May 2 2024: loony tunes

No longer dodgy Hodgy…. Picture: Peter Jackson

Beginning with the bad old days, the seriously bad old days, David Hodgson addressed, memorably, the Sporting Memories group at Bishop Auckland FC’s Heritage Park ground this morning.

Most will remember the man they called Hodgy at Middlesbrough, Liverpool and Sunderland and in three spells as Darlington’s manager under the colourful (shall we say) chairmanship of George Reynolds.

Fewer may have known about his reckless, restless youth in Gateshead, about the thieving, about the time he shot another boy by aiming an air rifle through a letter box. “I was forever in trouble” he said. “I thought I was going down for that one.”

That he never won county schools honours, he said – not even a trial – was because he was never at school. “I was a loony bin.”

He’s now 63, may have lost a yard or two of pace but none of his ability to entertain. Someone’s mobile kept playing Rock-a-bye baby but none would slumber when Dave Hodgson was on his feet.

The turning point, he said, was joining the celebrated Redheugh Boys Club in Gateshead and then becoming an apprentice at the Boro, though even then the troubled times weren’t wholly behind him.

In conflict with fellow apprentices Charlie Bell and Peter Johnson, Dave “trashed” their room at the digs they shared, Liquid Gumption playing a key part in the exercise. Assistant manager Harold Shepherdson wanted him out, manager John Neal offered one final chance.

Charlie Bell became both manager of Marske United and a senior Cleveland police officer.

At Middlesbrough David Hodgson scored 16 goals in 125 Football League appearances, three of them a hat-trick against Spurs, and won six of his seven England Under-21 caps. His entry in The Who’s Who of Middlesbrough begins with a match in which he didn’t even play: “The name of David Hodgson went down in the club’s folklore the day he joined aupporters on the Holgate End to watch a match he was forced to miss through injury.”

Liverpool paid Boro a reputed £450,000, paid Hodgy £1,000 a week plus all manner of bonuses and incentives. It was 1978 and he was reckoned Britain’s best paid player, though it didn’t really work out on Merseyside.

“Middlesbrough was enjoyment, Liverpool was a job” he tells the Bishop Auckland audience, essaying a decent impression of the gently spoken Bob Paisley who, of course, had himself played for the Bishops and who, said Dave, swore like a trooper.

Part of the problem, he addedd, was that the Anfield club never had a qualified physio – “they couldn’t even prescribe you two aspirins and a glass of water”.

When he moved back to the North-East, and to Sunderland, Liverpool manager Joe Fagin told him it was the biggest mistake of his life – a forecast validated when Len Ashurt was succeeded as manager by Lawrie McMenemy (who, of course, old-timers remember more affectionately at Bishops.)

Hodgy calls him Lawrie-me-Enemy. “It was horrendous. Every single chance he had, he annihilated me personally and professionally. I didn’t like him – you may have gathered.”

All the Lads, the Sunderland players’ potted biographies, merely records that he “failed to recapture his best form.”

Dave played subsequentyly in France, Spain and Japan, retired at 31, bought a fax machine and (as he puts it) became an agent.

He talks – candidly, mesmerisingly, freely in every sense – for 90 minutes before weak bladders and dinner time compel full-time. There’s not even been time to mention his 400 games in charge at Darlington – a spell so unforgettable that he wrote a book, Three times a Quaker, about it.

Suffice that a recent podcast was headed “The chairman tapped my house” and that might just relate to GR an’ all.

He’s asked to come back and finish the story. Happily, very happily, he agrees. They’ll have to make it all ticket.

May 1 2024: fear and Lothian

Blackadder’s church

There’s a good reason for heading today to North Berwick, on the Scottish coast east of Edinburgh, and an even better one for stopping at home.

North Berwick is in the district of East Lothian, lies about 40 miles north of Berwick-upon-Tweed and has no obvious connection with it any more than the City of Sunderland has links with North Sunderland, which is near Seahouses.

Consulted, Google groans, sotto voce mutters “Not that bloody old chestnut again” and confirms that the distance between Sunderland and North Sunderland is 58.9 miles, adding more helpfully that that’s via the A1.

The good reason for going, at any rate, is that North Berwick has just been named the best place in Britain in which to live in the annual Sunday Times survey – the first time in its 12-year life that a Scottish town has taken the honour – and that we booked the train tickets weeks ago.

The reason for stopping at home is that, given further delays beyond anyone’s control, dear old Shildon are playing West Auckland tonight in the Ebac Northern League play-off semi-finals and the train doesn’t leave Edinburgh until 6 30.

It’s more than my marriage is worth to cancel the day out. Today’s header applies.

*The average house price in North Berwick is £516,000. The Sunday Times agrees that it is an aspirational address, supposes the main street to be “humming”, the sea to be “sparkling” and that there is natural beauty everywhere you look.

“Even the charity shops are reassuringly high-end with their range of cashmere and barbour jackets” it adds.

As ever is the case, there are dissenters on social media, though it’s a little surprising that someone pushes the case for Middlesbrough to take the top award – “cheapest houses, heroin and prostitutes in the country” – and rather more surprising that there are those who concur.

North Berwick’s greatly pleasant, nonetheless, though Sharon supposes there to be too many “poncey” shops, by which she means there are none selling snow globes. Even the barber’s is aspirational, which may be a synonym for expensive. It offers gift vouchers.

The beaches, topped and tailed by golf clubs, are lovely. Men in what these days would probably be called CSI suits rustle up and down to ensure everything litorally remains clean. Do they have those in Seaton Carew?

The paper shop offers children’s books with distinctly Scottish titles like The wee lassie who swallowed a midge and Ye canna shove your granny off a bus. The East Lothian Courier leads on the story of an alleged sex attacker who claims he was sleep walking but that’s not in North Berwick, it’s in Musselburgh.

The lady also visits the Scottish Seabird Centre, chiefly – it appears – to buy about seven stones of chocolate. There’s even haggis spice chocolate. which may never take the place of Bournville.

*North Berwick is also known for Bass Rock, an island in the Firth of Forth said to be home to Europe’s biggest colony of northern gannets. That it looks white has nothing to do with Dulux gloss.

In the 16th century it was also a centre for witch trials, the unfortunate accused tortured until they confessed and, having under considerable duress done so – see under “Fear and Lothian” – were then burned at the stake.

It was on Bass Rock that the unfortunate Rev John Blackadder was imprisoned towards the end of the 17th century, his sin not just to have been a preacher in those troubled times but to have preached outdoors.

As might be supposed of a man who shared a home with about eight million gannets, Blackadder’s health swiftly deteriorated. Though finally it was agreed that he might return to the mainland, he died before the boat came and is buried in North Berwick.

With no connection to Rowan Atkinson, that well known son of Northumberland, the kirk in the main street is now dedicated not just to St Andrew but to Blackadder.

*We’re home shortly after 9pm. Word arrives soon afterwards that Shildon – about six furlongs ahead going into the play-offs – have fallen at the second last hurdle, a 90th minute West Auckland goal seeing them through to Monday’s final.

It’s greatly disappointing. Perhaps a day in the best place in Britain in which to live wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

April 30 2024: veni, vidi, Vincey

Applauded: Vince Kirkup (centre)

Vince Kirkup, ardently and unceasingly enthusiastic and among the very best of men, steps back on Thursday after Crook Town play their final game of the season at Newcastle Benfield. As chairman these past nine years he has transformed Crook’s fortunes on and off the field but before that spent a lifetime in playing and management, chiefly and unforgettably with Stanley United.

For Town’s final home game with Heaton Stannington last Saturday, the club asked me to write a tribute for the programme. It’s reproduced below.

As blog readers will realise, today’s header – spelt slightly sifferently – was originally attributed to Julius Caesar but might equally apply to the magnificent (if somewhat loquacious) Mr Kirkup.

In getting on 60 years in journalism, 20 as Northern League chairman, I’ve met many wonderful football folk. Few, if any, have been more utterly dedicated, more hard working, more ceaselessly enthusiastic or more sleepless – we’ll come to that in a moment – than Vince Kirkup.

That he’s standing down after nine years as Crook Town chairman will leave a huge gap to fill, though the extra time on his hands may boost profits at the local Wetherspoons.

His magnificent efforts at Crook notwithstanding – and don’t forget the earlier spell as manager, ungratefully ended after just six weeks – Vince may most strongly be identified with Stanley United, up on Windy Ridge, where he spent 30 years, played his last game at 52 and “honestly” thought that it would kill him.

It was on the Hill Top that we first became mates – good mates – the friendship tested only by Vince’s incorrigible habit of ringing at about 11pm, chucking out time, for little better reason than that it seemed a good idea at the time.

Usually I’d be in bed, just nicely dropped off, usually the calls would last a minimum half an hour. Sometimes they’d be followed by the late Allen Bayles, the hugely respected but clearly insomniac secretary of West Auckland (where, presumably, the pubs chucked out a bit later).

Allen became known in my Northern Echo column as the Midnight Cowboy. What Vince became known as cannot be repeated without a watershed warning, but my own mild irritation was far exceeded by my wife’s.

Perhaps it was inevitable. Whatever the conduit, Vince seemed to devote all his waking hours to his football.

He’d made his Stanley United debut in 1971, as a 21-year-old, and remembers it vividly. “Second game of the season, Ferryhill Athletic, marked by a bloke like a brick outhouse and at the end I was physically sick” he said in Northern Conquest, the Northern League’s 125^th anniversary history.

Things were different half a century ago. “If you wanted to be on the committee, you had to put your name down and there’d be an election” he said.

Thereafter he had spells with Durham City and Ryhope CW before returning to Stanley in 1975, soon becoming player/manager, a post he not only held for 28 years but increasingly combined with every other role at the struggling club. There wasn’t anyone else.

Save in the Little House on the Prairie, the glorious old dressing room/hospitality building where coal fires burned bright, things never got much warmer up there but at least there was less snow. Global warming, Vince supposed. “Once there’d be falls of snow which lasted for three months” he said in Prairie stories, my 2002 book about life on the hill. “These days there’s much less snow and it doesn’t last three days.”

Despite Vince’s heroic efforts, United finally folded. On a dark night in 2007 the Little House was burned down by arsonists. After that brief spell as Crook manager – “disappointing” he admitted – he tried to restore the fortunes of Shotton Comrades, saved Brandon United’s first division status in 2004-05, had spells at Esh Winning and Whickham and in 2009 returned to Brandon where he not only worked with energy and indomitability but also handsomely sponsored the stand.

Crook Town seemed somehow inevitable. It was where Vince lived, where he was known. About ten years ago I attended a clubhouse meeting, as league chairman, when the famous old club was desperately struggling both on and off the field. About 20 people promised help, either by joining the committee or in other ways. Many fell by the wayside; not Vince.

The club’s transformation has been remarkable during his tenure, not just in average gates which have risen from around 50 to more than 300 but in strong Ebac Northern League performances and, whisper it, in an altogether healthier bank balance. Throughout it all there’s been Vince.

It’s almost impossible to ring him – at a more civilised hour than his calls to me used to be – without his being at work around the ground, or pestering sponsors and advertisers – gosh, they’ll miss him – or pursuing a rainbow at the end of which might be a pot of amber gold.

Though never a lad to grumble, it’s clear that this past year or two Vince hasn’t been too clever (as probably they say in places like Willington.) Goodness knows he’s earned a rest but who’d bet against a comeback?

All will join me in wishing much happiness and great good health to both Vince and to Kath (who may or may not see a little more of him.) In the meantime, I’ve some sleep to catch up on.

April 29 2024: launch date

The formal launch of No-brainer, my book which marries the compelling life story of former Middlesbrough central defender Bill Gates with his widow’s tenaciously unrelenting fight for safer football, will now take place at Ferryhill Workmen’s Club on Tuesday May 7 from 6 30pm.

The club’s just a few hundred yards from where Bill, one of miner Jimmy Gates’s five sons, grew up in Dean Bank.

It’ll be 50 years to the day since more than 31,000 crowded Ayresome Park for Bill’s testimonial, a 4-4 draw between Boro – second division champions – and Leeds United, champions of the first. The programme, 10p, is above.

More than half of the players in that game have died with some form of neurological illness. Bill died last October, aged 79, after many years of illness.

Among guests will be former Middlesbrough, Man United and England defender Gary Pallister – featured in the book – Boro and Chelsea favourite Tony McAndrew and Eddie Kyle, assistant manager in his time of both Darlington and Hartlepool.

We’re also hoping to see England amateur international Dave “Jock” Rutherford, who played Northern League football well into his 40s and who probably would still if they let him.

Subject to Amazon’s vagaries, the 330-page book has been around for a week or two now. A lady in the north-west took delivery on Saturday and by Sunday evening had devoured it. Here – immodestly – is an extract from her email today:

“A carefully crafted, intricately researched and delicately reported account of a great scandal. The high level vocabulary and attention to the English language structure was like listening to a Beethoven symphony.”

The great scandal, of course, is that footballers at all levels and most ages continue repetitively to head the ball despite overwhelming evidence of the long-term damage caused to the brain, in very many cases leading to dementia and to death.

Through the channel of Dr Judith Gates’s Head Safe Football charity, the book has interviews with several leading medical experts, with former players and their families – both football and rugby – but also shares happy memories of growing up in Ferryhill and Spennymoor, right back to the Pig Muck Derby.

No-brainer costs £14 99, every penny from book sales going to Head Safe Football. Judith Gates and I will be happy to sign copies and the former players very happy to chat. There’s no obligation to buy, however – it would just be great to see old friends, blog readers and Northern League folk. We might even raise a glass.

No-brainer is published by Haythorp Books, available through Amazon or through me – mikeamos81@aol.com. Best of all, of course, we hope for a good turn-out and a convivial evening next Tuesday.

Slake thirst: the late Barry Richardson and his wife Andrea outside their pub

*Ferryhill Workmen’s stands square in the Market Place, impossible to miss, abundant parking over the road. Last time I was in there, ages now, was in the convivial company of Barry Richardson – known as Barfy – one of local sport’s great characters.

Barry it was who, keeping wicket for Mainsforth on a summer afternoon at Liverton Mines in the National Village Cup, protested that it was impossible to concentrate because of the blonde sunbathing topless behind the bowler’s arm.

Barry it was who spakred a dozen madcap stories while goalie for Evenwood Town but who may best be remembered for his booking with Ferryhill John Dee, Auckland and District League, for stashing 20 Embassy and a half-consumed four-pack in the back of the net.

“The ref said it was ungentlemanly conduct” said Barry. “I was either too much of a gentleman or too drunk to argue.”

He and his wife Andrea for several years kept the interestingly named Slake Terrace pub – later just The Slake – in nearby West Cornforth. The name, it was said, was something to do with limestone quarying in the same vein as Basic Cottages, up the road in Coxhoe.

Basic Cottages were for the key workers. Basic Cottages – all things considered – were posh.

Barry died in a road accident about ten years ago. With much affection, we shall raise a glass to him next Tuesday.

*It’s a real sadness to learn from social media of the death of Owen Haley, an indomitable mainstay of Sunderland RCA during my time as Northern League chairman. He was just 59.

Ever affable, usually upbeat, he was among the happy band which joined the Last Legs walk to RCA in 2016 – among the best of those 44 adventures and, courtesy of the Board Inn at East Herrington, with undoubtedly the best pit stop.

Owen’s funeral was held today at Sunderland crematorium. “A true gentleman and a good friend” says a Twitter post beneath the order of service.

The order of service itself bears a two-word epitaph: “Gone walking.”

*The opening paragraph of yesterday’s blog – and the iconic image above it – were devoted to St Totteringham’s Day.

Those who raised eyebrows – “if you were in Scotland it would be a hate crime” protests Spurs fan Gary Brand – should have read the Daily Mail’s match report of Spurs v Arsenal, in which the first four pars were given over to that great canonical feast.

The Times simply tells it as it is. St Totteringham’s Day may go back to M. Wenger’s day, when for 21 successive seasons – 1995-96 to 2015-16 – the Gunners finished above their North London rivals. The latest run may in time surpass it.

April 28 2024: saints alive

As foretold by prophet bards of old, and in latter days several times intimated hereabouts, today is St Totteringham’s Day, celebrated worldwide but particularly in the more discerning areas of North London (and, indeed, of North Yorkshire.) Let us rejoice and be glad of it. Veneration is assisted by the truly iconic image above, forwarded by Andy Lister. Now, what else?

Singing the Blues Brothers: Hartlepool United fans at Dorking Picture: Frank Reid

Yesterday’s blog was topped by Bill Wheatcroft’s lovely pic of Stockton Town fans in fancy dress at the last NPL East game of the season at Belper.

Were they Smurfs, we wondered, thus bringing forth scorn from several readers more attuned to the 21st century. As Alan Hamilton succinctly put it, “those Smurfs are Minions.”

To some of us a minion is simply a person of low estate, a fetcher and carrier, a writer of blogs. To others, The Minions was an acclaimed 2015 US comedy animation featuring the likes of Kevin the Minion, Scarlett and Herb Overkill and, of course, Professor Flux.

“Small, yellow, pill-shaped creatures which have existed from the beginnings of time” says a synopsis, though there (of course) the comparison with Stockton supporters ends. There was more, however.

*The tradition of an end-of-season fancy dress party was most vividly and most imaginatively carried on by Hartlepool United fans, famously when they themselves were clad as Smurfs (not Minions) and pictured – about 200 of them – on an escalator at Kings Cross station.

Did they still enjoy that annual passing out parade, yesterday’s blog wondered, a question answered affirmatively and unforgettably by someone messaging simply as CD.

The glorious image above shows them at Dorking eight days ago, a Blues Brothers fraternity larger than any might ever have imagined.

Used without permission but with grateful acknowledgment, it appeared in the Hartlepool Mail and was taken by my old mate Frank Reid, a Northern League linesman back in the day when his identical twin brother would often run the opposite flank.

There’s more. Among the hatted band was Pools club president Jeff Stelling – pictured below as none may have seen him before. “I didn’t think anyone would recognise me, there are so many Poolies dressed as Blues Brothers” the recently retired Sky Sports man told the Mail, a mite disingenuously.

His rationale was faultless, though – “it’s been a tough old season so let’s go out with a bang.” Pools did, winning 4-3, singing all the way back home.

Stelling it as it is (another Frank Reid pic)

*In a small way we sponsor the Wensleydale Railway, a heritage line running from Leeming Bar – off the A1, west of Northallerton – to Leyburn and, when landslips allow, on to Redmire.

Each year they reward folk like us with a special train, diesel hauled but jolly, and a chance today to admire how they’ve taken Leeming Bar station yet further back in time.

An old poster promotes LNER specials to the Wensleydale League’s finals day at Redmire in 1926, Hawes against Catterick ATVC (ATVC?) and Askrigg Juniors against Bishopdale Valley. Third class return from Northallerton woud have been 2/9d, from Leeming Bar two bob and from Hawes (in the opposite direction) 1/6d.

Happily the Wensleydale League survives, though with just nine clubs. We attended its centenary dinner in 2019, the original trophy – which in 1919 cost 100 guineas – more than the FA Cup – still contested. Richmond Unicorn have just lifted it for the fourth successive season.

Though it’s still raining, though the temperature outside’shivers on five degrees, today’s is a happy journey. They give us a nice lunch – “a sharing platter, we did them on Valentine’s Day” – accompanied by a glass or two of bucks fizz.

Kick-off imminent, we raise a toast to the ever-blessed Saint Totteringham.

April 27 2024: treble top

Anchors away….the travelling Stockton fans (see below) Picture: Bill Wheatcroft

Watching Tow Law Town v Bishop Auckland this afternoon is a bit like accepting a dare – even a double dare, as they used to suppose at Timothy Hackworth Juniors – or even a double dog dare.

Bishops are Ebac Northern League first division champions, need a win to be the first NL club since Bedlington Terriers in 1998-99 to reach 100 points, need two goals to have a three-figure goal difference and have already scored 130, 12 of them in the reverse fixture against the Lawyers.

Bishop Auckland are the old enemy; I’m a Shildon lad. It’s like an inverse schadenfreude, freudenschade or some such.

Blog reader Andy Lister, Bishops and Spurs supporter, consoles that it’s the first time the Two Blues have won the title for 38 years and that Tottenham haven’t for 63 years (“and counting”.)

The crowd’s 359, the Lawyers’ highest for ages, 56 of them on a 57-seat coach laid on free by the visitors and plenty more on the good old No 1. The afternoon’s festive, that it’s goalless at half-time due in no small part to the home side’s 16-year-old debutant goalkeeper James Brown, signed from Horden. The name’s not lost on club secretary Steve Moralee. “I feel good” he says.

Resistance is ended by Aaron Brown, a second added by J J Bartliff and a third from the spot by Craig Gott after coming on as an 85th minute sub in what’s reckoned his last game before retirement.

The club thereafter is taking the entire first team squad, wives and what have you to a celebratory steakhouse in Bishop. “After that” says chairman Steve Coulthard, “we’re going down the town.”

Though the league championship trophy had been presented after the midweek game at Redcar Athletic, it’s re-presented after the final whistle together with tankards for the players.

Steve Coulthard suggests that I should do the honours – “it’s the only way a Shildon fan’s going to get his hands on silverware.”

See what they’re like, these Bishops?

*Though none should doubt the FA’s capacity for moving goalposts, Sunderland RCA’s home defeat to Seaham today should mean that RCA will occupy the only relegation spot and that the Lawyers are safe.

Blog reader Neil McKay fully understands that two will be promoted from the ENL first divison – after the play-offs – and that one, as things stand, will be relegated. So that, says Neil, means there’d be three vacancies and only two are to be promoted from the second division.

Might that clear the way for Marske United to return to step 5? I asked Kevin Hewitt, the ENL’s ever-patient secretary – here’s his reply:

“It’s best explained by saying that there’s no such thing as promotion between divisions of the Northern League or indeed to the Northern Premier League East as clubs are promoted from steps 6 to step 5 or step 5 to step 4 and there’s a massive pot or a map on the wall from which clubs are then allocated by the FA to the most appropriate geographical league.

“You then add in compulsory relegations, reprieves or the dreaded points-per-game formula and lateral movements and leagues end up with between 16 and 24 clubs in each division by the middle of May.

“Your attempts to simplify things by having automatic promotion or relegation to a known league or division will never catch on….”

Friends of the earth – Hebburn fans celebrate

*Promotion issues are a little clearer in the NPL East, where Hebburn – managed by former Shildon boss Bobby Moore – are champions.

I knew them when they had nowt, or next to nowt, and have watched a remarkable transformation of club and ground. Warm congratulations to them.

Nicked from the club’s social media, the image above will be understood by Belinda Carlisle fans.

Hebburn’s win today means that Stockton and Dunston UTS – despite playing only 11 of their games on home soil and 27 elsewhere – are in the play-off semi-finals. They avoid one another.

Bill Wheatcroft, among the 867 who watched Stockton’s 4-0 win at Belper, sends the splendid image atop today’s blog of travelling fans in end-of-season fancy dress mode, following a practice long followed by Hartlepool United supporters. Have they now abandoned it?

Save for the young lady on the left, have they followed Pools along the Smurf road?

The funniest bit, says Bill, came when a chap dressed as Robin – Batman’s mate – was asked where Del Boy was. “You have to be a fan of Only Fools and Horses to understand that one.”

*Back to Tow Law where kind folk snap up all six copies of No-brainer shoved into my rucksack. Among them, and with an additional donation to the Head SaFe Football charity, is David Bayles – well remembered across the Northern League but especially at Bishop Auckland and Shildon.

No-brainer, of course, addresses both the compelling life story of former Middlesbrough defender Bill Gates and the Head Safe charity’s campaign to raise awareness of the proven mortal danger of repeatedly heading a football.

It may little apply to David Bayles, known only once to have headed a ball – Shildon’s “golden goal” winner in the 2003 Northern League Challenge Cup final, the last competitive game to be played on Darlington’s Feethams ground.

Top man, Bayler.

*Recording a first-ever visit to Wooler, in Glendale in north Northumberland, Thursday’s blog wondered if it were the setting for the Postman Pat stories.

It wasn’t, not least because Postman Pat and his back and white cat did their rounds in Greendale, not Glendale, and that Greendale is supposedly based on somewhere near Kendal, in Cumbria.

Sacked off, once again.

April 26 2024: here and Eire

Speaking terms: Amby Fogarty and Charlie Hurley in the Republic of Ireland side against Sweden in 1959

Yesterday’s blog supposed that I’d never met “King” Charlie Hurley, who died this week, but had twice interviewed Sunderland’s player of the 20th century – Charlie patient, entertaining, obliging – on the telephone.

Former Brandon United chairman Bill Fisher recalls differently. “What about our sportsmen’s dinner at the Three Tuns in Durham in 1989?”

Oh aye.

Charlie appeared with former Sunderland team mate and fellow Republic of Ireland international Ambrose Fogarty, jointly paid £1,000 – the lion’s share to the former skipper – and says Bill, the King was worth every penny.

“As well as being a great footballer he was also a gentleman” adds Bill – and so greatly appreciated that he was subsequently invited to a talk-in at Brandon’s clubhouse.

“Charlie did his talk and then went around every table chatting to the fans. People couldn’t believe how friendly he was.”

The evening was summed up in one local’s reflection. “I would have queued up for hours to meet and greet Charlie but didn’t need to. The bugger came and sat next to me. I simply couldn’t believe it.”

*That 1989 dinner, and Amby Fogarty’s bit part in it, had also been recalled in my Northern Echo column back in 2016 – King Charlie somewhat improbably described as “a sort of London Irish Tommy Cooper”.

Among much else, he’d observed that you never saw a great goalkeeper who was good looking. “Look at Monty, look at Southall, you wouldn’t want to kiss them, would you?”

Amby Fogarty proved a man of altogether fewer words. Bill, the evening’s MC, introduced him and sat down. “My backside had barely tocuhed the chair before Amby was back on the chair next to me” he recalled.

“He said something about everyone had come to see Charlie, not him, and that was about it. He was an Irishman not possessed of the gift of the gab.”

Fogarty scored 37 goals in 152 Football League appearances for Sunderland, moved to Hartlepool (under Brian Clough) in 1963 and made the last of his 11 Eire appearances while at the Vic, the first – and last? – player to win full international honours with Pools.

He later managed both Cork Hibernian and Cork Celtic – Charlie’s home city – and guided Athlone Town to a still-remembered UEFA Cup goalless draw against AC Milan. He died in 2016, aged 82.

*We’d supposed Charlie Hurley’s Ireland debut to have been in a 1-0 World Cup qualifying defeat against England in 1957. The match was right, the score wrong. It was 1-1 and there are old men among the record 47,600 Dalymount Park crowd (receipts £11,750) who still wistfully talk about it.

Needing a draw to make a play-off, Eire led in the third minute, Alf Ringstead firing past Sheffield United team mate Alan Hodgkinson. So the score remained until injury time when, from a Tom Finney cross, John Atyeo of Bristol City headed the equaliser which sent England to the finals in Sweden.

“The goal turned a day of glory into Stygian darkness” reported the Irish Independent (with thanks to blog reader John Briggs). “Never has a score been received in stonier silence and never has a draw tasted so like defeat.”

Another report was terser yet: “The silence could be heard on O’Connell Street.”

The Irish side included Liam Whelan of Manchester United and Arthur Fitzimons, who had ten years with Midlesbrough between 1949-59, hitting 49 goals in 223 appearances in later seasons in partnership with Brian Clough.

As Brian Hird sombrely points out, Whelan and four of the England team – Roger Byrne, Duncan Edwards, David Pegg and Tommy Taylor – died in the Munich air disaster a few months later.

*Tony Jones, also among those greatly appreciated card-marking readers, had particular reason to remember England’s late equaliser. Now in Newcastle but an exiled west country man, Tony knew that it was John Atyeo’s fifth goal in six England appearances – and that he was never picked again.

“That he never played in the first division probably didn’t help him” Tony concedes, but Atyeo went on to break City records for both appearances and goals.

The Republic of Ireland team pictures in yesterday’s blog was (back) Pat Saward, Ronnie Nolan, Seamus Dunne, Tommy Goodwin, Charlie Hurley, Noel Cantwell (Front) Alf Ringstead, Liam Whelan, Dermot Curtis, Arthur Fitzsimons, Joe Haverty.

April 25 2024: a hurl with King Charlie

The Republic of Ireland team beaten 1-0 by England on Charlie Hurley’s international debut. Charlie’s fifth right at the back, Noel Cantwell on his left. Anyone recognise the others?

I never met “King” Charlie Hurley, whose death at 87 was announced today, but twice conducted lengthy telephone interviews – a bit surprised the first time that the great Sunderland centre half’s accent was more Isle of Dogs than Ireland, more Cockney than Cork.

Though he’d probably been asked the same questions – most of them, anyway – a thousand times before, he was courteous, talkative, wholly accommodating. He seemed a lovely chap.

A nugget from one of those chats, exactly 20 years ago, was subsequently acknowledged by the Cork Echo in its Leeside Legends series.

For some reason the conversation had turned to hurling. Inexplicably. I knew – and Charlie didn’t – that Cork had just won the All-Ireland championship.

“It’s bigger than football in some places but worse an’ all, horrible” said Charlie. “I was a good footballer and I could mix it if I had to but I wouldn’t have fancied hurling.”

Doubtless those conversations also turned to his Sunderland debut, a 7-0 defeat at Blackpool, and to the 6-0 thrashing at Burnley in the next game. Things improved thereafter.

Charlie made 400 Sunderland appearances and scored 26 goals, many of them headers from a corner. He won 40 Eire caps, was named Sunderland’s player of the 20th century, was runner’up to Bobby Moore as footballer of the year, was awarded an honorary degree from Sunderland University and is remembered in many other ways on Wearside.

Hurl hearted beyond doubt.

*How many times in the 1960s did the Sunderland team sheet begin Montgomery, Irwin, Ashurt, Harvey, Hurley, McNab?

Cecil Irwin was from Ellington, north of Ashington, addressed in the Northumberland coalfield as “Seece”. After reitrement he three times managed Ashington FC, ran a paper shop, enjoyed his golf.

I’d interviewed him – face-to-face this time back in Ellington – in 2018, Cec pronouncing himself still pretty fit but a bit corned beef.

Beg pardon? “Deef” said Cec, a perhaps unique example of Cockney rhyming slang meeting Ashington pitmatic. He blamed King Charlie, of course.

*A first visit, somewhat surprisingly, we head today to Wooler, population 2,000 or so, for lunch with the Rev Charlotte Osborn, wife of the late and much lamented former Northern League chaplain Canon Leo Osborn.

At noon it’s three degrees, the car beeping its warning. Hailstones stot staccato off the car roof but then stop. It turns to snow. It’s nearly May.

It’s also St Mark’s Day, Charlotte advises, seemingly oblivious to the imminence of St Totteringham’s.

Wooler’s in north Northumberland, the heart of Glendale. Isn’t that where Postman Pat delivered? Was Jess a Northumberland cat?

A sign advises without explanation that we’re on Tower Hil and that locally Tower Hill is known as “The Tory”. It may not be the only Tory is in those fairly affluent parts.

It’s precisely 22 minutes and 12 seconds before Charlotte mentions that wretched defeat by Aston Villa at the Emirates which may yet cost the Gunners the title. Leo would have taken precisely 22 minutes and 11 seconds fewer.

*Homeward, we enjoy a drink in Morpeth with Denise Haworth, whose marvellous husband Martin died in March and who, with Martin, ran both the Northern League Club and the league website.

We head for The Office, a multi-award winning micropub which since our last visit has moved around the corner but which retains the welcoming excellence of the old place.

Thursday’s also cheese evening, when many regulars bring their own to add to a groaning board and others are invited to partake in return for a small donation. The ladies take no asking, a great night at The Office.

*….and finally, those Cavalry horses on the loose in London reminded former Tow Law Town chairman John Flynn of a visit with his bairns to play Evenwood Town.

“As we walked towards the ground half a dozen horses suddenly appeared and came belting down the road towards us. It was almost as frightening as seeing Tony Nelson coming towards you like a guided missile to get in a tackle.”

Mr Nelson, it may be recalled, was a combative Lawyers’ midfielder of the 1990s who was sent off in the 1998 Vase final. “He was a gentle soul off the field” says John, though whether the same can be said of Evenwood’s horses is unknown.

April 24 2024: old Bill

Ageless: Bill Smith

An invitation arrives to the 100th birthday celebrations of Bill Smith, one of football’s truly remarkable men.

I’d written of his 70th, when still he played six-a-side every Monday morning, chronicled his 80th when he remained up front – “there’s time enough for defence when you get old” said Bill – looked in again shortly before his 86th, a man who refused to hang up his boots when many had hung up their slippers.

Still he ran, still played an astute pass, still turned on a tanner and still could remember when that same sixpence not only got you into the pictures but allowed for a gill of Bentley’s Yorkshire Bitter at the end.

They played at the Dolphin Centre in Darlington, the court booked in the name of the fire brigade but without need, they insisted, for breathing apparatus.

Team mates back in 2010 included Steve Holbrook, then 57, a former England schools international who made 104 appearances for the Quakers in the 1970s. “Billy’s just an amazing man, a complete one-off” he said.

Charlie Greenhalgh, another team mate, insisted that Bill was treated like any other player. “He still gets the odd sly elbow” said Charlie – and still the odd collision with the wall bars, too.

Charlie also recalled a game when Bill was but a bairn of 65. “I remember thinking who was that daft old so-and-so. Now we’re pushing 65 ourselves and Billy’s still at it.”

Bill’s a former Northern Gas executive, lived at North Cowton – between Darlington and Northallerton – had played Saturday football for Darlington Victoria Rovers until dropped at 45, a move he still considered an egregious example of ageism.

He’d been a professional cyclist with Spartan Wheelers and was an Army boxer – “34 defeats in 35 fights” he insisted – in the Pioneer Corps. The cycling, he said, was much the bloodier. “People only came to see us fall off.”

His 70th had been marked by the surprise appearance in the pub of Julie from Trimdon Colliery, one of those kiss-a-gram ladies. Bill told everyone it was the wife. “I got into trouble back home” he later recalled.

It’s years since we caught up, perhaps doubtful that he’s still getting his Monday morning kicks. Back in 2010 his side had won 11-7, though Bill failed to find the net. “I should have had three today” he said. “I must be getting old.”

*Yesterday’s blog recalled Willington’s 4-0 FA Amateur Cup final defeat of Bishop Auckland in 1950, bringing from the club the reassuring message that despite a greatly difficult 2023-24 season they’ll be battling on.

Here’s another thing, though. Back in 1950 the Bishops – then as now – were Northern League champions, 43 points from 26 games. Billingham Synthonia (37 points) were second, Whitby Town (35) third, Willington (33) fourth and Evenwood Town fifth on 30 points.

The following season the top five places were filled by the same clubs, in the same order, and with pretty much the same points totals.

Has it ever happened before or since?

*Speaking of the Northern League championship, Bishop Auckland will be presented with the trophy after Thursday evening’s game at Redcar Athletic but will also be taking it up to Saturday’s game at Tow Law, when there’ll be plenty of photo opportunities.

The league, meanwhile, has announced play-off dates – Shildon at home in the opening first division play-off on May 1 (7 30pm) and the second the following evening. The final will be on Monday May 6 (3pm) on the ground of the highest placed club.

The second division play-off semis will be on Friday May 3 (7 30pm) and the following day at 3pm. The runners-up will host the fifth placed club, third placed meet fourth. The second division play-off final – the last league game of a greatly difficult season – will be on Wedesday May 8 (7 30pm) on the ground of the higher placed club.

April 23 2024: pirates of old

Memory murmurs that, long after capital punishment was abolished for murder, piracy on the high seas – that and arson in Her Majesty’s dockyards and, of course, high treason – remained hanging offences.

Since Wembley Stadium may not be supposed the high seas, and since the Band of the Royal Marines played from 1 30pm and could presumably have handled any insurrection, the 1950 FA Amateur Cup final programme on the right (above) may have got away with it. As a “pirate” publication it remains nonethelsss promoted.

The final was between Bishop Auckland and Willington, south Durham rivals just five miles apart. Yesterday’s blog alluded to it.

The “official” programme cost a shilling and can these days by picked up on-line for around a fiver. The “pirate” programme’s cover price is unknown but it’s advertised for £19 95, so far without takers. A 1/6d standing ticket (“slight vertical crease, some minor loss on the edge”) is also offered at £19 95.

Bishops were Northern League champions, then as now. Willington, fourth, led 3-0 after half an hour, added another but were indebted nonetheless to goalkeeper Jack Snowdon, a local government planning officer who lived in the town, for an outstanding display. The crowd was 88,000.

Four days later, Snowdon broke his collar bone in a league game against Billingham Synthonia but might in any case have been considering his future.

It didn’t help that on the homeward train the committee made the players buy their own refreshments from the trolley nor that Jack heard an official observe “Now that we’ve won the Cup we can get some better players.”

Someone should have been made to walk the plank.

*There were pirates in Penzance, of course, and pirates on the Black Pig, so memorably if pusilanimously led by Captain Pugwash and these days subject of urban legends which need not concern us.

Since 1996 there has also been International Talk Like a Pirate Day – September 19 – said to have originated during a racquetball match in Alabama when one of the players hurt hs arm and said “Aaaar.”

It actually happened on June 6 but they declined to make that Talk Like a Pirate Day in deference to the Normandy Landings. Honest.

St Totteringham’s Day grows ever nearer.

*Amid all the carry-on about scrapping FA Cup replays, a wonderful letter in The Times this morning from David Bernstein of London N3:

“The FA Cup epitomised the greatness of the English game and linked the pyramid of football in often dramatic competition. However, this venerable institution has been under pressure to reduce its format to make room in the football calendar for more European matches and the aggrandisement of the “big” Premier League clubs.

“With cup replays now abolished, the logical conclusion is that in the coming years all clubs would be excluded from the competition except those finishing in the top eight of the Premier League. There could then be a quarter-final draw and the whole competition would be limited to seven matches. Moreover the final could kick-off at midnight to maximise revenue from the US market.

“The FA could claim that these changes protected and enhanced the competition. Additionally, the Premier League would be able to pay even more in players’ wages and agents’ fees.”

David Bernstein was FA chairman from 2011-13.

*Remember the lovely story in last Friday’s blog about how Barney boy Stephen Brenkley dropped a catch off the late Derek Underwood in his sole first class appearance, a press box sub for Kent against Oxford University?

Boot on the other foot, today’s Times also carries a PS from former Sussex captain John Barclay to Deadly Derek’s obituary.

Fielding at Hastings in 1984, Barclay dropped a “straightforward” chance off Underwood – feeling better, Brenks? – when the great left-armer was on 92. The Kent man completed his one and only first class century soon afterwards.

“Years later in 2009 when he was president of MCC his gratitude knew no bounds” Barclay adds. “He selected me as his successor.”