‘Sheesh, is that legal?’
‘Well . . .’ Andrew hesitated. ‘There was a kind of ban in 1971, so they had to change the procedure a bit. The original Jim Chivers led a boxing team that travelled round the whole country to rallies and fairs after the Second World War. Many of those who went on to become boxing champions were from Jimmy’s team. There was always a variety of nationalities – Chinese, Italians, Greeks. And Aboriginals. In those days volunteers could choose who they wanted to box. So, for example, if you were an anti-Semite, you could pick out a Jew. Even though the chances of being beaten up by a Jew were pretty high.’
Harry chuckled. ‘Doesn’t that just stoke up racism?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Australians are used to living with different cultures and races, but there’s always some friction. And then it’s better to have a scrap in the ring than in the streets. An Aboriginal guy in Jimmy’s team who did well would have been a hero to his own wherever he came from. He created a tiny sense of solidarity and honour in all the humiliation. I don’t think it widened the gulf between the races, either. If the white boys were given a hiding by a black boy it created more respect than hatred. Australians are pretty sporting on that front.’
‘You sound like a fully signed-up redneck.’
Andrew laughed. ‘Almost, I’m an ocker. An uncivilised bloke from the outback.’
‘You are not.’
Andrew laughed even louder.
The first bout started. A short, compact red-haired guy with his own gloves and his own gang of supporters against a much smaller man from the Chivers team.
‘Mick against Mick,’ Andrew said with a knowledgeable expression.
‘Your sixth sense?’ Harry asked.
‘My two eyes. Red hair, so Irish. Tough buggers. This is going to be a hard fight.’
‘Go, Johnny, go-go-go!’ the gang chanted.
They managed two more choruses before the fight was over. By then Johnny had been punched on the nose three times and didn’t want to go on.
‘The Irish aren’t what they were,’ Andrew sighed.
The speakers crackled, and the MC introduced Robin ‘The Murri’ Toowoomba from the Chivers camp and Bobby ‘The Lobby’ Pain, a local giant who entered the ring with a leap over the ropes and a roar. He pulled off his T-shirt and revealed a powerful hairy chest and bulging biceps. A woman dressed in white was jumping up and down close by the ring, and Bobby blew her a kiss before two assistants tied his boxing gloves. The marquee began to buzz as Toowoomba slunk in between the ropes. He was an erect, unusually black and good-looking man.
‘Murri?’ Harry asked.
‘Aboriginal from Queensland.’
Johnny’s gang came to life as they realised they could use ‘Bobby’ in their choruses now. The gong was struck and the two boxers approached each other. The white man was bigger, almost a head taller than his black adversary, but even to the untrained eye it was easy to see that he didn’t move with the Murri’s light-footed elegance.
Bobby rushed forward and launched a missile of a punch at Toowoomba, who swayed backwards to avoid it. The audience groaned and the woman in white screamed encouragement. Bobby punched holes in the air a couple of times before Toowoomba glided in and planted a careful, probing right in the Lobby’s face. Bobby staggered back two paces and it looked as if it was goodnight nurse for him.
‘I should have put two hundred on him,’ Andrew commented.
Toowoomba circled Bobby, threw a couple of jabs and swayed back with the same ease when Bobby swung his log-like arms. Bobby was panting and yelling with frustration while Toowoomba never seemed to be where he had been a moment before. The audience started to whistle. Toowoomba raised a hand as if in greeting, then buried it in Bobby’s stomach. He folded and stood doubled up in the corner of the ring. Toowoomba drew back a couple of paces and looked concerned.
‘Finish him off, you black bastard!’ Andrew screamed. Toowoomba turned in surprise, smiled and waved a hand above his head.
‘Don’t stand there grinning, do your job, you dingbat! I’ve got money on you.’
Toowoomba turned to get the whole thing over and done with, but as he was about to give Bobby the coup de grâce, the gong went. The two boxers approached their corners as the MC took the microphone. The woman in white was already in Bobby’s corner and giving him an earful while one of his assistants passed him a bottle of beer.
Andrew was annoyed. ‘Robin doesn’t want to hurt the whitie, fair dinkum. But he ought to respect the fact that I’ve put money on him, the useless bugger.’
‘Do you know him?’