A futuristic glimpse of the past | thearticle

I readily admit to a 21st-century vice: YouTube hopping. Generally, the last half-hour or so in bed before lights out, I will skip along the inexhaustible site and alight on little gems of

various sorts. Those clever algorithms really know how to rope you in. Early on they realised that I am intrigued by all things Ancient Roman, so they regularly offer up talks by a

shaggy-haired Italian brainbox who styles himself “The Metatron” and greets viewers with “Hello, noble ones”. He knows everything about this subject and recently pointed out minor

inaccuracies in the “otherwise brilliant” TV series _Barbarians_, set during the period. Fascinating. The algorithms have also worked out that I’m intrigued by mafia stories, so I’m now

regularly offered “sit-downs” with a former New York mob boss and born-again Christian called Michael Franzese who regales us about his mafioso past. I keep waiting for him to say how many

people he’s whacked, but so far no dice.  Professor Jordan Peterson often crops up in my YouTube feed, as I’m a big fan of the bestselling Canadian psychologist and scourge of the

“wokerati”, having watched many of his online lectures. But I’m equally absorbed by ancient clips of mischievous celebs on the Dick Cavett Show – the genial US talk show host has interviewed

virtually every well-known personality, dating back to the ’60s. And I have other YouTube favourites, both new and old, highbrow and lowbrow, and sometimes it’s difficult to shut the damn

thing down and go to sleep. But, every once in a while, the site shoves something into my feed which is most unexpected, not algorithmically logical, so to speak. That’s what happened a few

nights ago when suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, up popped a clip of John Conteh, our famous boxing champ from the ’70s, speaking at some charity fundraiser a couple of years ago. I

hadn’t watched him on YouTube before and I’m not into boxing, but I was delighted to see him because it brought back a happy episode of my youth. In the mid-1970s I was a very young staff

writer on the weekly _Local Government Chronicle_, my first job in print journalism. I had no special interest in local government but the job had a very attractive perk. It gave me the

opportunity to travel all over the country on assignment, reporting on the doings of local authorities. So I became a frequent train passenger in the old days of British Rail and

occasionally met intriguing people on my journeys. But my most memorable encounter, in 1975 or 1976, was with John Conteh, then at the height of his fame as holder of the WBC

light-heavyweight title. Naturally enough – as Conteh is a Scouser – we met on a Euston to Liverpool train. On boarding the train I had sat down by the window in an empty seating bay,

settled myself comfortably and got stuck into the book I was reading. A moment later someone sat down opposite me and when I looked up I saw that it was Conteh. I recognised him at once and

felt a little quiver of excitement. Then I carried on reading. As the train began to roll, another man sat down, in the seat beside me. I glanced at him – a middle-aged, chubby and

sweaty-looking man. He recognised the boxer too, and almost immediately struck up a conversation with him. It became difficult for me to concentrate on my book because I could sense that our

famous fellow passenger did not enjoy this intrusion. The sweaty bloke called him “John” in a faux-chummy manner and babbled about himself. Soon he had pulled out a business card and placed

it on the table in front of Conteh, who didn’t pick it up.  After a few minutes of uncomfortable eavesdropping, I raised my eyes. Conteh and I exchanged glances and knowing smiles. Then he

said: “Good book?”  We started talking. He asked why I was going to Liverpool and I said I was a journalist doing a story about Liverpool City Council. Then he told me he was going home to

visit his parents. I could tell he was close to his parents from the affectionate way he spoke about them. And he related a fascinating anecdote which I have never forgotten. He said that

when he became successful and rich, the first thing he did was buy his parents a house with a swimming pool in a salubrious suburb of Liverpool, moving them out of their rundown home and the

slummy district in which they had lived for decades. “But they were miserable in the new house,” said Conteh. “They didn’t know anyone in the area, they missed their old friends and

neighbours. They lasted six months. Then I had to move them back to the old area.” We laughed. I told him it was a great story and it really said something about people and the things that

matter.  And so we chatted on, although I don’t recall what else we spoke about. But the man sitting beside me never really got another look-in. At Lime Street Station John Conteh and I bade

each other a friendly farewell, then he was gone, leaving me feeling upbeat and somehow enriched. I’ve always felt that my meeting with the illustrious boxer from Liverpool – who was only a

year older than me but seemed so much more worldly wise – taught me something about life. I can’t define precisely what that “something” was. But it went into the mix which makes a person

what they are. And of course, when that clip of him recently came up on YouTube I remembered, as clearly as if it happened yesterday, the way he cut that sycophantic bloke dead and focused

his attention on me throughout our train journey. Even if, perhaps, it was mainly because I was female, young and not sweating.  I think what I like best about the internet is that, however

high-tech and “futuristic” it is, it’s really just a handy time machine back to the past. A MESSAGE FROM THEARTICLE _We are the only publication that’s committed to covering every angle. We

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