Ben Caunt grave (22nd March 1815 to 10th September 1861)

Bundles of cash ride on outcomes of bare-knuckle fights that take place away from television screens. Even though boxing gloves were introduced in 1892 bare knuckle fights are not illegal. Here I am at Hucknall in Nottinghamshire at the grave of the self-proclaimed champion of England.

With a booming voice Ben stood 6 feet 2 inches (1.88 m) tall, weighed 18 stones and boasted a huge barrel-shaped body. Even though he was slow and clumsy he was strong, willing and durable. By 18 he’d defeated several local fighters. He was 26 when he became English Heavyweight Boxing champion on 11^th May 1841. He held the title for four years until he was defeated. He’d fought about seven major fights to get take the title but this happened nearly two centuries ago when boxing leagues weren’t officially recognised. Fights were held in fields, yards, barns and at the sides of pubs. Time limits didn't exist and fights may last for sixty rounds. Fights often ended in exhaustion or when someone was beaten to a pulp. Teeth and blood flew through the air and jaws were often broken.

Aged 30 Ben retired and for six years he worked as farm labourer before becoming the landlord of the Coach and Horses pub at St Martin's Lane (about a mile from this grave.) Business was healthy and he became quite wealthy. Sadly the pub was destroyed by a fire and two of his children died. He didn't live long either, dying of pneumonia aged 46. He's buried in the churchyard behind St Mary Magdalene church which is splat in the centre of Hucknall. A few feet from the headstone (which is surrounded by railings) lie the children who died in the fire.

It was a mild evening when I arrived at the church. Across from the grave was a modern blocks of flats and an elderly couple having tea on a balcony were intrigued by my saluting and photographing by the grave. When I drove away they probably sauntered across the road to what the fuss was about. It's thought the famous clock Big Ben (next to Parliament) is named after him but it sounds mythical to me. When I returned to my car an old was looking in the back window. On the back shelf I had some heavy-duty branch cutters and he said his big toe was so infected he'd thought of cutting it off. I said he could borrow it but he said he was referring to a big toe and he wouldn't be able to walk without that toe. Good point. I did a salute and had a coffee in preparation for the long drive home. I did a salute and set off.