How 'Sir Les' became a true local legend

As Guernsey's most capped Muratti footballer and one of the best boxers the island has produced,

Les Collins has gone down in Sarnian folklore. But, as

Rob Batiste reports, there is more to his story than a simple love of sport THE Les Collins story is like something out of a Boys' Own comic.

A record number of Muratti appearances, an undefeated boxing career locally, crushing good looks, real charm and a butter-wouldn't-melt nature.

Put that against a background of having been temporarily left a virtual cripple by an accident as a child, the German Occupation when he was shot by the enemy invaders and then the immediate post-war austerity, his tale as a sporting legend bewitches to this day.

Thirty-three years after he made his 25th and final Muratti appearance, his tally of Guernsey senior caps remains unsurpassed in any of the islands.

He remains Belgrave Wanderers best ever player, having played 463 senior games and scored a remarkable 21 hat-tricks.

'On the football side he was held in awe,' recalls Colin Renouf, arguably Guernsey's finest footballer not to turn professional.

Alec Le Noury, former president of the GFA who grew up at a time when boxing was popular throughout the parish boys' clubs, goes even further.

'With the younger generation he was a national hero. Every youngster when he was talking about football or boxing, he'd talk about Les.'

Long-time Guernsey Evening Press sports editor John Le Poidevin recalls him as being 'an excellent role model for youngsters. Very modest with it'.

And just to think, he turned down Arsenal.

In 1940s-50s Guernsey, Collins' stature in islanders' consciousness was remarkable given his day job as a locksmith.

Whether he was boxing as an undefeated CI middleweight champion or flying down the wing for Bels or the green-and-blacks, he performed regularly before hundreds and thousands.

He scored Guernsey's third in the 1951 3-1 home win over Jersey, playing in front of the little matter of 12,690 paying customers.

The greatest example of his pulling power came after he had officially hung up the gloves, eight years afterwards to be precise.

Tournament organisers were struggling to sell tickets for a charity event at Stoneworkers' Hall to raise funds for an ailing boxing character, Barney Luscombe.

At that point, a shrewd promoter visited Collins at his workshop and enquired whether he might box an exhibition with the then island heavyweight champion, Bob Le Gallez.

Collins, who had remained supremely fit, largely due to his continuing football career, said yes to a real fight and the surge of interest was such that the event was moved to St George's Hall and sold out.

The story is still incomplete.

Le Gallez backed out. There is even a suggestion that he visited Collins at his work and tried to persuade the lighter man to choreograph a bout to suit both men and their reputations.

Come the night, Le Gallez mysteriously dropped out and Collins, top of the bill, was left with no one to fight. Until . . .

In bizarre fashion, an invitation to fight the legend was thrown out to the audience and taken up by Dutchman Jerry Pols.

Bernie, Les's younger brother, recalls the reaction of their father when seeing the size of the Dutchman.

'You are not fighting him,' said Sid Collins.

'Get away, I am,' said the man who not so many years earlier had suffered the cold stare of a German soldier intent on blowing his brains out.

The fight went ahead and within a minute Pols was out for the count.

'Collins connected with a flashing left hand to the side of Pols's jaw and it was all over. The gallant Pols took the full count after crashing heavily to the canvas,' went the report.

That was the last time Collins stepped into the ring, retiring unbeaten in these waters.

Thirteen years earlier, in 1947, he had won his first Guernsey middleweight title, outpointing the defending champion, Reg Wallbridge, on the very day he was named to play in his first Muratti final.

Despite giving away height, weight and reach advantage, Collins's sheer skill, punching power and fitness saw him through to the first of many titles.

He lost just once and that was after a nightmare sea crossing to the UK where he fought Walter Beckett for the English ABA title in the Albert Hall.

'There was a force-eight gale all the way, Les was very sick and didn't sleep,' recalls his brother.

'The bloke beat him on points, but Les had previously knocked him out in Guernsey.'

Defeat was painful for the proud Guernseyman and 'total winner'.

That was how his younger brother viewed him with admiration and a large degree of awe.

'Outside the ring he was the kindest, gentlest bloke you could meet. In the ring, he'd try and kill you,' says Bernie.

'Like all top sportsmen he couldn't do anything for fun. With him when he got into the ring, his view was kill or be killed.

Even when sparring, he wanted to be on top and Bernie can recall being on the end of a friendly tap on the arm from his big brother.

But his enthusiasm for a friendly spar landed him in big trouble on one occasion.

Les, talking to the GEP reporter John Neale in 1983, takes up the story:

'During the war we worked with

the Germans and they took half the workshop at Leale's.

'I had started boxing at the time. I had fought at the Regal Cinema and next day, back at work, a German came up to me. He

couldn't speak English and started framing up and sparring.

'I thought he wanted to have a little sparring around so I started sparring with him and made out to jab him on the nose.'

If that was mistake number one, misjudgement number two was somewhat dire.

'I sort of dropped down and hit him in the solar plexus - a bit too hard. He dropped down on one knee and grunted and I was a bit worried then. He got his bayonet out and I had to be fast on my feet and I dodged around thinking, ?I've got to keep out of the way here?.'

A German officer came in and put a stop to the larking about. For the time being.

'Three days later I was filing this key in the vice and I heard a couple of explosions. My arm went limp, pouring blood. My file flew across the bench - he'd put a bullet in my elbow.

'I was 11 weeks at home with that. I had to go to hospital to have the bullet cut out.'

From talking to his brother - 'we weren't just brothers but best of friends' - Bernie believes the German had set out to kill his brother.

'The German pulled out a Luger, took aim, Les put up his arm and his elbow saved him.'

For the 50s hero it was his second brush with death.

The first had come when he was still in shorts.

'He was trying to cross the road at the top of Victoria Avenue when he was knocked down by a lorry and pulled underneath it as far as Halfway.

'He was an invalid for two years from 10 to 11 years old,' says his brother.

Yet, by the time he reached his 18th birthday, he was becoming increasingly the Adonis by which players with whom he shared dressing rooms, or fans who saw him in the ring as an immaculate middleweight, will remember him.

'He trained every day of the week.

'He trained for boxing as well as his football, whether he boxed or not.

'He was fanatical.'

All told, he fought 40 times, with just the one loss.

Seven of those bouts came in the war period when he was in his late teens and the Regal shows were a joyful sporting fillip for the trapped islanders.

He started out at lightweight 'because there was no food during the war and we didn't put on any weight'.

Indeed, there is even a suggestion he was prepared to fight the German, who ultimately shot him, for a priceless jam sandwich.

Collins again:

'I was 9st 6lb, but then I got up to welterweight and progressed to middleweight. My weight finished about 11st 3lb and has remained ever since,' he said in 1983, six years before being cruelly cut down by cancer, aged 63.

In the same interview he revealed how he could have turned professional in both sports.

People close to Les were not so keen on him boxing.

Widow June was never happy with the connection.

Father Sid neither, as Les recalled.

'I worked hard, but I think it was in me because I always wanted to box. I used to say so to my dad, when I was a schoolboy.

'He said: ?No, I don't think it's for you son, you stick to your football.?

'But when I came of age to join a club, I trained very hard. I used to get an old pair of gloves and knock down a brick wall, knock the bricks out to improve the punch.

'I used to get up at six in the morning and train till seven before I washed and went to work.'

His outstanding fitness, speed, courage and no little skill ensured he also stood out on the football field, whether playing for his family's beloved Bels or the island.

But he could easily have worn the red-and-white of Arsenal.

His goal was to reach professional level and eventually he received an invitation for trials with the Gunners.

'He said: ?I know you are coming from an island and you will leave all your friends. Think it over carefully, but I've got reports that you have a fine professional career ahead of you if you want to sign on?.'

Collins went to Highbury but was back a month later. The lure of island life, playing two sports dear to him and the fact that football was not so financially attractive in the early 50s had made up his mind. He was also courting.

He played Priaulx football up to the age of 43 and fought until to he was 25, the exception being the Pols bout.

For the best part of a decade he was undefeated CI champion but by the early 50s the sport was on its last legs.