I can, I must and I will

Members of the lower school (first and second years) were requested to remain behind one morning while the older pupils filed out of assembly. 

Hello, what’s going on?

‘Lower school pupils will attend a house rally.’ 

Very strange. 

Members of Nowell, Queens and Mill were then instructed to shove off elsewhere, leaving Gordon House in the assembly hall. Though I was an old hand in the second year, I’d never seen anything like it. In quiet times when Nowell weren’t walloping everyone at everything in the sporting calendar the house system lay dormant, so what was this about? The annual inter-house football competition was due and probably the girls’ hockey too, but even so...

In her customary red track suit Miss Mitchell took to the stage. The fearsome half of a double act that supervised girls’ PE lessons, she was the official Gordon House Leader. An honorary title, I’d thought, but no, I’d thought wrong. Prowling the stage, she worked her audience like a pantomime villain. 

‘Who’s the best?’ 

‘Gordon,’ a hundred kids mumbled.

Our feeble response earned a scowl and a long, withering stare from Miss Mitchell, who tried again with a snarl that demanded commitment. ‘I said who’s the best?!’

‘Gor-don!’ we shouted.

Miss Mitchell’s exaggerated smile made everyone happy. In the tub thumping speech that followed she worked everyone up to fever pitch before roaring the Gordon House battle cry once more.

‘I can, I must and I will!' she cried. 'Now you say it!’

‘I can I must and I will,’ we shouted, till we were fit to burst. 

‘I can’t hear you,’ she yelled, cupping a hand to her ear.

‘I can, I must and I will!’

‘Louder!’ 

'I can, I must and I will! I can, I must and I will! I can, I must and I will!’

I came out of the rally feeling ten feet tall. With the combined might of General Gordon and Miss Mitchell behind me, I’d just become part of the master race. 

God help Nowell, Queens and Mill. We’ll pulverise them.

Gordon 1 Mill 0

 

We got off to a reasonable start in the inter-house football. Only 1-0, but a win’s a win and it gave us two points. Nowell had two points too, after beating Queens.

Gordon 1 Queens 1

Blast! We dropped a point against Queens. We’d have won but for a disastrous mix up that occurred when full back Keith Watts inexplicably stopped playing and picked the ball up in our penalty area (position 1). 

Despite Keith’s protests that he’d heard a whistle, Mister McDouall awarded Queens a penalty, which Clive Ward duly stroked home. Keith had heard a whistle, but the whistle he’d heard had come from the adjacent pitch (2) where Nowell were beating Mill. The day’s results gave Nowell four points to our three, making our upcoming match against them a game we had to win. 

Come the day of the decider I was feeling confident. Never mind Raymond Wright in his flashy new George Best boots. Nowell had the star players but we had the better team, I believed, with a couple of handy first years in our side: Ian Palmer and Ian McKendrick. They, like David Denham, Derek Pantony and Jamie Troke had made their mark at Upbury that year.

After a closely fought first half, the deadlock was broken just before the turn around when we failed to clear a bouncing ball in our six yard box. On a bone hard surface the ball bobbled up invitingly for Raymond Wright, and though he made a pig’s ear of smashing it into the roof of the net, he somehow managed to shin it onto the tip of his flailing boot, and that was enough. I looked on helplessly as the ball trickled across the line, nestling just inside the post. Not that Raymond cared. He was grinning all over his face, the jammy sod.

Gordon did everything but score in the second half. Desperate for a goal, time was slipping away I abandoned my defensive position and pushed forward. Receiving the ball deep in the Nowell half, I put my head down and ran straight at their defence, beating two men on my way into the penalty area. With defenders closing in from all sides I slipped the ball past a third, but just as glory beckoned a block from a covering defender sent the ball spinning clear.

Nowell broke away, moving the ball quickly down the pitch. I went galloping after it, desperate to get back in defence. I didn’t make it but I got close enough to get a wonderful view of Barry Lee leaping to meet a cross with a flicked header that sailed over our goalie and into the net. 

Gordon 0 Nowell 2

The disappointment was hard to swallow. We’d given all we had but it wasn’t enough. I’d played one of my best games ever, but in defeat it meant little and I felt despondent as we trooped off the field. It was then that I felt a tap on the shoulder. I looked around and saw Graham Knight, the schools’ star footballer. 

‘Well played mate,’ was all he said, but his look of understanding spoke volumes. 

Praise from Graham was praise indeed; and some consolation when his words echoed in my mind later. 

Graham Knight