74 From Wembley to Wingham Close

England schoolboys were beaten 2-0 by Scotland on my school trip to Wembley. A disappointment, certainly, but sitting in the stand at Wembley and looking down on that famous pitch was a thrilling experience.

May 13^th Gillingham 3 Doncaster Rovers1 after three goalless visits to Priestfield Stadium I finally saw some goals. Just as memorable was the name of Doncaster full back Keith Kettleborough. Paul and I were highly amused.

May 20^th FA Cup Final. Chelsea v Tottenham Hotspur: They called it the Cockney Cup Final. With no leanings to either finalist I claimed neutrality, though I temporarily sided with Spurs, under the threat of a Chinese burn, when Brian Lack canvassed playground support for his team in the days before the match. In a game that was fairly one sided, Spurs dominated throughout and took the lead before half time. A second goal emphasised their superiority and though Chelsea came back with a late goal, it was too little, too late. Spurs were worthy winners.

May 25^th European Cup Final. Celtic v Inter Milan: A tremendous game. After Inter Milan took an early lead from the penalty spot, it was Celtic all the way. Though the Italians defended desperately they couldn’t hold back the relentless Scots. Tommy Gemmell smashed in an equaliser on the hour and five minutes from time Celtic grabbed a winner when Steve Chalmers turned Bobby Murdoch’s shot into the net. In a game heralded as a victory for football, Celtic became the first British winners of the European Cup.

As hard as he tried my mate Kevin wasn’t really a football fan. He had a liking for rugby but at heart he was an angler and a lover of newts, slow worms, frogs and sticklebacks. Though he continued to visit our house on Crundale Road, he no longer called for me. He called for my brothers Dave and Mike, whose interests in all things slimy made them ideal companions for expeditions to Sharps Green and the chalk pit.

For me it was football, football and more football. If I wasn’t watching a game I was playing, weekends and after school with Paul in Wingham Close. It didn’t matter if there were two of us or ten. Sometimes Paul’s younger brother Glenn joined in, hopping around in defiance of an artificial leg, and his flailing crutches didn’t half sharpen our reflexes. Most times though it was just me and Paul.

Since a game of football requires more space than we had outside Paul’s home at number seven, in the corner of the close, we played outside his next door neighbours. It wasn’t ideal, as Paul was prone to getting caught up in the moment and every time he unleashed a screamer that sailed over someone’s garden wall, my heart was in my mouth. The ball usually dipped at the last second and missed the window, but we endured many an anxious moment.

Playing up the slope was better. With Angela Porter’s house central to that side of the close, it made good sense to have our goal there, only Angela’s dad didn’t think so when our ball just missed his front room window.

The solution? Playing down the slope. The Gardner’s privets absorbed everything.