With the spectators suitably warmed up, it was time for the main contest of the afternoon. Everyone pushed in closer for a first glimpse of the two men. The Bargeman led the way, a veritable mountain of muscle, striding purposefully towards the ring with a face of doom. His fans were quick to offer their sage counsel.

'Knock 'im from 'ere to kingdom come, Bargeman!'

'Split the lousy Jew in 'alf!'

'Circumcise 'im!'

'Flay the bugger alive!'

The Negro raised both arms in acknowledgement, cheered and booed with equal volume by rival supporters. Isaac Rosen was the next to appear, strolling nonchalantly along as he chewed on an apple and tossed the core to a woman in the throng. He was every bit as tall as Hignett but had nothing like his sheer bulk. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, Rosen grinned happily as if he were on his way to a picnic rather than to an extended ordeal in the ring. It was the turn of the Bradford crowd to offer a few suggestions.

'Come on, Mad Isaac! Teach 'im a lesson.'

'Smash 'im to the ground!'

'Crack 'is 'ead open!'

'Kill the black bastard!'

Both sides were in good voice. As the fighters stripped off their shirts, the cheers and the taunts reached a pitch of hysteria. Wearing cotton drawers and woollen stockings, the boxers confronted each other and exchanged a few ripe insults. Each was in prime condition, having trained for months for this confrontation. Hignett had the clear weight advantage but Rosen had the more eye-catching torso with rippling muscles built up by hard years in the slaughterhouse. A coin was tossed to see who would have choice of corners, a crucial advantage on a day when the sun was blazing down. Fortune favoured the Jew and he elected to have his back to the sun so that it dazzled his opponent's eyes as he came out of his corner.