HARRY HOLLAND
The trainer’s incredible story, featuring Donald Trump and more
Ian Probert tells the incredible story of the boxing trainer who emerged from a gruesome childhood to discover Rocky Kelly (and Shakin’ Stevens), wheel and deal home advantage for Andy Till in a European title fight, set up a home-made porn cinema, almost charm the pants off Donald Trump, and lose £7,000 in one night – back when £7,000 could have bought you a house. Ladies and Gentleman, meet the one and only Harry Holland…
THE other day I was sat on an empty tube and this fella gets on. He could have sat anywhere but he sits by me and starts jogging my elbow off the armrest and says: ‘Do you mind sharing the armrest?’ Because he was so arrogant I said: ‘I’m not going to share nothing with you, mate!’ Then he pushed my arm again – as far as he’s concerned I’m an old man.
“So I looked him in the eye and said: “If you do that again I’m going to hit you straight in the f ***** g mouth!” Then he jumped up trying to intimidate me and I said: “Forget my age ’cos I will knock you spark out. Please believe me I will do it. I was bullied at seven but I’m not gonna be bullied at 77.” After that he stood for 10 stations and wouldn’t come near me.”
On first impressions the man sitting across from me has the appearance of a kindly snowy-haired uncle. However, there is a look in his eyes when he tells this story that would give anyone second thoughts about impinging upon this particular uncle’s personal space. All the more surprising, then, that the owner of those eyes is generally acknowledged to be one of the gentlest and most sensitive inhabitants of the eclectic world of boxing.
It’s a fresh Wednesday morning and Harry Holland is giving me a tour of his Borough. We’re gorging on pie and two veg in Buncer’s, a local no-frills café in Hayworth wallpapered with boxing memorabilia, and I’m asking Harry about his childhood.
“My mum was divorced – the only one in the school – and I had a terrible upbringing,” he remembers. “I got hammered from pillar to post. I have to say this because it’s part of my story. We had a lodger after the war, a fella called Dick, who was like a father to me. When I was 10 years old – I can only say this one way – he buggered me.”
This is one of the things you quickly learn about Harry Holland: you only have to spend a couple of minutes in his company to understand that Harry doesn’t so much wear his heart on his sleeve as have that severed organ hanging by a ribbon from his neck. “Do you actually want people to read this?” I ask, a little embarrassed by his openness. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he shrugs. “It might help others to come to terms with it because it’s the most terrible thing to happen to anyone. At 11 I went to a boxing club and they told us to pair up. I couldn’t fight and I got another good hiding. That’s when I decided enough was enough and I was going to learn to fight. “The following year I boxed for the school and I could handle the bullies. Also, there was couple there that people wouldn’t spar with. One particular name I remember was a man called Billy Hunt. I sparred with him and got the respect of everyone. That’s what really sold me on boxing. I changed from this fella who was so timid and scared. “My so-called Uncle Dick made a big mistake when he bought me a pair of boxing gloves. One day in the garden I beat him up. The weird thing was we still stayed friends. It was a different era – there was no such word as paedophile back then.” ➤
In Harry’s entertaining 2007 biography,
A Man Of Many
Parts, he describes himself as the inspiration for television’s Del Boy. Harry, it seems, has tried his hand at everything: From petty pilfering at work, to running a home-made porn cinema, debt collection and bouncing, music promotion (Harry discovered Shakin’ Stevens) to competitive scuba diving. He is also familiar to thousands as ‘Big Harry’, a regular for the past 30-odd years in the Eastenders’ Queen Vic. But it is for his contribution to boxing – as fighter, trainer, cornerman, matchmaker, cuts-man, manager and promoter – that he is chiefly remembered:
“Back in the 1960s I used to spar with a mate called Colin Cracknell who was a pro,’ says Harry. ‘Just as I was thinking about turning pro there was an advert in Boxing News for a trainer at the Southall British legion. So I went down with Colin and got the job. I started training kids and later we started up at Hogarth in Chiswick for the Juniors. When Colin left I took it over.
“In the 1980s my first champ was Gary Hobbs, who won the Southern Area 154lbs title. I can honestly say that but for a freak accident he would have been a British champion. Gary was Alan Minter’s sparring partner when he fought Hagler and got the sack after one day because he was too strong.
“Around that time a kid walked into the gym
WHEN ROCKY SPARRED HE WAS SO AGGRESSIVE, I KNEW I HAD ONE TO BE RECKONED WITH”
and in a little squeaky voice went: ‘Hello! I want to be a champion!’ I told him to come and see me in a year’s time. A year later to the day he walked back in and went: ‘Hello! It’s me!’. ‘Who’s me?’ I said. ‘Hamilton. Hamilton Kelly. You told me to come back in a year.’ And I said: ‘You’re on!’ And there was no looking back.”
Those of us who were fortunate enough to see Hamilton “Rocky” Kelly in action in a series of memorable small hall shows in East London during the 1980s will never forget the excitement that he generated.
“Right away we had this thing between us,” remembers Harry. “When he sparred he was always so aggressive. Straight away I knew I had one to be reckoned with. When he was 15 he got to schoolboys final where he met Errol Christie, who was the most decorated amateur in the country. Rocky gave him a hard fight. I knew he was something special.”
Over time, Harry added other crowdpleasers to his stable. These included Southern Area and British welterweight title challenger Trevor Smith; Southern Area light heavyweight titlist Serge Fame; British and European super-middleweight champion James Cook; as well as a certain full-time milkman by the name of Andy Till.
“Andy was with Northholt as an amateur and had three humdingers with Rocky Kelly. 2-1 to Rocky,” says Harry. “He won the British light-middleweight Lonsdale Belt outright, not many people do that. Most people thought he was just a plodder.
“Getting Till a European title shot was the best management job I ever did. France’s Laurent Boudouani was champion. In those days the champion never left the country. I went over there and played the village idiot. They said: ‘What TV money have you got?’ And I just shrugged. Then they said: ‘Well you must have a good sponsor?’ And I said: ‘No… No…’ They thought: ‘We’ve got one here!’ I knew greed would take over and they’d make a silly offer.
“So I said: ‘No, let it go to purse offers…’ I knew they were going to put a low bid in because they thought I was an idiot. I put in a sensible offer and nicked the fight.
“My most successful fighter was James Cook. He’s still my friend and a lovely fella. I was hurt when he went to Mickey Duff. I’m still choked about it. He was that good. He could have knocked anyone out with his uppercut. He could have been my first world champion.”
As Harry reminisces we find ourselves surrounded by the café’s locals. Later, he takes me to his son’s Westside Boxing Gym, regaling me with stories of gangsters and royals whom he has brushed shoulders with. Finally we arrive at his house, a scrupulously clean three-bed with one room devoted to boxing memorabilia, as well of pictures of Harry posing alongside the great and the good.
Towards the end of the 1990s Harry had an opportunity to become one of boxing’s
big players when he hooked up with fledgling promotional company Winners Worldwide.
“They wanted to get involved in lots of sports. I instantly liked them. So I became their boxing man and they backed my shows and gave me a wage.”
Harry, who turned down the opportunity to become Mickey Duff’s matchmaker, soon found himself in exalted company: “We tried to get the [Julio Cesar] Chavez-[meldrick] Taylor fight,” he recalls. “Winners Worldwide wanted to make a name for themselves so we went to America and had a meeting with Donald Trump in Atlantic City. We wanted to get him onboard. He told us we had no chance but that he admired our balls.
“He was a typical businessman. He was polite and I found him really nice. It’s unbelievable that he became President. I still have to pinch myself when I think about it.
“I was so close with Winners Worldwide. I must have had something they believed in. It certainly wasn’t my brain – it was my knowledge of boxing. It was an experience I’ll never forget.”
If Harry’s brush with the big time left its mark on him, so does the memory of trying to succeed as a promoter in an era dominated by the likes of Mickey Duff, Frank Warren and newcomer Barry Hearn: “With me every fight was to stay alive,” he sighs. “I could never work under that amount of stress again. The sheer worry about everything kept me up at night. I laugh now but there was one show at Battersea Town Hall where not only was I doing all the organising, all the selling of the tickets, all the training, watching the door, getting the fighters ready. I’d be going to the ring and somebody would run up to me and say ‘remember I had two tickets’ and put £40 in my back pocket. I’d go home and stay up until two in the morning and work things out in my head. By the morning I’d know exactly where everything was. Who owed me what.
“I once lost £7,000 on a promotion. It was such a lot of money. People used to say: ‘What promoter’s put on 48 shows and never earned a penny? Harry Holland. Most of the time I lost money and that made people happy.”
After the heady days of the 1990s Harry took a brief sojourn from promoting. However, alongside his
DONALD TRUMP TOLD US WE HAD NO CHANCE BUT HE ADMIRED OUR BALLS... HE WAS POLITE, FUNNY, REALLY NICE”
son John, he is not yet ready to call it a day:
“Out the blue John started training people and then got a gym together. He’s become a very successful trainer,” says Harry, switching into promoter mode. “The atmosphere in his gym is unbelievable. It’s just going from success to success and hopefully it will keep the Holland name going.
“I manage two fighters in total and my son John trains them. I’m so proud of him and we’ve got a great relationship. He trains another fighter named Jack Newham, who is managed by Steve Goodwin, who I also help train. So we’ve got three in total: Mr. T, Elvis Makado and Jack Newham. As well as the Westside Gym, John also runs an amateur club. I’m excited about my heavyweight, Mr. T – if he was taller he could go all the way on guts alone. But I think he’ll take the British title because he’s got the heart of a lion.
“It’s so different today. I understand it’s a business but I can’t even believe the way they promote. A fighter starting out now has to sell about £3,000 worth of tickets to get on the show. It’s a crazy scenario. In the past the bigger ticket seller subsidised the lesser. But now it means that you have to be a top class fighter – a mediocre fighter is probably never going to get the chance. Because if he can’t sell a ticket at the beginning of his career you’re never going to know how good he can become.
“People like James Cook wouldn’t have stood a chance.”