"FIGHTING FARR"

Hawke's Bay Herald-Tribune, Volume 81, Issue 26, 23 October 1937, Page 17

"FIGHTING FARR"

HIS OWN LIFE STOT ONE L0NG BATTLE WAGED GRIM FIGHT TO IHE T0P LGVES GAMBLE OF FISTS The life story of Tommy Farr, British and Empire heavy-weight champion, who was recefttly " beateh on points by the American negro, Joe Louis, makes interesting reading. The story, as told by himseif, reveals in detail how he graduated from the coai pits to become one of the foremost fighters of his day, His battle to the top rank has been one long battle, and his ambition is to become the king of the world's heavy-weights, Fighting is in ;ny blood, declared Farr in a recent interview. I couldn't have escaped the call had I been buried a million miles in the bowels of the earth. Dirty, grimy coal holes couldn't keep me down under, My grandfather Was a giant bare-knuckle fighter and so was my big father George. They were coal miners before me and my one regret is that they didn't live to see me crowned champion of the Empire. They wouid have shakett their fine heads in silent appreciation. Oh, they might have mentioned something about knowing it was in my bones. I suppose it was. A Welshman will never surrender in a fight. I loVe to fight, I love the mad gamble of fists % When I was a kid in Tonypandy, South Wales, it was the custom for us boys to band together, 12, 15 or 20, and go over the mountain to whip the kids of the next village, _ 4 Word that we were domihg spread like a forest fire, and we didn't have to go looking for them. We met them Coming Up the other side after us, and they came punching! If we licked them, we went right through the viilage and over the hills to the next town. They'd match us to the last boy and we punched it out. "No Same Styie Twicc." You see, We learned all about fighting because we never ran across the same style twice. If we were thrashed in a certain village we retreated as best we could. You don't suppose that the victors were satisfied, do you? Not a bit of it. They walked right over us if we were that fiat and waded through our village if recruits did not come to our rescue. It was terrific training, terrific, aftd I can thank the blood of my ancestors for handing me down the real foundation. My life really began among the rbught-and-ready men of the Glamorgan coiliery plts in Tonypandy, Sduth Wales. *1 was 13 when I went beloW as a collier's hciper. When I say Collier's helper I smile. We did the work and the colliers helped us. You're a tired man before your boy's voice changes, weary and wondering where it will all end. aometimes you secretly prayed that the pit wou. .. explode and blow you to bits. My turn came one day: I never kneW what hit me. I was a fine black and bloady mess when they took me up into God's sweet air again. The long blue scar on my left nostril is one of the places where flying coal bowled me ovCr like a cahnon ball. I've 'got the same blue scars on my arm and leg. Those are the little mementos of the coal pits which you carry to your grave, whether you are buried on top dr far below. Ours was a coal mining town. You just had to be one. It was your inheritaftde. It was our life, our hope, and tho one road to existence. I went beloW When I was 13, and didn't come up to stay uhtil I was 16, when I Went to booth fighting. The Toughest SchooL The booth fighting of our part of the world is a sort of national institution. All our fighting men seem to graduate from the booths. It is the toughest hard-khock school in the world. No place fdr the spitteless or the Weak. Orte full tdrm with the booths and you should be a fighter. Some promoter gathers around him a dozen likely boys, all sizes and weights, and away you go. He pays you a Crowri a week. Your board and lodging in a horse-drawn caravaft is thrown in. He lines you up on a platform, and steps forth to tempt the crbwd: "Ten shillings to the person who will stand before Tommy Farr, of Tonypany, for three rounds." Up goes a hand and the booth proprietor tosses liim an old pair of glories. Up he comes. He might be Jack Dempsey, your fighting idol, but you've got to gO to him then and there. You do this at least three times a night A fellow iii a high hat, a silverheaded cafte and a beautifully pressed pair of pift-striped trousefs, levelled his eane at me one night, and said: "I choose you." He did, He sefc his silk topper and cafte down and I laughed as I winked at the boss and said: "Just a dandy," Yeah? He knocked my block Off.

The Fighter They HangecL The man who gave me the hardest fight of my whole career left this life through a gallows trap. When I met Del Fontaine back in 1934 I had visioiis of gettiiig someWhere in this fighting business,, but I didn't dream that it wouid mean that I wouid fight for the worid's heavyweight championship in America. There has been a great change in my life since that night in October of 1934, that Del Fontaine aftd I stood head to head for 12 rounds. It Was one of the first times ift my career that my own people stood Up ahd chanted Welsh mining songs, our own peculiar songs of victory, I got the decision and, when I looked around,- everyone- in- the buildings was

staftd'ing up singing aftd cheering.' Looking back over my batties, I can't think of one half so bitter, half so desperate. Del Fontaine's life ended a little over a year ago at the end of a hangman's rope; He had shot to death his sweetheart, and the memory of our terrific battle brought this unhappy ending home, so close, oh, so close! I walked the floor the whole night long. Del boxed riglit up to the day of the tragedy. He was a gallant warrior. Something dreadful must have gone wrong I with his mind. I wouid want to excuse [his terrible ending ih that way. Man, did seem such a pityv