Don't talk to me about relegation battles. My father came home from the war in November 1945. He was a complete stranger to me, having been away fighting the Germans and their submarines for almost 6 of the first 8 years of my life. I had been just a toddler when he had sailed off to war, and I had no memories of him. At first, our relationship was a difficult one, with both parties suspicious and jealous of one another, but Mums are shrewd, clever operators, and my mother was no exception to the rule.. She was soon busily building some bridges, and slowly but surely, Dad and I started to talk, like a father and son should do. We quickly discovered that we had one strong common bond...football. There had been no professional football during my young life, but I was already football crazy. My vivid imagination had been fuelled by the hundreds of stories I had read in various newspapers; articles I had digested from the sepia coloured pages of old pre war books and magazines, an
If at first you don't succeed, try, try, and try again. Miss Lynch, who other than my mother, was my very first heroine, and also my teacher at St Mary on the Quay, taught me that these words were first used by Robert 1 of Scotland (Robert the Bruce), a 14th century king who, according to legend, having suffered a major defeat at the hands of the English, went into hiding in a cave near Gretna. It was whilst here, that he watched a spider trying to spin a web. Each time the spider failed, it simply started again. According to Miss Lynch, Robert was so inspired by the tiny spider that he left the cave and returned to lead his troops to a number of victories against the English. Be that as it may, it was an adage that was drummed into me from my early years by my mother and my father; by my teacher, Miss Lynch, and by Jasper Barnidge, my formidable Headmaster. By the age of 10, I was already a fierce and determined competitor, particularly in all things sporting. The long, bitter