For more than half a century, since his mysterious death, the memory of Freddie Mills has been preserved and polished like a national treasure.
Freddie was a winner. A national hero. A world champion. He fought his way to the top from humble beginnings. He was proud of his heritage. He was proud of his family. He was proud that he conquered the world in the name of his country. And his country was proud of him.
In life, his image of a lovable rogue was carefully crafted. His tousled black hair, craggy features and cheeky grin endeared him to millions, even those with no interest in pugilism, or who even hated it for its raw violence. He transcended all class and cultural frontiers. Lion-hearted to the last, the epitome of true grit… or so it seemed. So goes the legend, unfortunately a mirage, a myth of gigantic proportions.
Since the twilight days of his sporting career, he was dogged by dark rumours which followed him like a menacing stalker. Some worse than others, one of them unspeakable, though never established publicly. Until now.
Time is not always a healer. Even after so long, skeletons in cupboards can start to rattle, refusing to lie down and finding new life. And so it is the case with Mills.
Although to the unsuspecting reader it may seem that Mills does not appear on stage in this saga until relatively late, let me assure you that his footprint is on every page, so too his darkling shadow.
From the beginning to the end, this is the narrative of a Freddie Mills that a cabal of influential people tried to keep secret; sadly, a shamed hero.
Hence the title of this book, The Secret Life of Freddie Mills.
Tragically, in many respects, no longer a secret.