Christa Ackroyd: We can all learn lessons from Brendan Ingle

It all stems from childhood memories when I would sneak downstairs often in the middle of the night, to sit with my dad and listen to the radio or even watch TV when the BBC reopened its channel in the early hours of the morning (years before 24-hour telly) to beam the big fights into our living room. It was exciting and daring, dangerous and dramatic and something Dad and I shared together, something Mum couldn’t understand.

Last week boxing – and Yorkshire – lost one of its finest. Brendan Ingle never won a title belt but he mentored and trained many who did. And they loved him like a father. So why do I want to tell you about him? Because Brendan Ingle was so much more than a boxing trainer. He was a humanitarian who made a difference to hundreds, probably thousands, who passed through the doors of St Thomas’s, his far-from-salubrious Wincobank gym in Sheffield. And not just those who had the potential to wear the belt of champions. All were equal.

Even if you did make it to the top you were still expected to pick up the litter on the streets outside, because pride in your community, in Brendan’s view, was as important as pride in yourself and pride in the ring. And he loved his gym and those who found purpose there. So much so that, even though he could have lived in a mansion, he never moved from the house across the street because he said he had heaven on his doorstep. Though he added some pretty impressive wrought-iron gates.

He opened his doors and his big heart to all those who entered St Thomas’s whether they were championship material or not.

Some came not just to become boxers but because they were lost souls, some because they were about to go down the wrong path, some out of curiosity, but whatever they were seeking, Brendan gave each and everyone a focus to achieve their very best potential as a human being – or tried to.

Which is why so many tough men in Sheffield cried this last week.

Brendan Ingle came to Sheffield from Dublin in the ‘50s seeking work in the steel foundries. It was tough work and his strong Irish accent led to jibes and racist comments. But he took it on the chin, met and married the love of his life, Alma, and opened his gym. He also educated himself by devouring books, particularly on what makes people tick. His favourite saying was: “I was as thick as three short planks. To be ignorant and not know you are ignorant is sad. But to be ignorant and know you are ignorant is a crime.”

I first met Brendan Ingle more than 20 years ago, when he brought a 17-year-old Prince Naseem Hamed to the studios of Calendar long before he became a world champion. He made Naz promise he would come back the day he won a world title. He made him keep that promise.

He used to laugh and tell everyone it had been my idea for those extravagant ripped leopard print shorts Naz made famous. I am not so sure it was. l think I said something about how difficult it was to look so strong at the lighter weights and how I hated the cheap shiny satin, especially with fringing, that so many wore. But I’ll take the compliment, Brendan.

He had a way of including everyone in his success. I visited that gym that smelled of sweat and determination many times down the years. It always fascinated me. There super cool, confident young men (and later women ) would not be training to the more modern vibes of hip- hop or RnB. No, belting out were the Inkspots or Neil Diamond, because that’s what Brendan liked. And what Brendan wanted he got, because his boxers trusted him with their lives, literally. He trained them not just to the peak of physical perfection – no flabby midriffs in IngleLand – but to mental perfection too. And he used the philosophy he had taught himself to motivate them.

Brendan Ingle was as Irish as Irish can be. He had not only kissed the Blarney Stone but had swallowed it whole. He received an MBE – it should have been a knighthood. And there should be a statue of him in Sheffield to remind us what can be achieved through hard work and dedication. And a love of life and others. I will leave you to ponder on a quote from his favourite thinker Marcus Aurelius. “Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one.” And Brendan Ingle was one of the best.