Phil & John's Amazing Journey Part 2 Football, Pubs, Old Friends

A Memory of Groby.

Stopping briefly outside the Working Men’s Club, the meeting place on Saturday lunchtimes for us Groby footballers before away games, we pass the chippy, the old blacksmiths where the old Smithy had let us watch him shoeing the horses on our way home from school, and Chaplin’s the family butcher. We had considered going down to the field on the road to Groby Pool, where we had once played in our first proper team, the Groby under 10’s, managed by the great and enthusiastic Scot Jock Fallon. But as the old changing room (shed) and pitch are long since gone, we move on. A good time though to recall the various teams that we had played for together over the years. Apart from representing Groby at both Junior and Senior (then aged about 18 or 19) levels, we had also notched up hundreds of games for school teams at the Grammar School in Coalville and later at Markfield and Whitwick Compass. Football played a major part of life back then and having played for many seasons at Rolls Royce on both Saturdays and Sundays, and a very cosmopolitan team, River Road Rangers, during my time living in the USA, I ended up playing my last couple of seasons for Groby again. Those games played up at the Community College were a real treat especially as we would always end up ‘refreshing’ ourselves at today’s next stop – The ‘Stanny’.

The Stamford Arms Pub, in the village centre, is where I sampled my first ever pint, Double Diamond if memory serves (though only just, as the barmaid that day was a near neighbour of ours and threatened to ‘tell my mum’. I am not sure why, I must have been a “couple days” shy of my eighteenth birthday). It was well over twenty years ago since my last visit, but as John and I sat down to enjoy our liquid lunch, it was like I had never been away. Main topic of conversation? Football of course, and football to us, now the boots are well and truly hung up, means Leicester City. Aged nine in September 1965, my Dad had taken us young lads, along with Mark ‘Chizzy’ Chiswell, to watch the Foxes take on Sunderland. A superb 4-1 victory and we were hooked. The days, and nights, spent in the Popular Side and on the wall behind the goal at the Spion Kop end are etched in the memory. Sinclair, Goodfellow, Dougan, Gibson and Stringfellow were not just the forward line that season, they were all on badges on my blue and white knitted bobble hat. What a treat to watch Banks, Shilton, Rodrigues, Sjoberg, Nish etc., lock horns with Best, Law and Charlton; Moore, Hurst and Peters; Greaves and Gilzean. And of course we had local hero Graham Cross. ‘Crossy’ would often join in our kick abouts in the field behind his house on Field Court Road. I was so impressed by his exploits for the City and Count Cricket team that I wrote a letter detailing his versatility to Goal magazine. The signed photograph accompanying the article is still one of my most prized possessions. The highs and lows back then? Many, but 1969 probably held both in the space of a few days. I will never forget the euphoric explosion of joy when Allan ‘Sniffer’ Clarke scored the late winner at Hillsborough in the FA Cup Semi Final against West Bromwich. Or, for that matter, the utter dejection of being told that all the Final tickets were sold as Dad and I queued for hours outside Filbert Street. A double blow followed of course as City lost the final to Manchester City and were also relegated to Division Two. Just as I am about to lift the spirits and start spouting about the glory days of Martin O’Neill, John wisely suggests we drink up and move on.

We make our way from ‘The Stanny’, up the hill to the village Church, to pay an old mate a visit. This was the same journey we had sadly made back in 1981. Clive Pitt, another of the original class of ’61, was cruelly taken from us in that year, a victim of Leukaemia at the tender age of 25. John and I recalled two abiding memories of that day at the funeral. One was the huge array of friends and family who had gathered (no surprise as Clive was as gentle and kind a guy you could hope to meet), and secondly the dignity and courage shown by Clive’s adoring parents Pam and Ernie, as they found the inner strength to smile and thank each and everyone of us for attending their only child’s funeral. A lot of valuable, but hard, lessons were learnt that day. How fitting then, that today the sun shone on Clive’s headstone as John and I recalled the hilarious moments that our old mate could conjure up with his practical jokes and impressions. Poignant as it was, considering his total hair loss due to his treatment; his ‘Kojak’ was brilliant, as was his Derek Guyler. Cheers Clive.

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