tomclare
28th February 2006, 16:45
I'm sure that all of us have at sometime in our lives, aspired to play the game of football at the highest level. Becoming a professional player is never easy, and very few of us ever reach such a pinnacle in our playing lives. However, most of us achieve an acceptable standard, depending on the level of our ability, and at the end of the day, look back on our playing days with great fondness, and pleasure. Nothing compares with the joy of actually playing the game of football, enjoying the successes that playing in a good team brings, and most of all, of being young, fit, and healthy.
Today, for most kids, their skills are honed initially, on the school playing fields, and then, in the various junior organisations, youth setups, and academies, that abound within each County F.A. Although there is no doubt that facilities today are so much better than they were in my younger days, in my opinion, there is still a massive neglect, and underfunding, for providing such facilities to today's youngsters. Britain is light years behind it's European neighbours in this field.
I was brought up in the years of the immediate aftermath of the last World War. Playing facilities were virtually non-existent in most localities, and a trip to the park invariably meant either a very long walk, or bus expense that in those years, parents could ill afford. We didn't have the distractions from playing outdoors then, that the kids have today. Television was very much in its infancy, and computers were unheard of to the Joe in the street. The height of the week's entertainment for us kids, was a trip to the ABC Minors
Saturday morning matinee at either the Apollo Cinema on Ardwick Green, or the old Grosvenor picture house on the corner of All Saints. Other than that, most of our leisure time was spent outdoors playing football, and in the summer, cricket.
During the 1950's, and even well into the 1960's, there was still a lot of areas in the City of Manchester that had suffered from bomb damage during the war, and those areas had not been rebuilt upon. The legacy was, what we called "crofts." These were areas of land where buildings had been bombed, and after the war was over, had been levelled off, covered with cinders, and left. It was on these areas of waste ground where everyday, of every week, you would see games of football being played, not only by youngsters, but by adults as well. I can recall that in front of the Dunlop's, and John Noble's factories, which were situated on Brook Street in Chorlton-upon-Medlock, there was a large expanse of waste ground before you got to my school, which was St. Augustine's, on York Street. Every working day, when the lunchtime siren went at mid-day, the male workers would come out from those factories during their lunchtime, put coats down on the ground to mark the goal, and play football. Those games were as competitive as you could get, get quite heated, and many was the time that arguments would break out, and be settled bare fisted there and then! It was the same all over the city, and in almost every city throughout Britain.
As kids, we would play for every waking hour we could get. Even during the winter, when the nights were cold, dark, and often foggy,we played until the bewitching hour and the call came from our parents, that it was time to come in. We would move the game from the "croft" and into the streets themselves. In those days, the streets were lit by gas lamps. The lamp posts were fifty yards apart from each other in length, and the area between them became our "pitch." The goal was the space between the lamp-post and the wall - normally about six feet in width. Most of the time the ball that we used was a tennis ball, and you had to be able to look after yourself when you had possession! Time on the ball was precious, because everybody was competitive, they wanted that ball off you, and it was always very physical. You learned to control the ball with both feet, dribble, twist and turn, shield the ball, dummy, tackle, play wall passes, time your leaps to head the ball. At the end of the day, knee and elbow scrapes were commonplace,
as were cut lips and bloodied noses - but oh boy! the sheer enjoyment of playing in those games! It was nearly always "City against United" - the opposing teams would be dictated by whichever club you supported. Your kit was your everyday clothing, and your footwear, your everyday shoes! Some kids had the luxury of owning gym shoes, or "galoshes" as we called them back then, but for most of us, it was a luxury that was few and far between. At the end of each day, after the bewitching hour call from your parents, it was a hot bath in the old tin tub, in front of the living room fire! Most houses in the area where I lived had no electricity and were lit by gaslight, so good old Mum would have prepared the bath, ready for your entry into the house. She would also be the first aid woman tending to all the cuts, scrapes, and bruises, that inevitably came with playing the game! After your bath, and a light supper, it was off to bed to dream of your footballing heroes, and it was never very long before you were off into the world of your dreams.
For most kids then, the first ambition was to get into the school team. No mean feat as classes were anything from between 30 - 50 kids each, and competition for places was immense. Schoolboy football was of a great standard, and if you did make your school team, you really made a determined effort to keep your place. I got into the St. Augustine's schools teams as a goalkeeper, but in our school's league, we were the weakest team, and at that age (10 years old) I was still quite small, and can't remember the number of times I had goals fired, or headed past me. My school's home games were played on Hough End Playing Fields in Withington, and our schoolmaster used to issue us with red bus tokens which enabled us to travel free on the buses to get there and back to and from a game. The pitches were full size, and for a 10 years old goalkeeper, the goals were enormous - no concessions in those days, and no goal nets! There was no changing facilities, we stripped off and changed behind the goal. To play in
proper football kit, and wear football boots was a thing not many kids got to
enjoy back then. Most of us played in the old type boot with the leather bar across the instep, and six leather studs in each sole. They were heavy and cumbersome, and the mud used to cling between the studs so that if it was wet, sometimes it was like playing on an ice rink! My Grandad solved the problem for me by showing me that if you coated each sole in shoe polish, the mud wouldn't stick! We never won many games, but for all of us in those teams, we never lost our enthusiasm for the game, and even if we had lost 10-0, we could not wait for the next school game to be played. It was just such a great feeling to be able to tell your mates "I play for our school!"
In 1956, I was lucky enough to pass the 11 plus exam, and sorrowfully, left St. Augustine's to attend St. Gregory's High School which was situated at the top end of Ardwick Green, close to the old Manchester Hippodrome, and Apollo Cinema. It was a prestigious school, and well known for its football teams. Boys from all over the City wanted to go there. My father and mother gave me the biggest incentive to get into the school team that year - they promised me a new pair of football boots if I was successful. The school trials were played over the course of three evenings at Greenbank Playing Fields in
Levenshulme. It was evident from playing in these games that the kids were of a much higher standard than what I had been used to playing with at St. Augustine's. The first game of the season was imminent for my age group, and we all used to crowd around the notice board in the old school playground, waiting for the team sheets to appear. The magical moment came, and there it was - my name in the space marked for goalkeeper. Oh my! how the adrenalin ran through me, and at lunchtime, I ran all the way home to tell my mother! The first game was against St. Malachy's from Collyhurst, and to be played at Monsall Rec, a brute of aground, all red shale, and was situated on Monsall Street in Miles Platting. I can recall the night before the game even today! I arrived home from school in the afternoon and my Mother told me that I could not go out and had to wait until my Father arrived home from his work. Naturally, at that age, I was "peeved" to say the least. However, at 6p.m. on the dot, in he came, and without saying anything, handed me a brown paper parcel. Imagine my joy, when on tearing the paper off so hurriedly, there in my hands was the first pair of Adidas boots that I ever possessed! They were actually brown in colour with three deep brown stripes on each side; compared to the old boots, they were like carpet slippers! Even at that age, I knew the sacrifices that my parents had made to purchase those boots for me, and believe me, did I treasure and look after them. We beat St. Malachy's by 5-2, and this
was an entirely new experience for me - playing in a really good team! As the season progressed, we swept all before us in our age group.
In the March of 1957, Manchester United were going for something that had never been heard of in those days - "the treble." But so was another team - St. Gregory's U12's! We'd won both our evening, and Saturday leagues with ease, but you never received any medals for those feats back then. However, we had reached the semi-finals of our knock-out competition, and had been drawn to play St. Patricks ( the famous old school that produced Nobby Stiles and Brian Kidd) at Newton Heath Loco. Now to appear at "The Loco" as we used to call it, was akin to the professional playing at Wembley! It was an enclosed ground situated in Newton Heath, and had a small stand which also housed the dressing rooms. Good crowds came to watch schoolboy
football then, and you can imagine the thrill for 12 year old boys to emerge from a dressing room, down the steps and out onto this wonderful Mecca of a ground! The goals also had goal nets, something we had never been used to having. St. Pat's had a great reputation for playing football, and their football master was a certain Laurie Cassidy, who had dualled a career in schoolteaching, with playing for Manchester United! There was no quarter given in this game, and both teams went at each other with a vengeance. Early in the game I can recall making a terrible mistake which cost us a goal. The ball was crossed from way out on the right hand side, more in hope than
anything else, and I got too far underneath it, and allowed it to pass over my head and into the net. We equalised just before half-time and went in all square. Immediately after the restart, St. Pat's got a penalty for a silly handball by our full back, Tom Massey. My Grandad had taught me a theory about facing penalty kicks, and I used it all the way through my playing days, and it was one which was quite successful for me. It had to do with the way that the penalty taker addressed his run-up to the ball. I guessed right and saved the kick, atoning for my earlier, costly mistake. As the second half ebbed away, our superiority began to show, and we scored twice to win through to the Final by 3-1. When I arrived home and told my parents, they were delighted at the prospect of their young son, winning his first competitive football medal.
The Final was again at Newton Heath Loco and the other finalists was a school named Spurley Hey from the Gorton area, and again, a school with a big reputation for football. There was a larger than normal crowd on the evening that the Final was played, as immediately after our game, Manchester Boys were playing Salford Boys. We had to change in an adjoining room off from the main dressing rooms. Again the thrill of running out onto that field in front of so many spectators, but my biggest thrill was yet to come. St. Gregory's didn't play as well as we could do that evening and we lost the final by 4-2, and although I had played well enough myself, the disappointment inside me was immense. The winners collected their trophy and medals first, and the presentation was made by none other than Mark Jones, the Manchester United centre half, who was so sadly to lose his life just 10 months later at Munich. Next were the losers, and it was some consolation as I was handed my medal - a silver shield shaped object in a blue case, with Mark Jones ruffling my hair and saying in that deep Yorkshire
voice "Well done young 'un." The biggest thrill though came seconds later as I stood there with my team mates, and a voice from behind me whispered in my ear; "Let's feel your medal son." I spun around, and there stood my father and his dog, a black Labrador named Buffer. You see, my father was blind, and had never attended a match that I had played in. He had wanted to be present as his son played in his first Cup Final, and Mum had made sure that he was there. They never told me that they would be watching so the thrill of having my Dad there completely sent the disappointment of losing that Final spiralling out of my system. He kept that medal until the day he died
in 1984, and although I was to go on and win many medals throughout my
own playing days, that little piece of silver still holds pride of place in the cabinet today, and is my most treasured possession!
Today, for most kids, their skills are honed initially, on the school playing fields, and then, in the various junior organisations, youth setups, and academies, that abound within each County F.A. Although there is no doubt that facilities today are so much better than they were in my younger days, in my opinion, there is still a massive neglect, and underfunding, for providing such facilities to today's youngsters. Britain is light years behind it's European neighbours in this field.
I was brought up in the years of the immediate aftermath of the last World War. Playing facilities were virtually non-existent in most localities, and a trip to the park invariably meant either a very long walk, or bus expense that in those years, parents could ill afford. We didn't have the distractions from playing outdoors then, that the kids have today. Television was very much in its infancy, and computers were unheard of to the Joe in the street. The height of the week's entertainment for us kids, was a trip to the ABC Minors
Saturday morning matinee at either the Apollo Cinema on Ardwick Green, or the old Grosvenor picture house on the corner of All Saints. Other than that, most of our leisure time was spent outdoors playing football, and in the summer, cricket.
During the 1950's, and even well into the 1960's, there was still a lot of areas in the City of Manchester that had suffered from bomb damage during the war, and those areas had not been rebuilt upon. The legacy was, what we called "crofts." These were areas of land where buildings had been bombed, and after the war was over, had been levelled off, covered with cinders, and left. It was on these areas of waste ground where everyday, of every week, you would see games of football being played, not only by youngsters, but by adults as well. I can recall that in front of the Dunlop's, and John Noble's factories, which were situated on Brook Street in Chorlton-upon-Medlock, there was a large expanse of waste ground before you got to my school, which was St. Augustine's, on York Street. Every working day, when the lunchtime siren went at mid-day, the male workers would come out from those factories during their lunchtime, put coats down on the ground to mark the goal, and play football. Those games were as competitive as you could get, get quite heated, and many was the time that arguments would break out, and be settled bare fisted there and then! It was the same all over the city, and in almost every city throughout Britain.
As kids, we would play for every waking hour we could get. Even during the winter, when the nights were cold, dark, and often foggy,we played until the bewitching hour and the call came from our parents, that it was time to come in. We would move the game from the "croft" and into the streets themselves. In those days, the streets were lit by gas lamps. The lamp posts were fifty yards apart from each other in length, and the area between them became our "pitch." The goal was the space between the lamp-post and the wall - normally about six feet in width. Most of the time the ball that we used was a tennis ball, and you had to be able to look after yourself when you had possession! Time on the ball was precious, because everybody was competitive, they wanted that ball off you, and it was always very physical. You learned to control the ball with both feet, dribble, twist and turn, shield the ball, dummy, tackle, play wall passes, time your leaps to head the ball. At the end of the day, knee and elbow scrapes were commonplace,
as were cut lips and bloodied noses - but oh boy! the sheer enjoyment of playing in those games! It was nearly always "City against United" - the opposing teams would be dictated by whichever club you supported. Your kit was your everyday clothing, and your footwear, your everyday shoes! Some kids had the luxury of owning gym shoes, or "galoshes" as we called them back then, but for most of us, it was a luxury that was few and far between. At the end of each day, after the bewitching hour call from your parents, it was a hot bath in the old tin tub, in front of the living room fire! Most houses in the area where I lived had no electricity and were lit by gaslight, so good old Mum would have prepared the bath, ready for your entry into the house. She would also be the first aid woman tending to all the cuts, scrapes, and bruises, that inevitably came with playing the game! After your bath, and a light supper, it was off to bed to dream of your footballing heroes, and it was never very long before you were off into the world of your dreams.
For most kids then, the first ambition was to get into the school team. No mean feat as classes were anything from between 30 - 50 kids each, and competition for places was immense. Schoolboy football was of a great standard, and if you did make your school team, you really made a determined effort to keep your place. I got into the St. Augustine's schools teams as a goalkeeper, but in our school's league, we were the weakest team, and at that age (10 years old) I was still quite small, and can't remember the number of times I had goals fired, or headed past me. My school's home games were played on Hough End Playing Fields in Withington, and our schoolmaster used to issue us with red bus tokens which enabled us to travel free on the buses to get there and back to and from a game. The pitches were full size, and for a 10 years old goalkeeper, the goals were enormous - no concessions in those days, and no goal nets! There was no changing facilities, we stripped off and changed behind the goal. To play in
proper football kit, and wear football boots was a thing not many kids got to
enjoy back then. Most of us played in the old type boot with the leather bar across the instep, and six leather studs in each sole. They were heavy and cumbersome, and the mud used to cling between the studs so that if it was wet, sometimes it was like playing on an ice rink! My Grandad solved the problem for me by showing me that if you coated each sole in shoe polish, the mud wouldn't stick! We never won many games, but for all of us in those teams, we never lost our enthusiasm for the game, and even if we had lost 10-0, we could not wait for the next school game to be played. It was just such a great feeling to be able to tell your mates "I play for our school!"
In 1956, I was lucky enough to pass the 11 plus exam, and sorrowfully, left St. Augustine's to attend St. Gregory's High School which was situated at the top end of Ardwick Green, close to the old Manchester Hippodrome, and Apollo Cinema. It was a prestigious school, and well known for its football teams. Boys from all over the City wanted to go there. My father and mother gave me the biggest incentive to get into the school team that year - they promised me a new pair of football boots if I was successful. The school trials were played over the course of three evenings at Greenbank Playing Fields in
Levenshulme. It was evident from playing in these games that the kids were of a much higher standard than what I had been used to playing with at St. Augustine's. The first game of the season was imminent for my age group, and we all used to crowd around the notice board in the old school playground, waiting for the team sheets to appear. The magical moment came, and there it was - my name in the space marked for goalkeeper. Oh my! how the adrenalin ran through me, and at lunchtime, I ran all the way home to tell my mother! The first game was against St. Malachy's from Collyhurst, and to be played at Monsall Rec, a brute of aground, all red shale, and was situated on Monsall Street in Miles Platting. I can recall the night before the game even today! I arrived home from school in the afternoon and my Mother told me that I could not go out and had to wait until my Father arrived home from his work. Naturally, at that age, I was "peeved" to say the least. However, at 6p.m. on the dot, in he came, and without saying anything, handed me a brown paper parcel. Imagine my joy, when on tearing the paper off so hurriedly, there in my hands was the first pair of Adidas boots that I ever possessed! They were actually brown in colour with three deep brown stripes on each side; compared to the old boots, they were like carpet slippers! Even at that age, I knew the sacrifices that my parents had made to purchase those boots for me, and believe me, did I treasure and look after them. We beat St. Malachy's by 5-2, and this
was an entirely new experience for me - playing in a really good team! As the season progressed, we swept all before us in our age group.
In the March of 1957, Manchester United were going for something that had never been heard of in those days - "the treble." But so was another team - St. Gregory's U12's! We'd won both our evening, and Saturday leagues with ease, but you never received any medals for those feats back then. However, we had reached the semi-finals of our knock-out competition, and had been drawn to play St. Patricks ( the famous old school that produced Nobby Stiles and Brian Kidd) at Newton Heath Loco. Now to appear at "The Loco" as we used to call it, was akin to the professional playing at Wembley! It was an enclosed ground situated in Newton Heath, and had a small stand which also housed the dressing rooms. Good crowds came to watch schoolboy
football then, and you can imagine the thrill for 12 year old boys to emerge from a dressing room, down the steps and out onto this wonderful Mecca of a ground! The goals also had goal nets, something we had never been used to having. St. Pat's had a great reputation for playing football, and their football master was a certain Laurie Cassidy, who had dualled a career in schoolteaching, with playing for Manchester United! There was no quarter given in this game, and both teams went at each other with a vengeance. Early in the game I can recall making a terrible mistake which cost us a goal. The ball was crossed from way out on the right hand side, more in hope than
anything else, and I got too far underneath it, and allowed it to pass over my head and into the net. We equalised just before half-time and went in all square. Immediately after the restart, St. Pat's got a penalty for a silly handball by our full back, Tom Massey. My Grandad had taught me a theory about facing penalty kicks, and I used it all the way through my playing days, and it was one which was quite successful for me. It had to do with the way that the penalty taker addressed his run-up to the ball. I guessed right and saved the kick, atoning for my earlier, costly mistake. As the second half ebbed away, our superiority began to show, and we scored twice to win through to the Final by 3-1. When I arrived home and told my parents, they were delighted at the prospect of their young son, winning his first competitive football medal.
The Final was again at Newton Heath Loco and the other finalists was a school named Spurley Hey from the Gorton area, and again, a school with a big reputation for football. There was a larger than normal crowd on the evening that the Final was played, as immediately after our game, Manchester Boys were playing Salford Boys. We had to change in an adjoining room off from the main dressing rooms. Again the thrill of running out onto that field in front of so many spectators, but my biggest thrill was yet to come. St. Gregory's didn't play as well as we could do that evening and we lost the final by 4-2, and although I had played well enough myself, the disappointment inside me was immense. The winners collected their trophy and medals first, and the presentation was made by none other than Mark Jones, the Manchester United centre half, who was so sadly to lose his life just 10 months later at Munich. Next were the losers, and it was some consolation as I was handed my medal - a silver shield shaped object in a blue case, with Mark Jones ruffling my hair and saying in that deep Yorkshire
voice "Well done young 'un." The biggest thrill though came seconds later as I stood there with my team mates, and a voice from behind me whispered in my ear; "Let's feel your medal son." I spun around, and there stood my father and his dog, a black Labrador named Buffer. You see, my father was blind, and had never attended a match that I had played in. He had wanted to be present as his son played in his first Cup Final, and Mum had made sure that he was there. They never told me that they would be watching so the thrill of having my Dad there completely sent the disappointment of losing that Final spiralling out of my system. He kept that medal until the day he died
in 1984, and although I was to go on and win many medals throughout my
own playing days, that little piece of silver still holds pride of place in the cabinet today, and is my most treasured possession!