BOXING PARSON

Taranaki Central Press, Volume IV, Issue 458, 16 June 1937, Page 7

BOXING PARSON

MUSCLES LIKE STEEL “Most People Too Soft” (By Air Mail ) London, May 26. 'The Rev. Frank Edwin Jones rolled back the sleeve of his black cabsock, bared his L’bYearm., stretched his fingers. Great muscles sl'.ooi j cut, rippled under 'the brown skin. | Outside the vestry of St. Michael’s | Church, Wood Green, woman mem- • fr£rs of his congregation discussed I 'his new young parson with the I booming voice. Mr. Jones had just taken his first service a*, vicar of St. Mitchael’s. In the vestry he was showing what physical fitness meant in terms of a forearm. Ten yerrs ago Air. Jon~s was a mctropolittan policeman and one of the beet boxers in the force. Now, at 33, he is one of London’s youngest vicars. He said: ‘’Black-Eye Preacher, “I have come to Wood Green to spread the kingdom of God. But people would rather hear about a bruiser person, who pretsehes with a black eye.

“Why shouldn’t a parson be a vigorous young man who packs ia. good punch? There’s no rule which says a parson may not be f.|L It’s a help to him in his job. “I can take as hard a body punch i/s My man. Here, feel this!” I felt his stomach muscles, gave him a good dig He didn’t flinch. He has muscles like steel wire. Blue-eyed Mr. Jones juslt grinned. "I like boxing,” he said. “I get a thrill from socking a man hard; I get a thrill when he hits me back. 1 don v t demand that every one should like boxing—bull I think most people are too soft.” I walked with this 33-year-old it h-le-te to the gates of his vicarage, where his wife awaited him. A big, muscular hand slipped over mine. The bones of my fingers cracked: I winced. ’Good-bye,’ 1 grinned Mr Jones.