A Mancs Tale - a new pair of boots

A "Mancs" Tale - a new pair of boots

I am old enough to remember two specific things in my life. One, when
the word IT was a two-letter word with sexual connotations, and two,
February 6th, 1958, a date that was to have a traumatic effect on me
and my school pals for many years to come.

The date, of course, refers to the Manchester United air disaster at
Munich and I was a 15-year-old football crazy kid enjoying his first
job since leaving school. My domain was the backstreets and wastelands
of Ancoats in Manchester.
Like all kids at that time I would play football at every given
opportunity. We would play until the light gave up on us and if we did
not have the luxury of a proper ball, we would use a bundle of old rags
or a tin can, anything, as long as you could kick it. Some of us were
so daft we would attempt to head the" missile" as well, often with
comical, if not disastrous results!
In my fantasies, I would one day be Ivor Broadis - they in fact
nicknamed me Jiver (to rhyme with Ivor) - nothing to do with my dancing
skills! , the next day I would be Bert Trautmann. As long as I was
playing, it did not matter what position I was employed in.
I remember the first time I saw a goalie wearing a yellow jersey - the
traditional colour was green - he was a local lad named Bernard Starkey
and he played in goal for the school first team. I am sure he was a
good goalkeeper but in that yellow jersey he was a star!
It seemed all I ever wanted to do in my school years was being involved
in football in some capacity. If I was not going to be good enough to
play at Old Trafford or Maine Road, then I would write about my heroes
for the local newspaper and, eventually, the national press. Oh yes, I
had It all planned out.
I played my first competitive game at the age of ten for Every Street
Primary school, Ancoats. We were playing the top team in the area, St.
Anne's, Beswick, our regular goalkeeper was off school "ill" and nobody
wanted to play in goal against a team that invariably reached double
figures against us and every other school team in the area. I jumped at
the chance when asked, whether I was first choice or last resort was of
no consequence. I had no proper boots but that would not matter, after
all, I would only be picking the ball up from behind the goal posts as
St.Anne's scored with regular monotony. Twenty four hours later I was a
hero! We only lost by two goals to nil and I had played a
blinder!
I kept my place in the team for the rest of the season, alternating it
seemed between goalkeeper and inside right (scoring a goal or two) and
I was convinced this was the start of my future career as a star.
I got very little pocket money as a kid. Quite simply my parents were
poor and couldn't afford it, but, I was lucky enough to get the odd
chance of delivering newspapers to those who were affluent enough to
enjoy the privilige, or deliver groceries for Bill Workington, the
local corner shop proprietor.
Every penny would be saved to watch my professional heroes. My first
visit to Maine Road was in 1953 when I saw two players who made a
lasting impression on me, Johnny Hart(City) and Wilf
Mannion(Middlesbrough).
Hart, to my mind was brilliant, he could dribble, head a ball, score
goals and, even in those days worked his socks off for the team. A
complete inside forward.

Mannion, in the twilight of his career, was an icon. With his
distinctive golden hair, he was sheer class. You could not get the ball
off him and although he wore the wrong colour shirt I thought he was
great. Oh, and I was impressed by big Bert Trautmann as well!

On the domestic front, I had now moved onto Secondary school, George
Leigh Street, Ancoats, and was a regular at inside right as long as I
could borrow a pair of boots or be given some cast-offs. I promised
myself that I would save and save to get a new pair of my very own. I
scored a number of goals for the teams at various levels but one
incident in particular sticks in my mind. The senior team was playing
an important match against Holland Street, who had beaten us regularly
for many years, I had gone as a spectator and I was suddenly thrust in
at outside right because someone failed to turn up on time!
Again, I had no boots, wore plimsolls and was shoved out on the wing
for my own protection - we won 6-2 and I scored twice. Though I was
underage in qualifying terms, I played three or four times for the
seniors that season.

So, my Saturday ritual from September to May was to play or watch the
school in the mornings and if I could afford it, go and watch City or
United in the afternoon depending who was at home.
What? - You may say- a Manchester lad watching both the Blues and the
Reds? As I have said, I was literally football mad, had not been bitten
by the bias bug and as long they had Manchester in front of their name
I did not care.
I cried when City lost to Newcastle in the 1955 FA Cup Final and was
young and naive enough to believe the City skipper Roy Paul, when he
said, "We will be back next year and we will win the Cup" - which, of
course, they did. Equally, I jumped for by when United won the FA Youth
Cup with my new heroes Duncan Edwards, Eddie Colman and company coming
to the fore.

Duncan Edwards was the greatest player I have ever seen - and no one
will ever convince me otherwise. The memory may play tricks and his
career and life were tragically cut short but, even to this day I have
never seen anyone at that age with so much all round skill, ability,
enthusiasm and physique - he was unbelievable.

Although Saturday was the highlight of my week, it did nothing to
dampen my enthusiasm for schoolwork, as long as it involved
football!
My form teacher encouraged my quest and allowed me to write essays,
both fictional and factual, on the subject. In fact, I wrote two books
that I was allowed to bind in practical studies and they remained in
the school library for many years. My long lasting regret is that I was
never given the chance to retrieve them when the school was disbanded
and demolished, for no apparent reason, in the early 1980's.
What was happening locally, with the Reds and the Blues? Well, City had
gone back to Wembley in 1956 just as Roy Paul had promised and beat
Birmingham City by three goals to one. This became known as the
Trautmann Final, due to the fact that the German 'keeper had played
practically the whole of the second half with a broken neck!
We were also introduced to the Revie Plan, which saw a centre forward,
Don Revie, wearing the number nine shirt and playing behind the rest of
his forwards. The fact that the Hungarians had originally employed this
tactic back in 1953 appeared to be ignored - City did not posses a
Puskas and the plan was rapidly discarded. However, not as quickly as
the Marsden Plan, another tactical brainchild of the City coaching
team. The "plan" entailed playing twin centre halves but was rapidly
scrapped after two horrendous defeats in quick succession.

United, meanwhile, were undergoing dramatic change with the
introduction of the Busby Babes. Duncan Edwards and Roger Byrne were
being joined by a host of youngsters who looked as though they either
should still be at school or cleaning the boots of more seasoned
professionals. Eddie Colman, nicknamed "snakehips", Mark Jones, Liam
(Billy) Whelan, and David Pegg were quickly becoming household names.
Matt Busby had even spent the enormous amount of ?29,999 - he did not
want the player having a ?30k price tag round his neck - on a raw
Barnsley lad, called Tommy Taylor. Tommy could head a ball harder and
more accurately than some players could kick it!

YES, life was great for a 15-year-old who, was convinced that he had a
future in or around football, even if he still did not have a new pair
of football boots.
United would win everything - even the Boat Race if they wished to take
part - England would win the 1958 World Cup in two years time, no
problem. Dear old City would also bounce back in a season or two and
the wonderful City of Manchester would have TWO great teams.
Just wait and see?

The year of 1957 was one of great personal optimism. I had attended an
interview at the Manchester Evening Chronicle offices on Withy Grove,
successfully passed a test they had set me and was surely on my road to
journalistic fame. Unless some eagle eyed scout from City or United
spotted me and wanted me to play for them.
That was in the autumn. My first disappointment was that I would be
leaving school at Xmas of that year and would not be able start work
with the Chronicle until the Easter of 1958.
I had to earn a living and contribute to my keep, now that I was of
wage earning age so, I applied for a stop gap job with a local pots and
pans warehouse in Roe Street, which was just off Oldham Road.
Even then the shadows of football fame were in reaching distance,
because round the corner from Rothman and Acker, the company owned by
two shrewd Jewish gentlemen, was St. Patricks school.
The skills of Terry Becket, Nobby Stiles and later, Brian Kidd were
spawned there. I had played regularly against Nobby in social
kick-abouts on the waste ground of Ancoats and Miles Platting and
didn't think he was all that good - so much for my assessment of a
footballer- but, of course, I compared everybody with big Duncan!

On the football front the year belonged to United has I had expected it
to, we had experienced European football for the first time although
Matt Busby's decision to enter the "new" European Cup competition
angered the Football League and the FA. Early in the campaign, United
had to play the home leg games in the competition at Maine Road, due to
the floodlights not being ready at Old Trafford. However, memorable
victories were recorded against Anderlecht (a 10-1 win!), Borussia
Dortmund and the nailbiting game with Bilbao, where the Reds had to win
by three clear goals in the second leg, which they did.
The dream was finally shattered when Real Madrid - they had marvellous
players like Di Stefano, Gento, Santa Maria, Rial- won the semi-final
tie over two legs.
In the domestic FA Cup tourney and the League championship, United was
unstoppable. Everyone, especially me, expected them winning the
impossible double - League and FA Cup - only for that dream to fade as
well on the lush green turf of Wembley.
Goalkeeper Ray Wood was injured in a clash with the Aston Villa
winger, Roy McParland, and though Wood tried to stay on the pitch as a
makeshift forward, United were effectively down to ten men with Jackie
Blanchflower taking over in goal - there were no substitutes in those
days!

I began my "temporary" job with Rothman &; Acker on January 2nd,
1958 and settled in quite quickly. Proud of my wage earning status and
the fact that I had ten bob to spend or save each week. Apart from the
bitterly cold weather, a fair amount of snow, which cancelled my
beloved football for weeks on end, January passed quite
uneventfully.
On the Saturday prior to that fateful date of February 6th, United had
played the mighty Arsenal at Highbury and won 5-4 in a truly memorable
match, they then flew out to play Red Star (Belgrade) in the second leg
of their European Cup match. The match was played on a snow-covered
pitch and the Reds came away with a 3-3 draw, to win the tie 5-4 and a
passage into the quarterfinals. There was more than a degree of
confidence and optimism around Manchester on February 5th.

On the morning of that fateful day, I arrived at work and set about my
daily duties with my usual buoyancy. I was quite happy whether I was
handling Meakins best china cups and saucers or, Biltons seconds mugs
and beakers. That day, one of our regular customers came into the
warehouse to place his habitual large order, which I assembled and then
assisted in loading into his vehicle. He rewarded me with a half a
crown tip, which was quite generous in those days. I was pleased I can
tell you!
The time of 4.30pm seemed to arrive very quickly, which was the time
for me to take the company mail to the local post office. Assorted
sizes of envelopes and packages were handed to me and I set off for the
short journey to the post office. In completing this daily ritual I had
to pass the local newsagents, it was then that I saw it?

"UNITED PLANE CRASHES" screamed one newspaper hoarding.
"UNITED PLAYERS FEARED DEAD," said another.
I dashed into the shop and bought the Evening Chronicle, although the
details were sketchy it was obvious a disaster had taken place. Tears
were streaming down my cheeks, my hands were shaking and I felt as
though my legs had turned to jelly. I repeated over and over again, "It
cannot be true, it cannot be true"- but, the weeping of grown men
around me on one of the busiest roads in Miles Platting, confirmed to
me that it was true.

To this day I cannot remember if I ever took those letters and parcels
to the post office.

I arrived home late that evening due to stopping to talk to my mates,
who like I refused to believe what had happened. I switched on a little
Bush radio that we had and I never took my ear away from it until the
enormity of the tragedy had finally sunk in. The days following the
crash went slowly and my despair and disbelief grew stronger. When,
almost two weeks later, Duncan Edwards finally lost his brave fight for
life, I knew things would never, ever be the same again.
I continually asked myself the same question for a long time "Was
death the price you had to pay for being famous?" - James Dean, Buddy
Holly and Manchester United - it just was not fair!

That same month, on February 25th in fact, I made a decision that I was
to regret for a long time afterwards. A letter bearing the Kemsley
House postmark arrived, informing me that I was to report for
employment on Monday, 7th April, at 8.15 am. wearing"collar and
tie!".
It would have meant taking a fifty per cent cut in my current earnings,
so I decided, with no advice from my parents, to stay with my pots and
pans.

My stopgap job was to last five years. My late father, who had worked
in a foundry since the age of 14, was rushed into hospital suffering
from a collapsed lung. He was forty years old at the time. He did not
work for quite a while afterwards, with my wage being the only real
income to support the family. My wage had risen, in six short months
from two pounds and twelve shillings to the princely sum of three
pounds and fifteen shillings. So, I was the only serious earner in the
family - and I still did not have a pair of football boots.

I have often regarded those five years as attending the"University of
Life" mainly due to the fact that the foreman, a man called Tom
Bainbridge, took me under his wing and treated me like a son. Unlike my
natural father he always had time to talk to me and advise me if I was
troubled, this despite the fact he had four sons of his own, the eldest
of which had a serious drink problem.
In lighter moments, I would listen intently to his stories of army life
and his escapades in Cairo and Alexander1 particularly the brothels in
Seven Sisters Road. The fact that he was an original "Desert Rat" who
had experienced the horrors of World War Two seemed irrelevant to the
good times he had shared with his pals.

United's first game following the Munich disaster was a FA Cup tie
against Sheffield Wednesday, played on a Wednesday night under
floodlights, and I went to the ground feeling emotional trepidation.
The most poignant fact of this evening was the United team sheet in the
programme. It was blank. The team was, in fact, made up of reserve and
youth team players together with little Ernie Taylor, signed from
Blackpool, and Stan Crowther whom the Reds had been given special
permission to recruit from Aston Villa that very same day. I stood on
the open terrace, behind the goal, later to become famous, or infamous
as the Stretford End, with tears in my eyes. I was not alone, yet
again; I witnessed grown men unashamedly weeping as United amazingly
won by three goals to nil, with a young Shay Brennan scoring twice. I
felt sorry for Wednesday; the crowd would have lynched them if they had
won! - Such was the emotion in that full capacity crowd.

Despite the victory, I felt as though I was watching ghosts and I never
went to Old Trafford again until five years later...

"Goodnight Irene, goodnight Irene, I'll see you in my dreams!" the
words of that particular song, and many others, would ring around the
streets of Chorlton-on-Medlock and Ancoats as I practised my other
"talent", the desire to sing the latest songs whenever, and wherever
possible. I had the ability to burst into song if ever encouraged and
when three school pals of mine formed a skiffle group in 1955, I was
asked to be the singer, probably because I could not afford an
instrument - not even a tea chest and string which formed the bass! We
played at the school Xmas party, the local youth club and "play centre"
and built up quite a following- at least four girls and a couple of
lads!
But, my bid for fortune and fame would come later.

On the footballing side, I was struggling to get a regular competitive
game due to the fact that George Leigh Street School did not have an
"Old Boys" team. I joined Collyhurst Boys Club, who were more
interested in your boxing ability, and the local Lifeboys Institute,
even though I swam like a brick! But, they had a football team.
With borrowed boots I pursued my anticipated future at the top level of
the beautiful game, the only trouble was everyone else seemed to be
developing physically at a faster rate than me and my short-sightedness
meant I kept passing the ball to the wrong side. I was too easily
knocked of the ball by brutes who were less talented than me and, for
the first time I began to wonder if I would be a star - I mean I was
approaching sixteen now, not a medal in sight and still no boots of my
own!
United, amazingly, had reached Wembley and the FA Cup Final only to
lose, to Bolton Wanderers (2-0) with a controversial goal by Nat
Lofthouse who had charged both Harry Gregg and the ball into the net.
Protection for goalkeepers? - Don't you believe it.
They also finished a creditable ninth in the league, with City ending
the season in fourth position.

My sixteenth birthday came and went very much like other birthdays
before, a few cards but no presents, certainly, no new pair of football
boots.
The New Year of 1959 did herald another pay rise from my employers,
which meant I was now earning the gigantic sum of five pounds per week
- they must have thought something of me, or had originally taken me on
at the absolute minimum!

Unfortunately, my new found wealth led me into two vices, which I was
to regret later in life - smoking cigarettes and gambling. Although I
had been having the odd cigarette for a year or more, I could not
afford to buy them on a regular basis. Now, earnings were such that I
would buy at least two packets of ten over the weekend and, of course,
that was the start of being hooked on the dreaded weed.
My father had always been a betting man and I used to wonder what on
earth he was doing, writing names down on a piece of paper and giving
this to a man down the backstreet together with money which could have
put food on the table. As far as I can remember he never seem to get
any money back, what a mugs game! One of the drivers at work also liked
to have a bet (as did Tom, but he never encouraged me) and one day I
was looking over his shoulder whilst he was studying the form in the
newspaper. He wrote out his bet and asked me if I wanted to "go halves"
at a cost of two shillings and sixpence. I agreed and we won fifteen
pounds between us, one and half weeks pay, - this betting "lark" was
easy!
United had signed Albert Quixall in the winter of '58 for a British
transfer record fee of ?45,000 and with the Munich survivors Gregg,
Foulkes, Charlton, Viollet and Scanlon, they scored over a hundred
goals to finish second in the 1958/59 season league championship to
Wolves. This was a magnificent achievement so soon after Munich but,
they also lost Wilf McGuinness, another Manchester lad, with a broken
leg, an injury that was to more or less end his promising career.
City struggled to avoid relegation, which they did by just one point,
however, they had the problem of too many players losing form or
growing old at the same time. There was no real Youth policy at Maine
Road in those days and that resulted in some poor ventures into the
transfer market - the effects of which were to be seen some years
later.

As far as my own footballing ambitions were concerned they had ground
to a halt. I had finished playing for the Lifeboys (they were no good
anyway) and Collyhurst Boys Club were recruiting better players each
year that minimised my chances of being picked especially, without a
pair of my own boots.
United continued to re-build during the summer and autumn of 1959, with
signings like Maurice Setters and Noel Cantwell coming to Old Trafford.
They were to make an immediate impact, whereas some of City's signings
were not much better than the players they had replaced. That was until
March 1960 when City signed a player who was to entice me back to watch
professional football for the first time in three years... Denis
Law.
He was the best footballer I had seen since Duncan Edwards, although
completely opposite in stature, he only weighed about ten stone, he was
so skilful, quick, scored goals for fun, he excited me like no other
player since the great Duncan. The only trouble was that City seemed to
have him playing like a one man team - he took the throw-ins, free
kicks, corners, you name it he did it! And he was still expected to
score goals, they certainly wanted their moneys worth, after all, he
had cost a record ?55,000.
I honestly thought that if City continued to expect Law to play like
this he would be "burned out" within a couple of seasons.
As it was City escaped relegation, yet again, by a couple of points and
United could do no better than sixth or seventh, some ten points behind
the new league champions, Burnley.

From a personal point of view, 1960 was a nothing year unless you can
consider an increase in my cigarette smoking and gambling habits as
being negative. Another pay rise had enabled me to pursue both vices
with extra enthusiasm but, strangely, I never had any money!
One day, I remember taking my habitual look at the racing page in the
Daily Dispatch and picking out a horse called Zip Goes A Million. I
checked my funds and decided to leave two shillings with my mother with
the instruction to "put a shilling each way - on the nag in
question.
I went to work, which I was still enjoying and things were going well,
but as lunchtime approached I became increasingly agitated as to
whether my mother would have put on my bet. At 12.30, time for the
lunch break, I checked my pockets and found I had enough for five
cigarettes plus and pie and chips which I decided to forfeit in order
to put another two shillings on the horse at the local bookies, Barlows
on Livesey Street. It won at 20-1, and I was convinced that as the
bookie was Colin Barlow's dad - Colin played for City-it was his way of
thanking me for going to Maine Road every other Saturday. When I
arrived home I discovered my dad had convinced mother that the horse
was "20-1 and had no chance" so she had "borrowed" the two shillings to
buy some bread and milk - and some cigarettes.
My eighteenth birthday was now approaching and each weekend the pubs of
Ancoats, New Cross and Collyhurst were my domains. With my mates,Jimmy,
Stuart and Buddy I would frequent the Exile of Erin and the Nelson on
Fridays to drink and play cards. Saturdays were dressing up time and we
went to the "bottom" Derby on Rochdale Road where I would display my
vocal talents with the resident pianist and drummer.
Showbusiness beckoned when the Landlord asked me if I would like to do
a paid stint over Xmas and New Year, four nights at ten shillings a
night! - I could not say "Yes" quickly enough. What I did not realise
at the time was that my repertoire consisted of four songs - Lazy
River, Mack the Knife, Mean Woman Blues and Johnny B.Goode - all played
without music by the pianist.

My priority now switched to obtaining some sheet music - the new pair
of boots could wait!