Another member of the #NCFC Twitterati who picked up the guest blog baton was our Worthing Yellow, Mick Saunders, who describes beautifully the journey from Kent to Carrow Road via 80 Football League grounds.
Take it away, Mick…
I became aware of football as a “thing” during the 1970 World Cup in Mexico, helped in no small part by the Esso England Squad Coin Collection that my dad was adding to each time he put a tiger in the tank of his Austin 1100.
My first proper memory of a football match was Charlie George scoring Arsenal’s extra-time winner against Liverpool in the 1971 FA Cup Final. A scorching hot, sun-drenched Wembley (1970s Cup Finals always seemed to be), his iconic supine celebration, rolled down socks and his long flowing hair caused some mayhem in my Arsenal supporting family household in Kent.
The first match I attended was thanks to the Italian owner of “Enzo’s” – a ladies hair salon in town. I was friends with his son and so it was that on the evening of Valentine’s Day 1973, I was taken to Selhurst Park to witness a massacre – Enzo’s beloved Verona on the end of a 4-1 pasting by Crystal Palace in the Anglo-Italian Cup.
My takeaway memory, however, was the hirsute and thickly moustached Palace striker Don Rogers and the goalkeeping exploits of Palace custodian, John Jackson.
It was less than three weeks later, partly as an act of rebellion to my dad and his large London family’s Arsenal allegiance, partly due to City’s presence in the 1973 League Cup Final against Spurs, and partly learning that my mum’s grandfather hailed from East Anglia, that my footballing affections were coloured forever yellow and green – the rest as they say, is history.
It was only a little later that I realised the coincidence that my dad “Ron Saunders” shared not only a name, but similarly gruff demeanour, with the then City manager!
So that’s how Kevin Keelan became my hero and the first of many City favourites over the years. There wasn’t a lot of Norwich coverage down in darkest Kent, I mainly scoured the Sunday papers for the smallest, single-column report of our latest game – even if it did usually focus on the opposition no matter the result.
Every now and again City would appear as one of the lesser games on The Big Match, but we had LWT, not Anglia. If we were ever on Match of the Day, and it was very rarely, it was like Christmas had come early.
Boyer, Peters, Neighbour, Fashanu – they were the posters on my wall, all clipped carefully from Shoot Magazine. I had to specially order a Norwich Subbuteo Team, which took weeks to arrive into the local toyshop – I didn’t realise they were all made just 10 miles away, near Tunbridge Wells! Not to mention the failed attempts at getting a replica Admiral shirt from our local sports shop. To this day I still covet one from that beautiful, colourful catalogue of dreams.
My first City game came courtesy of the FA Cup 3rd Round draw for 1978 and one of my father’s nine siblings, who happened to live in Walthamstow. We used to visit every month and would drive through the Blackwell Tunnel, passing the old Matchbox toy factory in Hackney and right past Brisbane Road.
When that velvet bag in Lancaster Gate delivered “Orient will play… Norwich City” well, it was fate, wasn’t it? The tie being rescheduled for a Friday night didn’t help me in convincing dad to take me along, but we went and so it was that on Friday 6th January 1978 I finally saw my yellow and green heroes in the flesh.
It wasn’t the best of games but the yellow and green, contrasting with Orient’s own, iconic white with red braces kit, was dazzling and a late Roger Gibbins equaliser saved City’s blushes and forced a replay. It was relatively recently that I realised that Orient had a certain young Glenn Roeder in defence that night.
Orient reached the FA Cup semi-final that year, so you know the replay didn’t go well – but then again, 1978 is an FA Cup year we’d all like to forget!
My next game, and my Carrow Road baptism, wasn’t until 1981, when my £5-a-week pocket money was just enough to get me, fortnightly at least, to Norwich on the train, entry into South Stand Corner, a programme and a Mars Bar from the trolley that used to come round the edge of the pitch.
A 0-0 draw against Bolton wasn’t an auspicious start, but I was instantly hooked. I soon migrated to the Barclay centre-pen and spent plenty of those teenage Saturdays getting my regular “fix” of yellow fever including an excursion to the Hawthorns, where my FA Cup dreams were dashed.
Starting work gave me access to more cash, and more football – as the ‘80s progressed I became more and more of a home and away regular. I linked up with the Capital Canaries for travel, drinking, darts and even drove to West London on a Sunday morning to turnout alongside MFW’s very own Stewart Lewis in their West Fulham League side!
There was an unparalleled excitement, occasionally laced with the frisson of fear, in those heady ‘80s days travelling around the country and watching City from the Barclay terrace. Smaller crowds, yes, but some atmospheres I’d contend have yet to be equalled by the moneyed Premier League’s homogenised and gentrified offering.
Nearly fifty years later, after more than a thousand matches and eighty-odd league grounds, the ghost of Don Rogers’ moustache has continued to haunted many, many more disappointing visits to Selhurst Park against Palace, Charlton and Wimbledon.
Moreover, it’s with no thanks to the likes of Cyrille Regis, Jimmy Case, Pat Nevin and John Byrne, that I’m also still waiting for my very own sun-drenched, yellow and green “Charlie George” Cup Final moment at Wembley.
Hi Mick.
A nice bit of nostalgia. “The frisson of fear” is a great and appropriate phrase – I guess I’m about your age and you had to go to games in that era to truly understand “how it was”.
My Uncle Pete was a graphic designer/copywriter at Lesney [Matchbox] in the mid sixties so I never went short of toy cars.
Our works’ Sunday side used to play on Hackney Marshes. There was definitely a frisson of fear abut that place 🙂
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Thanks Martin. I totally agree that “you has to be there” to fully understand that feeling. Appreciate the comment.
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Wonderful nostalgia, Mick.
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Many thanks
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I can remember all of these games and remember the nervousness that accompanied being an away fan in those days. Most of the City fans who pour out of winning away fixtures away singing their hearts out have no idea of how it was skulking away getting your mates to check if the tiniest bit of yellow and green is showing. Great read. B*gger off Sky!
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Thanks Kathy, appreciate the comments. Yes, the art of sticking your scarf down the sleeve of your jacket was important at times! Dreadful times really, but time and yellew/green tinted specs makes me look back fondly.
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Memories of the late 60s away from home where 20 minutes from time you could watch the boys from the ‘home end’ start to walk round the ground to where the few away fans were. Many times us girls left at the end looking 8 months pregnant due to the number of green & yellow scarves we were concealing.
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Lovely little piece thanks for taking the trouble to write it.
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Thank you.
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Hi Micheal.
Great travel memories.
During my time in the RAF got to see City play in most London stadiums from Aug 1970 to Feb 1973.
On Sundays we would go to non league and catch a few game and Hackney Marsh was one of the and where I found out that my second team originally played before move to the Lane.
The marsh was the first home ground of Tottenham Hotspur Football and Cricket Club in 1882 till 1898.
Onwards and upwards
OTBC
Keep safe and well
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Thanks Alex, I’ve got a number of Spurs chums, but don’t think I knew that!
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The Spurs name us supposedly come from Sir Henry Percy who family owned the original village that was Tottenham and his nickname was Harry Hotspur and his emblem was a proud Cock.
Sorry to say City’s history doesn’t have quite as colourful characters in it
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Bugger me!
As you know Alex I have strong Spurs connections too, as it seems does Mick, but I never knew that either.
I know they called their in-house bar/restaurant/nightclub the Chanticleer after the cockerel in an Olde French medieval romance but that was definitely a new one on me.
Keep good.
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White Hart Lane is near Northumberland Park, and the Percys were lords of Northumberland.
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Harry Hotspur also has connections to Gt zyarmouth
He took 300 men at arms and 600 archers to defend it from the French
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Great article, thanks. It brings back a lot of memories. (By the way, Enzo had a gents hairdresser in St Vidas Street, as well as a ladies salon which I think was in Aylsham Road. Three of the guys who worked in St Vidas Street left to set up Hiz Hair in Tombland.)
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Thanks Jim, and good coiffure trivia too. Cheers
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Lovely article but hopefully it was Boyer on your wall – not Bowyer!
Really enjoyable read, thank you.
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Gadzooks! I could blame the sub-editor… but I wont, all my responsibity! I also mis-spelled “Stewart” Lewis’ name too, so at least I’m consistent.
Thanks Mel.
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It’s actually perfectly reasonable to blame the sub IMHO 🙂
(But I did spot ‘Stuart’) 😉
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Great piece Mick.
It’s funny looking back and thinking how, more often than not, you went to a match with a slight feeling of fear at the pit of your stomach, depending on who the opposition was-as in their fans, rather than the team. I had a friend who went to Leicester University in the 80’s (one time MFW writer Russ), we’d pop along to Filbert Street whenever I went to see him & I not so fondly recall running away from a bunch of Aston Villa fans hellbent on rearranging our faces after the Foxes, Lineker and Lynex rampant, did them for 5 one Saturday. We both made for the narrow gap in a fence at the same time and got stuck in it…
Years later I remember coming down for my breakfast at the Holiday Inn (hint to overnight match go’ers, it is convenient but the Maids Head is usually cheaper) to see countless Newcastle fans sinking a Guinness or three in the bar before 9am. Much chat ensued.
Have started buying all the Matchbox ‘Superfast’ cars I used to have on eBay.
Keep them coming!
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Thanks Ed, appreciate those words.
I have some stories of fans from Cardiff, Swansea and obviously our Suffolk neighbours that make me glad that I don’t have to move so fast these days 😁
That said, I wasn’t always an angel either… different times! 😮
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