Читать книгу Hercules the Bear - A Gentle Giant in the Family - Maggie Robin - Страница 8

Little did I know as I was getting my horses ready to go to the Perth Agricultural Show on that hot August morning in 1972 that the day would prove to be one of the great turning points in my life. As I busied myself in the stables making sure that my horses were groomed and that the horsebox was prepared, I had no thoughts about the day other than that I hoped to do well in the events for which I was entered and that I might meet a few friends there.

As a farmer’s daughter I was well used to going to agricultural shows, which were always full of ruddy-faced farmers dressed in their best tweed suits with their endless talk of barley and wheat, topsoil and seed potatoes. For some people they aren’t the most exciting places in the world, but I always longed for them, as they gave me an opportunity to ride in competition.

I had never been to the Perth Show before, as I had preferred, until then, to compete in the more local shows that took place on the same day. A simple twist of fate made me decide to go to Perth that day, and how glad I was in the coming years that fate had made me do so.

I arrived at the show a short while before my first event was due to begin; and, having tacked up the horses and collected my numbers from the show secretary, I had plenty of time to wander around the stalls.

As I strolled from the newly mown ring back to my horsebox I was suddenly aware that I was being stared at. Turning round to get a better look, I found myself facing a large suntanned man with the most piercing blue eyes I had ever seen. He was not so much tall as big, and, to my consternation, he was smiling at me, although I knew I had never set eyes on him before. I began to blush and dropped my head quickly to avoid his stare, which seemed to be saying, ‘You don’t know me yet, but you will.’

I hurriedly made for my horsebox and began busying myself with the final preparations. As I struggled with saddles and bridles, I put the brief episode out of my mind and by the time I had changed into my breeches and navy jacket I had forgotten all about him.

However, as I was warming up in the collecting area outside the show ring I noticed that the suntanned gentleman was once again standing behind me and, trying to ignore him, I went about the business of limbering up each horse, taking them in turn over the red and white fence that stood in the middle of the practice area. I could not help glancing in his direction and, each time I did so, I was met by the same penetrating stare and wry smile, and, each time, I felt myself turning crimson with embarrassment.

Luck was not with me that day and, although I managed one clear round, I finished the event with a miserable fifth place. Feeling suitably humbled, I made my way back to the horsebox to wipe down the horses and put on their travelling bandages.

I was stabling that night with Mr and Mrs Drummond, local farmers at Forteviot, who were directors of the show, and, as they were not yet ready to leave, I had time to kill. As I sat and watched the other competitors leading horses back to horseboxes I saw a crowd beginning to gather round a smaller ring that had been hastily erected in the centre of the arena. I decided to investigate, and made my way into the thick of the crowd.

I managed to find a place for myself at the front of what was clearly a wrestling or boxing ring just as two burly figures stepped into it. At that moment I noticed that the man who had stared at me earlier was standing just in front of me, but now he was wearing a pair of blue trunks and had a tartan towel slung casually over his huge muscular shoulders. It was now obvious that he was at the show to wrestle, and seemed to be a popular figure, judging by the number of backslapping farmers who surrounded him.

I fidgeted self-consciously trying to appear nonchalant as he moved towards me. As the bout started he drew me into a one-sided conversation, explaining holds and throws, pins and falls, such information being deftly interwoven with a smooth chat-up routine.

He was next on the bill and I was slightly shocked to see someone who had been talking to me in a relaxed way suddenly change into a grunting heaving brute as he mercilessly pummelled his opponent; and yet I had to admire the ease and efficiency of every superbly executed movement, which quickly led to the submission of his foe.

After the bout, I left the showground, wondering at and intrigued by the roughness of my new acquaintance, who had been led triumphantly from the ring while his opponent had been carried off on a stretcher. I wondered if our paths would ever cross again, but doubted they would, which was probably a good thing, as I knew he was not the sort of man my mother would want me to bring home for tea.

How wrong could I be? The very next day the persistent stranger rang my home, though it is anyone’s guess how he got my number, and after much persuasion I reluctantly agreed to go out with him.

As the weeks passed, we began to see more and more of each other, and for the first time in my life I found myself becoming deeply interested in something other than my horses. Andy could not have been further removed from the boy next door, but as we got to know each other we discovered that we both had a deep love of animals and the outdoor life. At first my parents, while not openly saying so, made it clear that they did not approve of my association with Andy. Like all parents, they wanted the best for their children and expected me to settle down and marry a kind, honest farming man like my father. They had heard stories from their friends that Andy was a ladies’ man with a chequered past, a disreputable job and an insecure future.

In time when they realised that trying to dissuade me from seeing him was useless and they came to know him better from his frequent visits to our house, they began to grow fond of him despite their preconceived ideas.

Gradually, Andy began to win my parents’ respect with his infectious enthusiasm and his determination to get on in life. He had to be determined, because he began life in Stirling, the son of a hardworking miner, in a community where there was no real alternative to the pit, and sons followed fathers in going down it. It was a life of unremitting toil and considerable hardship, and, seeing his father’s life and what prospects lay before him, Andy swore at an early age that he would do everything in his power to avoid going down the mine, and vowed to work in the open air.

As a child Andy loved being outdoors and developed a love for animals that kept him constantly in trouble. His parents had to watch every penny carefully and they could not afford to keep a pet, nor was there room for one in their tiny house.

This did not deter Andy, who would befriend any animal he met and bring it back into the house. Time and again the family’s evening meal would be interrupted by an indignant neighbour banging on the door asking if Andy had ‘borrowed’ their dog, and, sure enough, the animal would be found hidden in Andy’s bedroom. It was not just the usual domestic pets that caught Andy’s fancy: he would also smuggle in owls and rabbits that he found when roaming in the countryside.

When Andy was twelve he found a stray spaniel. For once, he tried to find out who the owner of the dog was, but none could be found, and so he kept the dog – which he called Sammy – hidden in a shed and fed him on titbits taken secretly from the larder. Sammy was a natural retriever and would bring back anything that Andy threw for him, picking up the object in his soft mouth and laying it at Andy’s feet. One day Andy took Sammy for a walk in the countryside near his home, and on the way they took a shortcut through a nearby farmyard. In the farmyard were a number of ducks, and Andy had considerable trouble stopping the over-eager spaniel from picking up the ducklings that were waddling around the yard.

The next day, when Andy came back from school, he discovered two ducklings in the shed and no Sammy. He hurriedly put the ducklings into a sack and went off to deliver them back to the farm. When he got back home he found Sammy in the shed with another duckling, and this time when he went back to the farm he ran into the furious farmer, who was convinced that Andy had been stealing his ducks. Poor Andy was in trouble again!

His first job was on a farm and his mother personally delivered him to the farmer in the hope that some hard outdoor work would begin to channel his limitless energies in the right direction. But this was not to be, for he felt terribly hemmed in by the routine work on the farm, and one night he sneaked out of his bothy and ran away.

It was soon after leaving the farm that Andy at last found something he really liked doing, when he was given the opportunity to start in the timber business. The work was entirely outdoors and intensely physical; Andy thrived on it. In time, by working all the hours God gave him, he managed to save enough money to go into business on his own.

Going into business on his own meant just what it says and, equipped with only a saw and a horse and cart, Andy would single-handedly fell the timber, load it, transport it and unload it. His capacity for hard work quickly earned him the nickname ‘the Beast’ in the timber trade, for he became immensely strong.

One day after Andy had cut down a tree he noticed that a jackdaws’ nest was lodged in the fallen branches. There were two fledglings in the nest, who had obviously been abandoned by their mother when the tree was felled. Andy’s big soft heart couldn’t let him leave the two helpless birds and so ‘the Beast’ adopted them. He called the two birds Jackie and Mary and raised them in his house. When the birds were fully fledged he released them but they would always come to be fed, and it was not uncommon for Andy to be seen with a jackdaw perched on each shoulder. When he was working they would sit easily, relaxing on the head of his giant Alsatian, Rex. Sadly, one day as Andy was coming out of his timber store, the birds flew to meet him and, not knowing they were behind the door, Andy opened it and crushed poor Jackie. Mary was heartbroken and within a short time she pined to death.

Not content with running himself into the ground at work every day, Andy became involved in amateur boxing, but, when he saw the damage the sport inflicted on the faces of the young boxers, coupled with the fact that he was being continually reprimanded by referees for grappling with his opponents, he decided boxing was not for him, and he turned his attentions to wrestling instead.

Discovering that he had a natural flair for the sport, Andy took up wrestling seriously and started his career by attending the numerous Highland games meetings that took place each summer, all over Scotland. At one of the meetings he met a fellow wrestler called Willie Bell and they decided to go into partnership. The pair soon established themselves on the circuit and were among the most successful competitors in Scotland.

Success followed success for the persistent Scot and, while only twenty, he won the World Cumberland Wrestling Championship. Having won the championship he was asked to go to Canada to take part in a festival of sport called ‘The Wonderful World of Sport’, joining a select group of Scottish athletes who were going to demonstrate Scottish sports such as tossing the caber and throwing the hammer.

He set off for Canada in a second-hand kilt with a breadknife stuck down his sock in place of a skean dhu! The show played to full houses throughout Canada and America and Andy grew more and more confident in his own abilities as a wrestler, and more professional in his handling of audiences.

However, fate had decided that Andy was not to complete the tour. When the show reached Toronto it was discovered that there had been a mistake in the bookings at the Maple Leaf Gardens and, instead of being on the Thursday, as they thought, the show was not to take place until the following night. The Thursday evening booking was a professional wrestling spectacular, and Andy, with lots of free time on his hands, hung around the stadium while the auditorium staff prepared the ring. As he was about to leave he was approached by the promoter, Frank Tunney, who said that one of the wrestlers booked to appear that night had been injured in a fight on the previous evening and, as they were desperately in need of a replacement, would Andy have a go?

Eager for the extra cash it would provide, he accepted and made his way back to the digs to get his kit together.

It was with some trepidation that he entered the floodlit ring that night for his first major professional bout. But his nervousness was calmed as he heard the crowd, many of whom were Scottish Canadians, roaring their support when they saw he was wearing the kilt.

Andy won the bout and when he returned to his dressing room he was met again by Frank Tunney, who offered him a two-year contract to wrestle all over Canada and the US. Always ready for adventure, Andy quickly signed the contract and over those two years he refined and polished his wrestling skills. His professional career was by now fully established and, just when he should have been consolidating his position, he agreed to take on the most hazardous bout of his life. He was booked to fight Terrible Ted.

Terrible Ted was no normal wrestler: he was a black bear. At the time of agreeing to fight, Andy was not aware of this, but, when told, he agreed nevertheless. The bear would be chained and muzzled, and, if Andy could hold his own, he was guaranteed a thousand dollars in prize money.

The arena was packed that night, and the air heavy with anticipation. As Andy walked down the aisle and waved to the cheering crowd he became increasingly aware of just what he was letting himself in for. If Ted were to get a good grip he could easily crush the life out of him and it wouldn’t matter one bit whether the bear was muzzled or not.

Ted stood in the middle of the ring, towering above Andy, making strange growling noises through his shiny black muzzle, and Andy swears to this day that, if he hadn’t been wearing the kilt and hadn’t felt that he would be letting Scotland down if he didn’t go through with it, he would have turned and fled.

Suddenly, a thousand dollars seemed a paltry sum to be paid for risking one’s life, and, as he dodged the massive swipes of Ted’s front paws and manoeuvred himself out of corners where he might be trapped within the huge bear’s grasp, Andy not only felt genuinely more threatened than he had ever been before, but he also recognised the enormous spirit of the magnificent creature.

In the following days he kept reliving the fight with Terrible Ted, which had been so unlike fighting another man and yet strangely similar. In those few minutes an uncanny understanding had grown up between the bear and himself – an understanding hampered only by the fact that Ted was kept constantly chained and muzzled. ‘What sort of relationship could develop,’ thought Andy, ‘between a man and a bear if that bear was treated, without fear, as a genuine equal?’ From that moment onwards Andy determined that he would one day find out.