There is a saying in the fight game that "the wee men do all the fighting and the big men get all the money".

John McCluskey was one of the many wee men – the flyweights and bantamweights – who were enormously talented and brave, who entertained crowds all over the world but who did not reap the rewards of the heavyweights and were rarely rewarded as handsomely for their efforts.

Plaudits and praise didn't matter to this unassuming, self-deprecating family man from Hamilton who dedicated much of his life to boxing, in and out of the ring, before being cruelly taken from us last Friday following a short illness.

He may have been shy, but he never lacked confidence once he stepped between the ropes and his dedication and talent brought him many glittering prizes as an amateur and professional.

He and I were thrust together for the first time as room-mates in Copenhagen in 1963, nervous debutants in the Scotland team ready to face our Danish counterparts in the KB Hallen where 4000 fight fans underlined the popularity of amateur boxing across Europe in those far-off days when the BBC would televise many of our international tournaments from places like the St Andrew's Hall, the Kelvin Hall and, earlier, Paisley Ice Rink.

Two days later, often bruised and battered, we would be pitched against another set of boxers from whichever country we were sent.

John and I were Scottish champions together, though it was clear the steel and determination – not to say the ambition – which were key parts of John's make-up would ensure that he would make greater progress.

I witnessed these attributes at close quarters when we trained and sparred and represented Scotland in the European Championships in the then East Berlin in 1965 when our team boasted leading names like Bobby Mallon, Ken Buchanan and Dick McTaggart, who won every championship available to him in an illustrious career. John emerged from a tough division containing top fighters from the Eastern Bloc with a bronze medal, after which he launched his professional career.

We had trained for that event at the Inverclyde Centre in Largs, billeted in dormitories, as I recall, while the Scotland football squad – John Greig, Jim Baxter, Billy Bremner, Alan Gilzean among them – under the guidance of Jock Stein, were housed in an hotel in the town, their base as they prepared for a World Cup qualifier against Italy.

After we had spent an evening watching TV coverage of West Ham United's triumph against TSV Munich 1860 in the Cup Winners' Cup final at Wembley Stadium, and being open-mouthed at the big-money bets changing hands among the Scots footballers, a stroll back to the Inverclyde Centre erupted as words were exchanged between John and Ken Buchanan, the former's short fuse lit by the man destined to become the world lightweight champion.

Had McTaggart and I not dragged the protagonists away from each other, blood would most certainly have been spilt before we had even set off for the German Democratic Republic, as it was known in those Cold War days.

McCluskey succeeded his fellow townsman, Walter McGowan, as British flyweight champion soon after he entered the paid ranks and while he was usually in the shadow of such a supreme fighter for much of his time as a professional, he held the title for a decade with the Lonsdale Belt taking pride of place in the living room of his comfortable Hamilton home.

John McCluskey was not only a man of integrity in everything he did, he was an example to all young sportspeople in how they should conduct themselves.

Never one to court publicity, he simply wished to participate in the Noble Art and always offer nothing short of his best.