THERE is boxing, and then there is bare-knuckle boxing.

For those of a certain disposition, the former has long been the source of uncomfortable truths when it comes to the human condition. As to the latter, well, forget about it. Indeed, consensus here is that only the most barbaric of mind and empty of soul could even come close to recognising bare-knuckle boxing as anything other than a lapse into a cesspit of organised violence just for its own sake. 

But here is where reality intrudes.

His name is Gareth “Gumpy” Walker, he is the former two-time British heavyweight bare-knuckle boxing champion, and his is the story of a man who sought and found meaning in conquering that fear of the unknown which we all — all of us — possess to some extent. Gumpy’s chosen arena in this regard was the boxing ring, where he engaged in bare-knuckle battles against other men driven by the same desire. On a facile level, this most honest of combat sports is a brutal endeavour. On a deeper level, it represents an exercise in pain in the name of what it means to feel truly alive.

In his home town of Hawick in the Scottish Borders, Gumpy justifiably enjoys the status of living legend. But yet you would not know it, going by his refusal to be anything other than a man of his community. His physical advantages, forged over a lifetime of dedicated application, provide him not with more rights over but more responsibilities. Put simply, there is not a pensioner who would not feel safe in his company, nor a predator of the vulnerable who would.

I first met Gareth “Gumpy” Walker on a wet and cold miserable November night back in 2019. It was then that I arrived, unannounced, at Hawick Boxing Club for the first time to train. From that initial meeting, I was left in no doubt that here was the pristine example of how boxing builds far more than it destroys, especially when approached with the humility of the student eager to learn, rather than the arrogance of the teacher who refuses to be taught.

It is easy, not to mention lazy, to label and dismiss men such as Gumpy as creatures of a bygone age. Masculinity, we have been conditioned to believe in 2026, is more vice than virtue. The men who stormed the beaches of Normandy in June of 1944, however, would disagree. As would the countless working-class fathers, such as my own, who worked all hours to provide even when the opportunities to provide were limited by force of circumstances beyond their control.

But that’s another story.

Bare-knuckle boxing, returning to the thrust of this piece, occupies that space in which the search for truth has never been more necessary. With this in mind, the current British heavyweight bare-knuckle boxing champion is Michael Terrill. No-one apart from those involved in or who follows the sport will have heard of this man. But this is where the particular majesty of bare-knuckle boxing resides.

Because when it comes right down to it, the proponents of bare-knuckle boxing, such as today Michael Terrill and yesterday Gareth “Gumpy” Walker, are not driven by the goal of fame or riches. They are instead motivated by the desire to rise above the expected into the realm of the unexpected. 

This, though, is not to claim or argue that the metric of human strength solely resides with the capacity and/or willingness to climb into a boxing ring. Gumpy himself would argue otherwise until blue in the proverbial face. Our nurses, our care workers and our delivery drivers could have no better a friend than he when it comes down to it. And working as he does as a driving instructor by day, he is surrounded by men and women of all kinds and types. All are worthy of the same regard, and all are also deserving of the same respect, in his worldview. What he has and is willing to put himself through in the gym is not and has never been about being better than anyone else. Instead it has and is about showing everybody that they can be better.

Though he no longer fights competitively, Gumpy’s training regimen remains that of a competitive fighter. “When I was fighting, I had to do it,” he told me recently. “But now that I am no longer fighting, I love to do it.” Here, in just two short sentences, is contained the wisdom of experience.

Though the days of travelling for hours all over the country to spar with and fight men of similar caste and character are over, the drive to do so remains manifest in his passion to pass on his vast hinterland of knowledge and experience to others.

For Gareth “Gumpy” Walker the gym is tantamount to a church. It is where he finds peace of mind, and where peace of mind finds him. Far more of his time has and continues to be given to others, without any thought of personal gain, than the time of others has ever been given to him. 

At age 49, he knows what it feels like to look into the abyss, just as every fighter does. That the abyss has not yet looked into him in turn is a function of a character forged in battles chosen rather than those imposed. In sum, there is not a man with whom he has shared a ring in the past, who would have an unkind word to say about him at present. 

A husband, a father and a grandfather, if only there were more men like Gareth “Gumpy” Walker in our midst things would be better than they are now. And this simply because no matter how formidable he may have been in his time as a fighter, today in retirement — in that boxing ring otherwise known as life — he stands on the side of those who have no choice other than to fight back.