Honour of the Line (12 page)

Their house was a three bedroomed end terrace about two minutes from the football stadium but a ten minute bus ride from the training ground. Aunty Gwyn showed me to my room which was nicely papered with a few footie posters on the walls, a single bed and a transistor radio on the cabinet. The fantastic smell of the cooking also made me feel very at home. She called me down for a cup of tea and began telling me the house rules and how my stay had been organised. Basically everything was included and this was the same when all the young players joined the club as the wages were fairly ordinary. It all sounded good to me, 8 o’clock breakfast, eggs, bacon, sausages, followed by toast and marmalade. This was also followed by a lunchtime snack after training and an evening meal at 6 pm. plus tea and coffee whenever anybody wished. There was even a fridge to keep the milk cool, a million miles from home where we kept it cool in a bucket of cold water in the shady coal shed. Meals could be cancelled if not required or kept hot if for any reason you could not make the set meal times. In the front room was Aunty Gwyn and Taff’s TV and you were always welcome to watch but they got to choose which channel, which mattered very little as, in those days, the choice was extremely limited.

A club rule was that on match days players also had a steak with their breakfast, pasta was a non starter thank God. All young players were given a key for their digs but there was a 12 o’clock curfew for normal days but 10 o’clock the night before a match. Somehow I couldn’t envisage me ever wanting to stay out very late, the area was not overwhelmingly welcoming and my only excursions would probably be to the railway station to watch the trains. Apparently most of the lads stayed in their digs unless they had an away match near their home towns, in which case they could get special permission to stay on for a night or two after the match. When Taff came home from work he gave me the strongest handshake ever, he almost crushed my fingers. He was a real jolly fellow who loved talking football, he absolutely hated rugby which had been rammed down his throat in his native South Wales. He immediately thought I was a budding centre-half as I was so tall and seemed really surprised when I said I was a keeper.

The following morning I was to report to the clubs assistant manager at 9.30 and so Taff was to show me where his office was. Taff started at 9 o’clock so I would have some time to kill before my ordeal began. I was told not to bother with kit but to turn up with smart polished shoes, creased trousers and a collar and tie. This all felt slightly alien to me as I was a very casual dresser. Peter, the other lodger, reassured me not to worry as every lad had to go through this, it was all part of the discipline process. Peter also mentioned that on day two I wouldn’t know what had hit me. I liked Peter instantly, he was a quiet young Irishman who, although almost 3 years my senior, was a full 6 inches shorter. I assumed he wasn’t either a centre-half or centre-forward. Peter also told me that although not a house rule, a couple of times a week the lads would clear the tables and wash up, this was always appreciated and usually ended up with Taff opening a beer or two.

My alarm woke me at 6 o’clock the following morning and I realised I had to be on my most polite and good behaviour as this was my really big chance. Aunty Gwyn’s breakfast was the most superb start to the day, I always thought Mum’s breakfasts were great but this was something else. She could also adopt me any time she wanted. After getting spruced up I went with Taff to the ground. The first real sight I got of the younger players was outside of the ground as they were sweeping up litter and picking up fag ends. It then became obvious that becoming a trainee footballer wasn’t all it was cracked up to be but, alas, everybody must have started there. Taff introduced me to his workmates, they were a jolly bunch, mostly Midlanders’ who took great delight in telling me that the following day I would get backache picking the ball out of the net so many times, which was light hearted humour designed to make me feel at home – and it certainly worked! Surprisingly my nerves had disappeared and when the assistant manager came in I recognised him as one of the men who had watched me playing at school, district and county matches and yet again he was so easy to talk to. He told me I was really lucky as today I was being shown the ropes by one of the clubs senior professionals who was sadly carrying a really nasty injury. The players all had nicknames and this player’s nickname was Scotty. Namely because he was a Glaswegian and unlike many he was really softly spoken. Scotty told me he had also joined the club as a youth and had progressed to being a regular first team player by the age of 20. He told me it was the best club in the world for a young trainee to start because young kids and top pro’s all got on well together, this was the basis of the clubs spirit. Firstly we went to the changing rooms to see how the pegs were set out and Scotty showed me his peg – number 9. He then showed me the number 1 peg which was for the goalkeeper and said I had to make sure my boots and kit filled that space before too long.

Third team games were played at a local non league ground so everybody strived for second team action where home games were shared between the main stadium and the third team’s ground. Scotty told me that trainees had to do lots of mundane work as part of their apprenticeship such as being responsible for cleaning a pro’s boots and also unpleasant tasks such as picking up rubbish from the terraces after training on a Monday and replacing toilet rolls and cleaning out the showers. He then joked that most of the toilet rolls which needed replacing had been thrown at opposing goalkeepers and then said that if I collect them at away games my family would never need to buy any again. He also said that all players had almost certainly come through similar regimes but at this club all 1
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team players passed on £2 of any win bonuses onto their boot boys, which sounded a good incentive to keep their boots spick and span.

It was a truly great feeling as we walked through the players tunnel onto the hallowed turf and looked up at the imposing covered terraces which at the time were empty, with the exception of one of the ground staff giving the crush barriers a lick of paint. The season was drawing to a close and some of the paintwork was starting to look really quite shabby. We then took a slow walk to the training ground where all of the three teams were going through their paces and I started to feel like a little lost soul. I had never played footie with an adult except Grandad but these men passed the ball harder than most of my mates could shoot. Scotty said I would be joining in the training tomorrow so would have to bring my kit and boots. He told me not to be nervous but also not to try and show off how good I was, just be myself, as probably after stretching and warming up I would get a spell where some first team forwards would put me through my paces. I was crapping myself already. If they passed the ball that hard what the hell was their shooting like? I imagined the ball coming at me like it had been fired from a cannon. To say I was concerned was the understatement of the century and the century before that and the one before that! During a break in training the Manager called a silence amongst the troops and introduced me and all the players said hi, which was also very unnerving as I had seen so many of them pictured in black and white in the newspapers or on coloured fag cards. Another thing I found strange was none of them had a Southern accent, many were Welsh, also some Irish and Scots, plus Midlanders and Northerners which made me feel like a little posh lad from the South. My word they all talked so funny. Scotty bade me farewell and I waited for Peter and we walked back slowly to Aunty Gwyn’s. I went to my room, laid on my bed and listened to the radio until teatime and the food smelt wonderful. It was a proper English meal, shepherds pie, cabbage, carrots and peas, lashed with thick gravy, followed by rhubarb and custard. Ashamedly I had to be really honest and say it outdone Mum’s and Grandad’s by the proverbial mile, but bless them, they were still in my heart although many miles away.

Taff asked if I was nervous about the following days session, to which I shook my head. He then told me I really should be as it was a club tradition to blood all new keepers with their house mate having the first go to humiliate them. I glanced over at Peter and he was smiling. In his soft Irish accent he made it abundantly clear it was in his manifesto to make me work really hard by picking the ball out of the net as many times as possible. I slightly went off Peter until he gave me that cheeky little Irish smile and then totally deflated me by saying the top pro’s smashed the ball like an atom bomb. Needless to say I hardly slept a wink that night and farted continuously with pre-training nerves.

I didn’t need the alarm to wake me the following morning and I got up and bathed before breakfast and after breakfast I walked with Peter to the training ground. He was obviously trying to take my mind off things to come as he went on about how lovely Northern Ireland was. As we got to the training ground he showed me where the third team got changed and I was given a reserve peg at the end of the line. It done me no favours that I only had my school kit, albeit the tracksuit top was adorned with district and county cloth badges, but they counted for very little at this level. I somehow wished I just had a plain top. The stretching and warming up was fine and all three teams did this together so I made sure to take Scotty’s advice, especially as he was watching and had reminded me not to try and show off. By the time the running session came I was beginning to feel half decent but kept mid division and found it fairly okay. The first and second team keepers were way behind me in the running but, in their defence, their build was far stockier than mine and although I was better at running they would be far less likely to be out-muscled when going up to challenge for a high ball. During the one touch warm up six-a-sides I was with the third team as was Peter and we were on the same team wearing bibs. I thought I did okay as my touch was as good as most of the others and ultimately I was a keeper. Next came the serious business and the first team were at one end with the reserves and third teams at the other. All keepers took their turns as each player had the ball rolled to them on the edge of the area and dead centre on goal. Both made quite a few saves and out of my six attempts shooting at them I scored with three, which I didn’t think was bad. With more than a touch of the jitters I replaced the third team keeper and couldn’t believe how hard Peter crashed the first one past me, the cocky git, but gradually I gained confidence and made quite a few decent saves. Following this the ball was rolled to players at an angle. For instance, left footed players received the ball on the right side of the area and the right footers took it on the left which, for a keeper, was a much more difficult situation as the players seemed to have much more goal to aim at and once again Peter made a mug of me with a delicate chip after shaping up as though he was going to break the net. After this session I was called to the other end to watch the number one keeper deal with shots and was horrified as most of them thundered past him like missiles. My turn then came to face the first teams shooting and even the defenders hit the ball so hard but nevertheless I made a few saves. I then returned to the other end and all three keepers practised taking crosses, which was one of my strengths, it also helped there were no forwards charging in on goal. At the end of the session the first team keeper came over and had a chat with me and seemed really surprised I was still only 14.

Most of the players then went home but Peter and some of the younger players stayed on to try and improve their first touch. I also decided to stay and really enjoyed it. Joe, the third team manager, had a word with me and said I had done really well but I suspected he said that to everybody. He also told me I needed to keep training at home especially learning to deal with high shots to my right as I seemed to often parry the shot as opposed to collecting it cleanly. He said it was likely I didn’t react quite as quickly on that side and set me some drills to help my reactions become quicker.

We then showered and went to the clubhouse and had a coffee and a game of darts and rather lazily waited for Taff to finish work so that he could give us a lift home. We both felt justified as we had done extra training. Who were we trying to kid? Aunty Gwyn had done us spam fritters for tea and I loved them so much that I had seconds and thirds. She kidded us that the club would need to pay her extra to keep me fed. That night I slept really well, probably knowing I was going home in the morning but strangely I was now 90% sure that I wanted to join the club and be a professional footballer as soon as I left school.

First thing the next morning I rushed to the corner shop and got a ten bob box of chocolates for Aunty Gwyn to say a big thank you. She had arranged for a taxi to take me to the station at 9.45 a.m. and with a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye I said cheerio, but was happy in the knowledge I would almost certainly be back.

The journey home was nowhere near as exciting as the outward journey and I felt really down as the train approached the outer sprawl of London. I hated it but sadly it had to be crossed to get to my home town. On arrival at Colwood Station I decided to call in and have a quick word with Jill and try and find out what was happening with Angela. It seemed Angela’s Dad was still seething and supposedly deadly serious about sending her up North to live and it seemed to me he was unlikely to be a man who would ever change his mind. He thought that to do exactly whatever he said was morally correct, even if said in haste. When I told Jill I liked what I had seen at the football club I noticed a really sad look on her face which I felt rather awkward about and just assumed she thought I was being selfish not caring about her younger sister bringing up a baby on her own. Assuming I stayed around I would not be any help as things would have to be kept secret and supposing Angela was packed off up North, she would still be over a hundred miles away from me and travel those days was somewhat more complicated than it is today.