A sticker book, of all things, is what ignited my interest, in the spring of 1966. Colin Clifford, whose mother worked at the Co-op, brought a dozen of these World Cup souvenir books into school and handed them out to the boys in our class.
Printed inside were the group match fixtures, enhanced by the flag of each country, and a page of stickers; four flags per nation, to cover the quarter finals, semi finals and final, with an extra one for the winning team on the last page. All we had to do was stick the flags in the right places and fill in the details as the tournament progressed.
The boys of 4/2 started playing football at school too – unheard of till then – at playtimes on the grass near the pavilion. It didn’t matter that I lacked the skill of some, like Clive Ward, who called me a toe punter. Participating was enough and it was particularly satisfying to take a turn in goal (marked with jumpers) and hold onto a fierce shot from Clive that struck me in the gut as I dropped to my left.
Before the tournament began calamity struck when someone nicked the World Cup!
Oh no!
Thank goodness for a dog named Pickles. The trophy had been missing for a week when Mister David Corbett took Pickles for a walk in South London, where the dog began sniffing at a package wrapped in newspaper, under a hedge. Thus, Pickles became famous as the dog that found the World Cup.
Good old Pickles!
As World Cup fever hit the country so did an influx of merchandise. World Cup Willie appeared everywhere…
And everyone knew the chorus…
We even had World Cup bubblegum…
Inside the wrappers were souvenir stickers of the stars, as William ‘Bimbo’ Hollands and I saw for ourselves when we got a bubblegum apiece from a vending machine outside a shop on Gillingham Road one Saturday afternoon. Disappointingly, neither of us got an England player. Instead we got Georgi Asparuhov of Bulgaria and Antonio Carbajal the Mexican goalkeeper.
The reason for us straying that far from Twydall is Bimbo needed to see his dad at Gillingham police station. Indeed, Sergeant Hollands was on duty at the front desk that day.
In May I watched Everton v Sheffield Wednesday – my first FA Cup Final – on the telly and thoroughly enjoyed it. From 2-0 down on the hour hour, Everton came back to win a thrilling match 3-2.
Just as entertaining was the Everton fan that ran onto the pitch and evaded the police as they attempted to nab him.
But the law nearly always gets its man and a huge cheer erupted when a determined bobby brought the man down with a rugby tackle.
A week later I went to my very first football match, Gillingham v York, with classmate Stephen Browning. Travelling there and back in his Dad’s white van was more exciting than the game, which ended 0-0.
A second match quickly followed, that I attended with Kevin and his Mum – a friendly between Chatham Town and a celebrity XI. Jeremy Bulloch of TV’s The Newcomers is the only person I recall, as his name’s similarity to a rude word made him unforgettable.
Alf Ramsey had been quoted as saying England will win the World Cup yet when the competition began, England got off to an unconvincing start. A 0-0 draw against Uruguay, in an evening game, certainly wasn’t what I expected. England’s second match, against Mexico, was heading the same way until Bobby Charlton took control of the ball and set off on a run that culminated with him unleashing a thunderbolt that gave us the lead.
A Roger Hunt goal sealed a comfortable win, and when Hunt followed that with a double in a 2-0 win against France, days later, England were confirmed as group winners. Also through to the quarter finals were Uruguay, West Germany, Argentina, Portugal, Hungary, the Soviet Union and North Korea. Eliminated were Mexico, France, Spain, Switzerland, Brazil, Bulgaria, Chile and Italy, who returned home in disgrace after a shock 1-0 defeat against North Korea.
Sat 23rd July: the quarter final against Argentina, England’s first afternoon match was a scrappy, bad tempered affair that flared up before half time when Argentinean captain Antonio Rattin was controversially sent off for comments made to the referee. A solitary goal from Geoff Hurst, who played in place of the injured Jimmy Greaves, was enough to win a game soured by acrimony. ‘Animals’ Alf Ramsey called the Argentineans, when he stopped his players exchanging shirts with their opponents at the end of the game.
Tuesday 26th July: World Cup Semi Final: England v Portugal
The semi final against Portugal was something to look forward to, though I feared the highly impressive Eusebio, who’d scored four goals in Portugal’s 5-3 quarter final win against the plucky North Koreans.
‘Oh no!’
What rotten luck. Our telly conked out; a catastrophe worsened by the wireless offering nothing until half past eight when second half commentary began on the Light Programme. Till then I endured a fretful wait but the broadcast, when it began, brought good news from Wembley: Bobby Charlton had given England a half time lead. In a tense second half my nerves jangled whenever Portugal crossed the halfway line. It seemed there was little between the sides but then, with ten minutes to go, Bobby Charlton scored again. What a relief! The tension had been lifted. But almost immediately, Portugal got a penalty. Eusebio tucked it away and the anxiety came flooding back but mercifully, England hung on and when the final whistle blew, we were through. Phew!
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Eusebio competes with Nobby Stiles
Between matches I was spending more and more time playing football with Paul Parker in Wingham Close. If he wasn’t crossing a ball for me to demonstrate my hopeless heading ability, then I was crossing a ball for him to do likewise. And sometimes there’d be a few of us playing, like Paul’s brother Glenn and the Gardner boys, who also lived on Wingham Close. On one of these evenings Paul’s dad was close by, cleaning his car in the middle of the square. In a chat about the World Cup he called Pele Peely. He kept a straight face too, though I couldn’t be sure he didn’t mispronounce it on purpose.
Poor Paul had the bad luck to miss the World Cup Final. When the rest of the country settled down to watch the biggest football match in England’s history, the Parker family were on their way to a prearranged family holiday at Butlins.
Our duff telly had been replaced but not before I’d accepted an invitation to watch the final at Bimbo’s house, on Pump Lane, where anyone at the door could not miss Sergeant Hollands’ police hat hung prominently on the hall wall. Bimbo’s dad – an imposing man – was not at home. Neither were his mum and big sister, giving us the house to ourselves as the match got underway.
Haller seized on a mistake to give West Germany an early lead. The free scoring Germans were at it again, this time at our expense.
Hurst equalised soon after and as
both sides battled for supremacy, the pressure mounted. The score was still 1-1
deep into the second half when, with extra time looking increasingly likely,
Bimbo and I decided we needed a cuppa. Fine, but disaster struck when we
knocked the teapot over and sloshed tea across the worktop and onto the kitchen
floor. We were still mopping up when Martin Peters put England ahead. Then,
as we settled down to slurp tea and watch the closing moments of victory, the
referee gave the Germans a free kick outside the penalty area. And in the
scramble that followed, they levelled the game at 2-2.
‘Oh no!’
The
whole world knows that in extra time, Geoff Hurst smashed a shot that came down
off the crossbar and bounced out… but not before the ball had crossed the line,
the referee decided, after consulting the linesman. Then, in the game’s dying
moments, Geoff Hurst completed his hat trick with a thumping shot that sealed
victory for us.
On
the stroll home to Crundale Road,
via Begonia Avenue
and Milsted Road,
I basked in the glow of England’s
glory with Nobby Stiles’ victory jig and the words of Kenneth Wolstenholme
uppermost in my mind.
‘It’s
only twelve inches high, it’s made of solid gold and it means England are the World Champions.’
Of
course we were. I’d expected nothing less.
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