BOXING.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2516, 1 June 1909, Page 2

BOXING.

JEM MACE’S LOST FORTUNE. THOUSANDS FROM THE PRIZERING. "Jem” Mace, the old-time champion prize-fighter, who 'has applied for an old-age pension, w-as born at Beeston, near Norwich, on Good Friday, April 8 1831 ’ A representative of the "Daily Mail” inquiring for the veteran was referred to a tavern in Islington—that decaying remnant of disappearing Old London where the old traditions still flicker. There, in the saw-dusted parlor of the Bluecoat Boy, the old warrior may often be heard modestly recounting his exploits to a respectfully listening 0 Mace was not at the "Bluecutt” however, as it is familiarly known, but plentiful information concerning lus merits -was to -be obtained. A tall old gentleman of forcible manner in a silk fiat introduced himself a® "Jem’s business manager.” There was another friend who had been middle-weight champion of England himself in days .gone by, and another admirer who was ■able to claim the distinction of having hospitably entertained tho veteran in recent emergencies. The. "Bluecutt” was unanimously of opinion that, despite the number of -his birthdays, it was not old age that the old fighting man was suffering from. It was tho world that had grown old and lost its youthful interest in fighting, and not "Jem” Mace. Later Mr Mace himself was encountered. He had been taking his evening meal in the family circle of some professional friends in Clerkenwoll, and was cleaning up his plate with what Was left of the loaf of broad. A little, erect, handsome old man still, with fine eyes and wavy grey hair above a good forehead, and strong, well-formed features. "Since I lost my wife,” he said, “nothing has gone right. I always wanted a master,” he added, "and since she

died I have had nobody to te!l me.” On the back of each hand belo-vv tlio wrist there ie a big, bony swelling. Asked what caused that lie said, "Punching did that—punching men.” "Punching which men?” “Punching more than five hundred or them. My memory is going, and I can’t remember all their names. More than five hundred I have battled with 'and boat them all.” "And wore you never beaten then. "Two of them beat me. Bob Brattle beat me and Tom King boat me, but they wero accidents, and m other Hatties I beat both of them. I was a bit careless the clay I fought Bob Brett’e.—took him too cheap, and he caught me one with bis right and smashed my jaw, knocked me clean out. But the next time I beat him, and beat him •fair. //. “They never gnve me no thick curs, nono of them. I suffered more in my hands from punching thorn than from them punching. I knew more than they did, had a better headpiece; but since my poor wife died I vo bad nobody to toll me. “A quarter of a million pounds I have took out of the prize-ring, and all "one. Ten championship belts I have won, all silver with diamonds and precious stones, and they have a.l gone. 1 have got a bust of old Tom Sayers left and I would let it go for a couple of ’sovereigns, for I have got nothing. “You are my old friend, Bill, ior fifty years,” ho said to his septuagenarian business manager. "You ve got ’a good headpiece. You stick by me and I will do whatever you teLme to, and I can take three rounds with anyone as well as ever I could. "I will, Jem,” said the business ’manager; "I’ll stick by you. I’m walking wonderful well this last day oi And the principal of seventy-seven With his manager of seventy odd went Off hopefully together to look for a likely opponent and a sporting backer.