Dick Gowers’ first-ever trip to Carrow Road was on August 31, 1946, when City played host to Cardiff on the opening day of the Division Three (South) 1946/47 season. They won 2-1.
As well as being Dad’s first sight and sound of the old place – then not-so-old – it was the club’s first competitive game after the end of World War Two. The record books tell us there were 20,677 others in the ground that afternoon other than my dad. Like most of them, he was hooked.
It took just 90 minutes. Love at first sight. And 74 years on, that love has not abated one iota.
But why harp on about an event that occurred nearly three-quarters of a century ago?
Well, because over seven decades on from said awakening, COVID-19 looks like it may have prematurely ended what Dad had decided would be his final season as a Carrow Road regular. A love story 74 years in the making looks like it drew to a close when he left that green plastic seat and departed the ground at the end of the 1-0 win vs Bournemouth.
As usual, that moment came around the 88-minute mark (to avoid the “bedlam” of the departing masses) but, unfortunately, there was no final glance pitchward before he moved carefully and deliberately down those River End steps.
If only he’d known.
To most, there would have been nothing remarkable about the sight of a little grey-haired man slowly making his way to the exit a couple of minutes early. But I can still picture it.
If only I’d known.
I’m lucky. I’ve been blessed with a brilliant dad. The best. And among all the good things we have shared, no bond has been stronger and more unshakeable than the one we share for Norwich City FC, and that will endure.
But it’ll never again be quite the same. Not quite. Not without him sitting to my left for home games.
It’s with still-misty eyes he tells the tale of that first Carrow Road visit, accompanied by his own dad, Walter, his older brother Fred, and another Fred, his uncle – aka the driver.
Football afternoons that followed tended to be just him and Walter and followed a routine: catch the Halesworth to Norwich bus in the morning, go the old cattle market, watch and listen as Walter (a farm steward) traded to his heart’s content, and then to Vellore Bros for fish and chips for lunch. It was then, finally, with hope in their hearts and battered plaice in their stomachs that they headed down to Carrow Road.
He recalls the smell of cigar smoke lingering in the air as crowds congregated behind the old Main Stand with Boulton & Paul as the backdrop. Those very same sights and smells would stir my own senses in the exact same way, in the exact place some 26 years later.
He and my grandad would stand in a narrow, sunken standing area at the front of the Main Stand known as the ‘Chicken Run’ – a reference carried over from the days of The Nest – where the below-pitch-level setting made the players appears giants to an eleven-year-old. All except one – a very slight but jet-heeled winger by the name of Terry Ryder, who was one of Dad’s first Norwich City heroes.
“He would run and run… his shirt would be drenched in sweat”.
Dad’s Carrow Road odyssey was interrupted in the 1950s and early-to-mid 1960s when, like me 30 years down the track, he played rather than watched. (Here he is in all his Halesworth Town glory…)
By the time I’d arrived in the mid-1960s, the Chicken Run was no more. Sadly neither was Grandad. Walter was, of course, irreplaceable but the Chicken Run was and instead of a standing area, wooden benches – adorned with a cushion if you were lucky – offered a ringside view of the action.
It’s a tale I’ve told before, so apologies if this feels like an ITV2 repeat, but it was when I was in the early years of primary school that Dad took me to my first few games, initially, by way of a trial run, to some reserve team games.
Once I’d passed the audition, and was finally permitted a sight of first-team action, we stood at the Barclay end of the old South Stand, level with the edge of the penalty area. Always level with the edge of the penalty area.
Along with the rest of the world, football was very different back then, and in order to get our place at the very front of the South Stand, level with the edge of the penalty area, Dad deemed it necessary to get in the ground before it opened, which I think was 1:30 pm. It meant we arrived at the ground at around the same time as the players, giving Gowers Junior the chance to collect some autographs from his new heroes.
The very first one in the autograph book? None other than Big Dunc who, of course, was the absolute gentleman. To this very day, I can recall that booming voice and him referring to Dad as ‘Sir’.
We were invariably among the first in, and the sight of an empty stadium that I knew would be jam-packed within an hour, was a source of great fascination to a six-year-old simpleton.
Later, Dad, a carpenter by trade, would make me the world’s only height-adjustable stool, one that would make it easier for said mini-simpleton to see over the advertising hoardings.
For a few seasons, it was there we stood; close enough to hear profanities from the pitch and see first-hand the misdemeanours of the away fans, with Dad directly behind me just in case there was a crowd surge.
He protected me then, just as he does to this very day.
The introduction of those infamous red and blue seats – apparently no green and yellow ones were available at the time – meant we had to move and there was no way he was taking me anywhere near those ‘Herberts’ in the Barclay. So to the al fresco setting of the River End we headed with, again, the edge of the penalty area as our landmark; the South Stand side, two barriers from the front to be precise.
And there we stayed, throughout its various incarnations including that odd concept known as seating, interrupted only by a time when I too was playing football on Saturday afternoons and attending midweek games with mates, including a period when home was with those Herbets in the Barclay.
He understood… reluctantly.
When the knees, ankles and shoulder (yes, shoulder) finally called time on my own playing career, it was season ticket time, and there was no debating over where and with whom. With Dad… in the River End… and, as it transpired, behind the goal, row S.
Our first season as ST holders was the one that followed the Millenium Stadium playoff final, another we attended together, and there we have stayed through thick and thin. In our time as regular River Enders, we’ve seen five promotions, three league title wins, four (soon to be five?) relegations and have marvelled at the great and the good in yellow and green.
We’ve cheered together, celebrated together, agonised together, mourned together, as some of our beloved Carrow Road neighbours and friends have left us and, of course, done that most River End of things… moaned together.
His decision not to renew is not one he’s taken lightly, Quite the opposite. But the macular degeneration that’s rendered him partially sighted has dimmed his enjoyment of home games. Being unable to see players’ faces well enough to name them means, in his words, it’s just “not the same anymore”, even though the BBC Radio Norfolk commentary of Chris Goreham via his earphones has been a godsend.
(He always loved Chris as a broadcaster but his City commentaries have, in Dad’s eyes, taken him into legend territory).
And that walk from Trowse to Carrow Road, via Bracondale and Kings Street, is sometimes a long one when the lungs and legs are not playing ball. He feels it’s time, and I understand… totally.
But the ol’ place will never be the same again.
He’ll not thank me for writing this – he detests a fuss (I have web pages to fill, Dad) – but I felt compelled. For me, it’s the end of an era. For him, it’s necessary but heart-wrenching.
Of course, none of us knows what the next few months will bring but even if we all make it out the other side, Carrow Road, in the medium-term, will be no place for an 85-year-old with COPD. And he knows it.
74 years in the making. Cheers COVID-19.
Lovely writing, Gary.
All best wishes to you and your Dad, Stay safe.
I think that’s my favourite MFW article ever Gary. My family history is quite similar although Dad stopped attending a while back because of health reasons. Also Mum figured quite largely and is definitely responsible for my dislike of ‘them lot down the road’. My parents also didn’t approve of the Barclay and for a long while I kept it secret that I had started watching in there. Along with the first cigarettes, watching Norwich City became quite a clandestine experience for my friend and I!
If any good comes out of all this, maybe it’s that we’ll all have a bit more appreciation for our family, our friends and our football club. Counting our blessings is something we’ve all forgotten how to do in recent times. Love to your Dad.
Thank you Kathy. What a lovely thing to say. Love you you and yours too.
Beautifully evocative, Gary. Sad, but joyous. Best wishes both.
Poignant, powerful and a great read that brought virtual tears to my eyes whilst remembering my own Dad, Lenny.
Surely everybody’s first match is with their Dad?
Mine was with my grandad, who brought a milk crate for me to stand on.
Gary’s article brings back so much of that time and feeling.
Hi Stew
I always had a wooden Guinness crate to stand on, courtesy of my Uncle Joe.
A fresh one every time from The Albion in Forest Gate E7 and they were always left at Upton Park after the game.
All three of my grandads [don’t ask] all died before I was even born but that must have been a wonderful experience for you.
Stay good.
Hi Gary
A great Sunday morning read and hope your dad can listen to radio commentaries for many years to come.
Martin – sorry to say, never went to any sporting games with my dad. His only interest was the old nags; couldn’t understand why grown men would want to kick or hit a ball for a living. Sadly he died in 1972 aged 52 at sea.
At least I had the honour of taking all 3 of my sons to their first games at both Carrow Road and White hart lane.
Hope all MFW writers and commenters stay healthy in these trying times and Gary, you get many more years with your dad.
Onwards and upwards
OTBC
Hi Alex.
There’s nothing like an evocative article from Gary G on a day such as today.
This must remain an apocryphal story as It was passed down to me via my mother but you’ve managed to strike a note with your mention of your Dad.
Apparently grandad [a master baker, no Kenneth Williams giggles please] was in the Merchant and also a gifted singer and violinist. He was entertaining his mates one night in 1943 when he went A over T on a slippery deck, did an unintentional header over the rails and drowned in the North Sea. They could hardly stop for him, now could they.
His “sorry Mrs Yeowell but” letter from the Navy certainly confirmed it was death by involuntary drowning anyway cos I’ve seen it.
Grandma Yeowell was a war widow and impoverished for many years until my Ma and her brothers were old enough to go to work and help her out.
All our current worries have a precedent of sorts.
For me the Ship Burtonia sank taking a non swimmer my dad and the captain with it just of Aldeburgh.
My son’s first game was v Leeds sitting upper Barclay and I think it was Efan Ekoko first game.
Gary, what a lovely piece. It most certainly will not be the same without your Dad. He’s a part of our match day family and we will most certainly miss him. Please send him all our love and best wishes from the Ely crew at the end of row S.
Thanks a lot, Mel. Will pass on your best wishes. Take care.
It has been a great honour to sit with you in your dads seat on occasion Gary. He is a great football man although I sometimes questioned his judgement when dropped from the starting 11 on a Sunday morning for Spexhall.
Really well written gary,perfectly illustrates how football can bring friends/family together.All the best to your dad
Heart felt and touching.
My dad took me to my first match at Carrow Road in the late sixties and I have been going ever since. He didn’t really like football but he took me because I pestered him to. He always said that the ball spent more time in the stands than it did on the pitch!
Thank you for your article, evocative and memory jerking.
Beautifully written Gary; I’m sure it strikes a chord with many of us.
Hopefully your Dad will have many more years of Chris Goreham’s commentaries.
Good health wishes to you; your Dad, and all the MFW family.
O T B C
Thanks, Gary. That came from the heart. Our father has dementia and I suspect this will be his last season in the Barclay. It speaks to us all.
Thanks Gary. Like many other readers, it made me think of my own Dad. We shared a lot of interests, particularly on political and social issues, but what bound us together was our love of football and particularly Norwich City. It was his one escape from a busy life and something that always gave us a point of contact, as we watched the club ebb and flow for forty years. Let’s hope we can all get back to it as soon as possible.
What a lovely read Gary, it brought back so many similar memories for me.
My Dad, younger brother and me used to stand in the South Stand, on the half way line. I can vividly remember the comments from the old timers as us youngsters pushed our way to the front, most of it jovial (those really were the days).
My dad was taken from us in his early 40’s, following a battle against lung cancer, but not before we had enjoyed Carrow Road, and also the odd trip to away games as well.
He took Mum to Stamford Bridge to see the boys hammered in the FA Cup, Mum still remembers that, at 85, as the most frightening experience of her whole life, and she lived through the war!
We were, as a family, at Watford on the day promotion was gained to the First Division. It rained and the City fans, who were in the unsheltered end behind the goal, decided enough was enough, and charged the length of the pitch to seek shelter at the other end.
I can remember a Wembley cup final disappointment, and the site of Ralph Coates’ combover wheeling away in celebration. A rainy Tuesday evening in Cleethorpes watching Lawrie McMenemy’s Grimsby Town being soundly beaten in a cup match, and a pre-season friendly at Cambridge where the only, and I mean only, piece of music they played on the PA was ‘I can see clearly now’ by Johnny Nash.
Such lovely memories, thanks for the nudge Gary. Here’s hoping Dick gets to enjoy many more seasons of radio commentary.
Lovely post, Sharmo. Better, I’d suggest, than the piece itself.
Super memories … Ralph Coates’ combover was a thing of beauty. You and I should have taken that route 😉
Thanks Gary. My first visit to the Carra was when I was staying at my Uncle Walter’s in Little Plumstead. We cycled in and left the bikes (3d each I think) in the safe keeping of someone who lived next to the railway bridge at the Barclay end. I can’t remember who we played, but Johnny Gavin scored with a diving header at the Barclay end, and I was hooked. I’d never been in a crowd like that, my only football matches having been to watch Cromer at Cabell Park with my dad, who like Alex B’s dad drowned when his crab boat foundered off Cromer when I was 8. My Carra visit was when I was about 12.
I went to every home game I could – we had rail season tickets from Cromer to North Waltham for school, so we used to go to school games on a Saturday morning, then get the train to Norwich, dodging any ticket inspectors, and running off the platform at Norwich, shouting “season” to the man on the gate while flashing the green cardboard ticketafter the game, we would wait till the train was nearly ready to depart, then run past the man on the gate again, shouting the same. Got away with it!
I was lucky enough to see most of the 1959 cup games, apart from the semi-final replay, which we listened to at school on my sister’s transistor radio, as it was played on a Wednesday afternoon.
I’m also a River Ender, back row, lower tier, just to the South Stand side of the goal.
Thanks Jim …. you’re a River End neighbour! Must catch up
Oh goodness what a great story , brought a tear to my eye as I remember my own first experience of Carrow road with my dad as a 7 year old in 1965. My dad was a season ticket holder for many years but stopped going regularly in the 1980s . His last game with me was against Charlton in September 2009 aged 83 .
Good read Gary which very much reminded me of when I first went with my aunt and uncle in the early 60s.
You also reminded me of the Bolton &Paul back drop which amazingly I’d forgotten despite its size.
We were in the City stand when there were wooden benches and I think you could hire cushions.
Life was a lot simpler in those days but I think we appreciated what we received more than we do now.
I was once lucky enough to play in a final at Carrow Road and the press pictures show the old City stand as a backdrop. As you know it burnt down a while back so my grandson has difficulty relating my appearance to actually being at Carrow road.
Great piece Gary.
Like many, I was on a wooden stool, beer crate or milk crate with my Dad as a little one, Ted Mc hanging inside the net after scoring against West Ham being one of my earlier memories.
Also remember Cambridge fans in 1981 the year of the falklands throwing debris from the neighbouring allotments over the back wall into our away pen. Dad made sure we were safe. Keith Robson a scorer I believe on that day.
Gary.
As neighbours of yours for several years, this has brought back loads of memories of Dick and his passion for City. Well written and I am sure he will get just as much enjoyment from the commentary when it starts again.
Hi mate … how are you all? Keeping safe and well I hope.
Dick would definitely pass on his best wishes, so I’ll do it for him
Well done Gary lovely article, j think a lot of us can relate in our own way and we miss how football brings us together-already. Best wishes