(Picture Credit - Local Football by Shoreham Herald co uk)
This is an old story of mine written in
1968 when I was 15 or 16. Here is the original version with minor amendments.
In fact the very first draft was handwritten, in an old Royal Mail “Writing
Pad”. Interestingly in real life in 1982 I went to work and live just down the
East Coast from Withernsea, in Cleethorpes.
Chapter
One – The Beginnings
In 1975 I went to work in Withernsea, a small
seaside resort on Yorkshire’s East Coast. I had been there twice before on my
holidays. It was a good place for relaxation on weekends and after my day’s
work.
One day in August took a walk away from the sea in a
south westerly direction. Here I came across many new houses and just beyond
them, a small park. The sea was still visible from there to remind me where I
was. The park was simply a piece of flat, turfed land containing a couple of
football pitches.
On one of these pitches about ten men and youths
were having a kick-about. Some were wearing very old boots, but they all wore
proper kit. The adjacent pitch was occupied by some young kids who, to my mind,
were playing much more keenly.
Next to where the ten or so men were playing there
was an old bench, occupied by a 40 or so year old man, sitting with his head in
his hands. To his right he had a roughly 16 year old lad for company. Both
looked dejected and didn’t see me approach them.
“I knew it wouldn’t work, Dave,” grunted the old
man, “I just hoped I’d be lucky for a change, that’s all.”
“Nay, Uncle Jim,” answered Dave, “Don’t you think
it’s a good turn-up? We’ve got a team and a reserve there, if you include me.”
“Sure,” sighed Uncle Jim, “our reserve is 12 years
old and I bet this lot doesn’t turn up again when we ask ‘em.”
“’Course they will!” plumped Dave, “They usually
play here when they can get together. Bill there, and Johnny Cragg always come
here every Saturday to have a game.”
Then Dave saw Me:
“Hullo there, I haven’t seen you here before!”
“Oh, I’m new round here,” I answered, “I’ve only
been living here for 2 months and I’ve not been this way before.”
“Oh aye?” piped up Uncle Jim, “And where have you
come from?”
“Leeds, I’ve come to work here.”
“Leeds now that’s a football city. Here we’ve only
got Withernsea United, and they’re ****ing useless. That’s their pitch over
yonder.”
“Have you started a new club I asked,” with
increasing interest.
“Yes, I started it yesterday. I asked Dave here to
ask some of his mates to join in and about seven have. The rest play here
regularly.”
“We’re still deciding which local league to join,”
broke in Dave, “the Withernsea and district looks best.”
“Nay Dave,” retorted Uncle Jim, “the new Holderness
league looks short of teams…”
“But we’ll need a helluva lot of money for that,
uncle,” protested Dave, “…what with transport costs, pitch rent and kit.”
“But surely you can raise the money,” I suggested,
hopefully, “you can have raffles, collections, bingo or even sell things.”
“I doubt it”, muttered Dave, “we’d better hurry up
though – the fixtures start next month.”
“How about advertising for older players?” I
suggested, “If we could get some they’d provide the transport with their cars.”
“Some hope”, said Jim, “we’ve seen enough players as
it is.”
“Make you mind up Uncle”, remarked Dave, “You were
just moaning we haven’t enough players.”
At this point a player of about 22 years of age left
the pitch and joined us. He was a tall, big-footed redhead. The lad was wearing
an old shirt, ragged shorts and a pair of old hiking boots.
“Got a new recruit? He enquired.
“No,” I answered, “I’m just on a walk. But I wouldn’t
say no to joining you for a kick about. I don’t play very often to be honest.”
“Well I’m Billy Ross”, replied the redhead.
“And I’m David Brown, and this is my Uncle Jim,”
explained Dave.
Billy concluded the conversation: “Right let’s get
back to it, er…”
“Paul.”
More
to follow
Paul
Butters
©
PB 1968 in Leeds.
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