There's Some Sad People About, That's For Sure.

 

'Also remembered was a John Bull printing set. Comprising of a small much prized tin containing: inkpad and two sets of rubber letters. The complete alphabet, one set being capitals, a small wooden block and a small pair of tweezers to handle the individual letters. Considering every word and sentence had to be set out backwards it was a wonder we persevered, though printing out rude words in private was an education few adults had reckoned on.

Concerning rude words I well remember discovering at school the word twat. Thus virtually every sentence was punctuated with the word, ‘twat this’ and ‘twat that’ until I made the mistake of uttering such ill chosen utterances in front of adults, in my case Aunty Mary. I was made to understand in no uncertain terms that such words had no place in God fearing households. Strangely enough no attempt was made as to why such words were taboo. The result, the words gained a new prominence, to be uttered now on away from adult ears. I must have been around eight years old at the time.'

    This extract was taken from my e-book A Childhood Revisited. I was, as indicated a mere child of around eight at the time. Then I gradually grew up! I still swear at times, I am not particularly proud of it, it is generally selective and on occasion it can be effective I reckon. But I would not dream of swearing in front of a lady or children.

     I used to teach English for a living in a large, very average comprehensive. IF a child swore in class I used to 'jump' on it quickly and point out that I didn't swear in class, so why should they. Even the most challenging of pupils, with very few exceptions accepted this 'rule' and we 'got by' quite well in a career lasting nearly twenty years.

    I am reminded of those days in my distant past when I read of the trial of John Terry. Irrespective of a not guilty verdict concerning racial abuse, what a depressing scene; what desperately pathetic, uncouth, limited, ignorant people there are in the world. (The trial centered around the use of the terms a black c*** and f****** k***head.) No argument that the term was used, merely how it was used. And these people are adults, for goodness sake! How rich and self indulgent some modern sportsmen seem to be. And not just sportsmen, for there were loud cheers from the public gallery in court that clearly indicated the behaviour and presumably language of John Terry was acceptable to some. To what depths have we sunk. I am a football follower (of my beloved Derby County) but at times I question whether I am just encouraging sick and depraved people by spending my hard earnt cash so that they can lead a lifestyle devoid of any moral worth.    

    Not all footballers are bad of course. But when you have a footballer who admits he tried to break an opponents leg (Roy Keane) and another paragon of virtue who doesn't admit to adultery and then has the cheek to resort to law to prevent us knowing what a hypocrite he is (Ryan Giggs) all seems lost. No one seems to care, Keane is seldom off the television sports programmes; Giggs is captain of the Great Britain Olympic team. Remember, these people are heroes, role models to our children and grandchildren; is that right. And before I get too carried away, what would my attitude be, I wonder, if Derby County were to be offered a psychopathic, philandering centre half who happened to be the best prospect since the proverbial sliced bread.

A Real Football Hero.

Having said I don't normally 'do' topical here we go again. The Ryan Giggs affair really set me going and here's why. I personally quite admired the guy, so I view his antics with both surprise and disappointment. (Ryan Giggs, professional footballer, married, father of four has a 'liason/affair' with a young lady and tries to use the full force of the law to stop anyone from being aware of his antics. Says he's thinking of his children. Bit late, Ryan, what a hypocrite!)
To those who say his private life is his own business, I say rubbish, we're entitled to know. This man earns millions from football and even more millions as a 'whiter than white' ambassador for football. He is, like it or not, a role model for millions of children.
My background is ordinary, working class village boy born in the first months of the war. Plus I was orphaned at the age of thirteen. Role models have always been important, particularly where young males are concerned; in my case, because of my circumstances doubly so. The like of Reg Harrison, footballer was particularly important in my formative years. Contrast Reg's career with the spoilt, prima donna's of the modern footballing world.
Reg Harrison was a young man, a keen, honest Derby born and bred professional footballer aged nineteen in 1946, playing for Derby County in the immediate post war years. In an era of shortages there were special problems for professional sportsmen and women. Sport is reliant on fitness; diet is a critical factor if success is to be achieved. Footballers were allocated no extra rations yet a level of fitness was maintained creditable in the extreme. True, there was the occasional perk of extra meat from a butcher in return for match day tickets. There was also a Derby County team manager who was in the catering trade, providing the players with a meal once a week, tripe and onions being a particular favourite. But there were no massive wages to supplement the player's diet, even had extra rations been available.
Reg signed a contract in 1946 for the princely sum of ten pounds a week. The manager somewhat apologetically explained that only long term first team regulars were paid more, he, Reg was what was termed ‘a slider', any increase, and small at that depending on regular first team football. In fact a member of Reg’s family earned more after stoppages working as a foreman in the local Rolls Royce factory. Which would suggest that admired they might well have been, but immediate post war footballers were seldom financially secure. Reg never forgot the club director, an accountant by profession who solicitously inquired, shortly after Reg married as to whether he was saving his money. As Reg inevitably retorted, ‘Chance would have been a fine thing on footballer’s wages’.
Reg lived with his parents until he married and then moved to a small house in the town, from where he walked to work. Not that he considered training twice a day preseason and playing twice a week in season as work. A hard life physically, but one he enjoyed just the same. A life that brought the reward coveted by all British footballers. A FA Cup appearance with the ultimate reward, a cup winner’s medal. For in 1946 Derby County reached the FA Cup Final, meeting Charlton Athletic at Wembley on Saturday the 27th April.
Tickets for the match were eagerly sought by a Derby population starved of real football excitement for almost six long war years. Prices ranged from 3/6 (17p) to £2 2 0s (£2 10s). Derby County were allocated 12,000 tickets, applications by post only, though season ticket holders were assured of a seat. Some travelled on the thirteen special trains travelling from Derby minus a ticket. In fact some 10 6d (52 p) tickets were changing hands before the match for £10 10s (£10 50s). The idea that these were times devoid of football disorder was somewhat questioned when hundreds attempted to gain free entrance just before the match and had to be dispelled by mounted police.
Prior to the match the team stayed at a hotel in Harpenden, four to a room; Reg shared with Angus Morrison, Chick Musson and Jim Bullion. Normally the team had tea and toast for breakfast plus a meal before a match of boiled fish or chicken. On this illustrious occasion they had the luxury of breakfast in bed; egg and sherry mixed with milk and sugar before a coach took them to Wembley Stadium. Each player was allocated two tickets, not over generous when one considers the crowd numbered one hundred thousand.
Derby won a memorable match 4-1 after extra time. An extraordinary game made even more so when the ball burst, a rare occurrence indeed. The team stayed overnight again at Harpenden and played Arsenal in London the following Monday.
On Tuesday 30th April 1946 the conquering heroes were paraded round Derby to rapturous acclaim on the back of an Offilers Brewery wagon; from the Blue Peter Public House in Alvaston to the Police Building in Full Street. The following day Derby played another league match and yet again the following Saturday. Counting from the Saturday before the Cup Final Derby County played six games in fifteen days. The players received their normal wages plus an inscribed Royal Crown Derby plate; the pampered existence of modern footballers a far-cry away.
I still see Reg at the Derby County games. He is over eighty years of age. (There are two Derby County survivors from the cup final game, Reg and Jim Bullions.) A lovely, unassuming, modest man, married for many, many years; thanks for the memories, Reg. You may not be rich but you are still greatly admired. You put the likes of Ryan Giggs to shame.

THE CUP FINAL