Memories from James Morton

Some wonderful memories shared by James Morton.

When I lived in Paris in the early 1970s there were I believe three regular major promotions. The first was at the Elysée-Montmartre near the Moulin Rouge, the second at the Cirque d’ Hiver near the Filles du Calvaire Metro and the third, I am told was the Salle Wagram up near the Arc de Triomphe. In fact I never heard of any wrestling at the Salle and I never saw any posters. On the other hand the café in my street put up a flyer in the window every Monday for the Cirque and, since I had a friend who looked after the Cirque’s animals who had not gone on tour and who helped up  the ring on a Friday tickets were easy to come by.

My recollection is that the Elysée and the Cirque’s wrestlers came from two different stables. The Elysée which functioned on a Sunday and I think on a Thursday had Jean Ferre ‘Le Justicier du Ring’, Andre Bollet and Luc Straub along with Monsieur Montreal and the midgets. The Elysee had L’Homme Masqué, Robert Duranton, Jon Guil Don, Rasputin,  Der Henker. I don’t recall ever seeing an Englishman when I was there. And above all Rene Ben Chemoul and his nephew Walter Bordes who often tagged together. 

Wrestling has always been tribal. After the war there were often Black v White bills. In the East End of London there were regular bills featuring The Bengal Tigers against the likes of Don Steadman. In Northen France in the 1970s there were still whole cards of evil Germans led by a a pickle-haubered De Uhlan against the heroic Pierre LeBon and his mates. And in Paris at the time the Algerians represented by Chemoul and Bordes were matched with villainous French teams such as The Golden Falcons.

The main bout was always last on the card and when they appeared it was always Bordes and Chemoul who gave the down trodden Algerian population something to crow about. There was a chant, ‘Re-ne-ben-Chem-oul’ accompanied by stamping which rocked the  old building as apparently down and out and with Bordes being beaten up outside the ring he would slowly climb to his feet, onto the ropes and launch himself in one last leap to save his nephew.  No matter this was repeated at least once a month we all went home happy. 

Then there was Der Henker, the German Hangman against L’Homme Masqué but that as they say is another story.