Even before the World Wars boxing fights were held regularly and
Doncaster produced three talented boxers - heavyweight champion William
"Iron" Hague and the Crossley brothers -
Harry and Herbert. Here I am in a pretty churchyard in Doncaster where Herbert
lies forever. There were no sign of visitors.
Herbert was born nearby in
1901. He was on stage aged 16 - not acting but in a boxing contest. The ring
had been set up inside Mexborough’s Empire Theatre. This was his first
professional contest and he beat a lad from Rotherham in two rounds. He started
fighting elsewhere in the north - in Sheffield, Doncaster and Manchester. Aged
18 he won a novices heavyweight competition held at British boxing’s
HQ at National Sporting Club in Covent Garden (down in big London.) All the
while he was working through in the daytime at Manvers
Main Colliery.
Before exiting his teens he
beat British light-heavyweight title challenger Harry Curzon and future
champion Tom Berry. Though 5ft 10ins tall Herbert was a small heavyweight. He
wasn’t all meanness and muscle, more a scientific boxing employing a mix of
speed, nimbleness, pluck, pace and patience.
After seeing him box in
London veteran American manager Charlie Harvey urged Herbert to come to the
States. He didn’t want to go but agreed to a short three-week trip. In New York
he trained at the famous Grupp’s gym on 116th Street
and 8th Avenue. He shouldn’t have left England for he had a few fights then
suddenly fell ill. He spent a week in bed with flu. Worsening each day he was
admitted to New York’s Roosevelt Hospital. Despite receiving a blood
transfusion he died from septicaemia aged 20. His body was embalmed and sailed
back to Doncaster. The stunned local folk gave him a grand funeral befitting
his talent and he was lowered into the ground where I’m stood. They knew
Herbert as a amiable, mild-tempered lad - well-behaved, modest and unassuming.
Not much to see at the grave
but overgrowth. There wasn't even some trampled grass to testify to previous
visitors. This unlucky lad had a glittering career ahead of him but only
managed 39 fights (from 1917 to 1921) of which 26 were wins. He shares this
grave with mum and sister (not sure where his brother is buried...not yet
anyway.) No old bones in this grave - Herbert's mum was 41 and his sister
was 26. We don't know how lucky we are. I did a salute and left.
before the world wars boxing fights were held
regularly and Mexborough town (near Doncaster) produced three talented boxers -
heavyweight champion Iron Hague British, light-heavyweight Harry Crossley and his eldest brother Herbert. Here I am on the overgrown
perimeter of a pretty churchyard in Mexborough where Herbert lies forever. There
were no sign of visitors.
Herbert was born nearby in 1901. He was on stage
aged 16 - not acting but in a boxing contest. The ring had been set up inside
Mexborough’s Empire Theatre. This was his first professional contest and he
beat a lad from Rotherham in two rounds. He started fighting elsewhere in the
north - in Sheffield, Doncaster and Manchester. Aged 18 he won a novices
heavyweight competition held at British boxing’s HQ at
National Sporting Club in Covent Garden (down in big London.) All the while he
was working through in the daytime at Manvers Main
Colliery.
Before exiting his teens he beat British
light-heavyweight title challenger Harry Curzon and future champion Tom Berry.
Though 5ft 10ins tall Herbert was a small heavyweight. He wasn’t all meanness
and muscle, more a scientific boxing employing a mix of speed, nimbleness,
pluck, pace and patience.
After seeing him box in London the veteran
American manager Charlie Harvey urged Herbert to come to the States. He didn’t
want to go but agreed to a short three-week trip. In New York he trained at the
famous Grupp’s gym on 116th Street and 8th Avenue. He
shouldn’t have gone. He had a few fights but suddenly fell ill and spent
several days in bed with flu. Worsening each day he was admitted to New York’s
Roosevelt Hospital. Despite receiving a blood transfusion he died from
septicaemia aged 20. His body was embalmed and sailed back to Britain. The
stunned people of Mexborough gave him a grand funeral befitting his talent and
he was lowered into the ground where I’m stood. They knew Herbert as a amiable,
mild-tempered lad - well-behaved, modest and unassuming.
Not much to see at the grave but overgrowth.
There wasn't even some trampled grass to testify to previous visitors. This poor
old lad probably had a glittering career ahead of him but only managed 39
fights (from 1917 to 1921) of which 26 were wins. He shares this grave with mum
and sister (not sure where his brothers is buried...not yet anyway.) No bones
in this grave lived to a ripe old age - Herbert's mum was 41 and his sister 26.
We don't know how lucky we are. I did a salute and left.