a few of his pals as I walked past. He called out at me, ‘When you joinin’ the Girl Guides then?’ I tried to ignore him at first because I knew it was a wind-up. Then he had another dig, ‘Poor little Carl. No bottle, eh?’ That was it. No one accused me of being a coward and got away with it.
    I was standing a few yards from him so I aimed my gym bag right at his face. That distracted him for long enough to give me a chance to get nearer. I was soon climbing over two of hismates to get at him. I put a sharp left down on his forehead, while those two other kids tried to hold me back. Bull’s-eye.
    My opponent reeled back and tried to slap out at me wildly but couldn’t get near enough. I caught him with another powerful left that sent him reeling backwards. Just then a couple of the dads and trainers walked out. One of them immediately realised what had happened and lost his rag. He gave us both a good slap round the face. We deserved it. And then he cracked our heads together for good measure. ‘Behave yourselves,’ he snapped. We