Brendan Ingle at 70

Brendan Ingle’s son Dominic informed me that his dad – one of the most successful trainers this country has ever seen – turns 70 tomorrow. I hadn’t seen the great man for a few months so I popped over to the Sheffield suburb of Wincobank to wish him many happy returns.

Arriving a little early, I sat on my own in the quiet, semi-darkness of St Thomas’ Boys Club, the rudimentary and uncompromising church venue which Brendan, literally with his own hands, helped turn into one of the world’s best gyms half a century ago. As I waited for one of the sport’s most entertainingly loquacious interviewees, I contemplated the disproportionate amount of success stories written within these poster-covered walls – not all of them boxing tales either.

But sticking to the fight game – which Brendan finds impossible in the hour he talks and I listen, despite my best efforts – the painted lines on the floorboards have been worked by world champions Naseem Hamed, Junior Witter and Johnny Nelson as well as countless other champions of varying high class degrees and talent such as Herol Graham, Ryan Rhodes and Kell Brook, the latter two of whom still might add their names to the list of world beaters to have benefitted from the unique brand of Ingle wisdom.

At a day short of 70, he certainly qualifies for the adjective ‘sprightly’ but it doesn’t fit comfortably. Weighing less than in his days as a middleweight with a winning record, he positively bounds through the door, a ball of energy belying his veteran status.

“How are you doing?” he asks in the Dublin brogue which has been relatively unaffected by the 52 years he’s spent in South Yorkshire. “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

“I’m well. 70, eh? You’re defying age.”

And that’s it. He’s off. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have to speak again no matter how long I sat here. I could listen to him all day and I get the feeling he could meet that request if required.

“I always say, if you wake up healthy in the morning, you’re a millionaire,” he observes. This is the first of many examples of sophistry (in the ancient sense) he effortlessly drops in.

Over the last few years, I’ve found Brendan more keen on talking about education than anything else, including boxing. As a former secondary school English teacher, I share his passion about and understanding for the life-changing power of what now goes under the term ‘literacy’.

“We have the best education system in the world and the little bastards won’t go to school!” he shouts, fiery-eyed. “I tell them – get a good education and nobody can control your life. That’s what catches them because that’s what they want. Read, write, spell, do maths…but you need a good attitude. And some of the lads that come in here have a bad attitude and they’ll tell you as much themselves. That needs to change.

“I ask them – would you like to go to college? How about university? They think I’m taking the p at first. But we’ve had six or seven lads graduate from university from here. Common sense, education and intelligence are three different things. I’ve seen plenty of people with lots of intelligence and money whose lives are in a total mess.”

Brendan, one of 15 children of whom 13 survived, didn’t have the best experience of school himself. “The teachers used to say to me, ‘Ingle! You’re mentally lazy!’ I enjoyed Gaelic football, boxing, running. I left school at 14 with no qualifications. I used to do my writing and get the spellings wrong and then get the cane for it. They were experts in giving the cane. It wasn’t right, getting the cane for not knowing the answers. Let me tell you, the best thing they ever did in Ireland and in England was getting rid of the cane. Look throughout history. You will not change people with corporal punishment.”

His brother Peter, a year his senior, moved to England whilst the teenage Brendan was working as a delivery boy, going door to door all over Dublin which gave him a ‘great insight into life’. When Peter returned, “he had two new suits, gave me mam and dad a few quid and he still had £150 in his pocket. I went over on the next boat with him.”

He never returned to Ireland to live. One of the deciding factors was meeting his wife, Alma. An unlikely Irishman in that he didn’t smoke, drink or gamble, he did have an interest in jazz and went to pubs to catch shows. It was here that he and his pal Timmy Nolan started talking to two young ladies.

“After an hour’s talking, I said ‘In a year I’ll be married to you whether you like it or not’ which I can appreciate some people might think is a bit strange. I’m not saying it’s the best thing she ever did but it’s certainly the best thing I ever did!”

The young, now married Brendan was working 12 hour days, though still getting up very early to do his runs whilst boxing amateur out of Hillsborough Boys Club. He worked for a building firm and sparred with a pal of his called Percy Daniels every lunchtime. They were 22 feet down digging a ditch when they rapidly heeded a warning call from a workmate to get out as quickly as they could. The ditch collapsed and the men barely escaped with their lives.

Both still in a state of shock later that afternoon, Percy turned to Brendan and said ‘You’re 25. You’re married. What do you want to be doing this for? Why don’t you turn pro?’ So he did. Boxing from 1965 to 1973, he won 19 and lost 14, his highpoint coming in a losing challenge to Pat Dwyer for the Central Area title.

All the while, he was working with kids at St Thomas’. The Reverend started a dance club for the local, wild running kids and Brendan was keen to give them a boxing option. Unsurprisingly gregarious, he made contacts with a raft of people, going round the scrap men and picking up bits here and there. 30 of them manually fitted the RSJs, believe it or not. That’s will for you.

Alma helped Brendan ‘get educated’ on an evening after work, eventually buying him a dictionary after becoming exasperated with his constant spelling questions. He honed his developing skills writing weekly letters home, enclosing a pound a week. The gym started getting packed, despite the lack of equipment. Brendan then painted the famous ‘lines’ up and down the gym. ‘Working the lines’ is the foundation of Ingle boxer building and on any visit during training, you’re likely to see a champion doing exactly the same thing as a ten-year old kid behind him. Up and down, forward and back, feet working in unison with hands. Johnny Nelson turned from a clodhopper into a dancer this way, throwing 700 punches in a single spell.

Brendan does a set for me by way of demonstration and then moves to the circle, around which his boxers move. He shows how he wouldn’t let the lads cross their legs over, showing me the movement of Naseem Hamed which resulted from hundreds of hours doing the exercise. Displaying a typical Naz uppercut, Brendan says “They said ‘Oh, he’s a natural’…” He tails off but his sentiment is clear.

I refer to the routine as ‘indoctrination’ and Brendan qualifies it. “It’s good indoctrination. I always tell them ‘Don’t drink, don’t smoke and don’t gamble. If you’ve one woman, you’ve enough problems. If you’ve got two women, you’ve got plenty. I tell the Muslims, it’s no good being a good Muslim on a Friday and a horrible person for the rest of the week. I say the same to Christians – no good just being good on a Sunday. If you rip people off, do drugs, you’re going to get shot or stabbed, no matter what society you’re in.”

He then refers to the salutary example of his current heavyweight prospect Richard Towers. “I told him when he was a kid that the company he was keeping would get him into trouble. He got 12 years jail and did six. I couldn’t believe it when he walked back in here. Now he’s got the good attitude. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Brendan talks about a lot of things and he’s always worth listening to. We’ve only scratched the surface of the surface. The hour has flown by as we’re interrupted by a snapper who needs him for a booked photo shoot.

Brendan picks and chooses what he wants to do these days. He’s still got plenty of time for those who want to learn and on this occasion and hopefully many more in the future, I'm happy to count myself amongst them.