|
Sometimes twagging school can be excused, as Lloyd Wright proves in this article taken from Issue 6 of Sing When We're Fishing. “And where were you yesterday?” hollered my form teacher one Wednesday morning in 1979.
“I was ill Miss, here’s a note from my father,” I said rather nervously. The note was genuine, the explanation not.
The bug that had caused me to be absent from school the previous day had been caught at Blundell Park back in the early 70’s and no amount of medication was going to cure it.
An important Tuesday night league game at Rochdale demanded my presence, and my father, in a rare moment of parental perspicacity, recognised that mathematically and geographically at least, the only things that concerned me were: would victory take us into the top three? And where is the place?
So what possible harm could a day’s missed schooling do to my academic aspirations? Moreover, missing the game would have caused more distress than a face full of acne.
I’d faithfully followed Town all over the country since the beginning of the season. My trips with the excitingly named ‘Town Travel Club’ were funded by a poorly paid newspaper round that would have made a YTS look attractive.
The season’s end was two months away and if the good form could be maintained, promotion was a distinct possibility. The aforementioned game at Rochdale on a wretched night was the next port of call. A paltry attendance included a smattering of Grimbarians, who watched in disbelief as Rochdale took a two-nil lead. Then began an amazing comeback as first Ford, then Brolly, scored to make it two each.
A pulsating second half performance in which Liddell (Are you sure about this? – Disbelieving Eds.), Waters and Mitchell scored further goals to complete a comprehensive 5-2 win, was life enhancing, well at least it was to a starry eyed 14 year old.
Further trips to Doncaster, York and Bradford followed. Then came the game where a win would mean promotion; a Tuesday night fixture in April at Northampton. But much to my chagrin I had neither the money nor the parental consent to be there. I sat at home and gave Radio Humberside my undivided attention. When the news eventually filtered through that Cumming and Waters had scored the goals to give us a two-one victory and a place in the Third Division, I was overcome with adolescent joy. So much so that I set about honouring Joe Waters in the only way I felt appropriate: his name was written in bold letters on my school satchel to be viewed by all and sundry.
My contemporaries at school were none too impressed with my monomaniacal devotion to the Mariners, occasionally being openly contemptuous whilst singing the praises of their adopted team, who they’d never seen apart from on TV, a situation not dissimilar to that faced by SDP MPs today.
However, with promotion won and the final match of the season at Barnsley approaching, school life had suddenly become more bearable as legions of previously uninterested fourth and fifth formers expressed a desire to go to the game. I had some allies at last!
As much as I wanted time off school on the day of the last game, I had to face the fact that the coach departed at 4.30pm, therefore a swift bike ride would get me to the point of departure on time. So after a full day’s reluctant schooling I joined the armada on its way to South Yorkshire. It was a balmy May night; several thousand Town fans helped swell the crowd to over 21,000. Despite a fine goal from Mike Lester, it was Barnsley, badly needing a win to boost their own promotion ambitions, who eventually finished up two-one victors. It was an undistinguished end to a distinguished season.
Although ten years have elapsed since then, and I’m now (allegedly) an adult and no longer deliver newspapers or need parental consent to attend matches, I still get a joyous teenage kick from watching Town play. Right, who’s coming with me to Airdrie for the pre-season friendly...?
|
