December 1968

The boys of 3A1 and 3A2 were trooping through the canteen after a PE lesson and about to go separate ways when we spotted Cyril Rye prowling inside the main doors. As 3A1’s next lesson was maths with the man himself, I wondered what he was doing there.

‘You boy!’ he growled at Neil Bassadona. ‘Would you know a Chris Holmes if you saw one?’

At that time Neil did not but I knew Chris by sight, through football, and spoke up.

‘Then wait here,’ said Cyril. ‘As soon as he comes in tell him I want to see him.’

As everyone melted away I replayed his words in my mind. As simple as the instruction was I felt a great weight of responsibility. Cyril Rye was an intimidating man with a big powerful voice. A bit slurred too, I thought. I’d heard he was fond of a lunchtime pint but I thought it was just a rumour. Now I wasn’t so sure. I wondered about Chris Holmes too. Was he in trouble? Mine was not to reason why. Mine was only to do my duty. 

Chris turned up a few minutes later, surprise surprise, on a motor scooter. A cheery soul, he didn’t bat an eye when I gave him the message. I got the impression he’d been on an errand for Cyril but if he had, he didn’t say, he just scampered up the staircases to Mister Rye’s classroom with me hurrying behind.

As usual for the annual cross country run, the boys got changed in one gym while the girls got changed in the other. As usual I shot a hopeful glance at the door of the gym next door. As usual I saw nothing.

Out on The Lines my steady improvement in the yearly slog continued. For the second year running I moved up a couple of places, just missing out on the top twenty.

On the way back to the gym I tried clocking the girls again… and again saw nothing.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. My job at the International Stores gave me a wage that made visits to Priestfield Stadium affordable yet took away my Saturday afternoons. The Lord, if he existed, could be a sod sometimes. Football Monthly magazine bridged the gap and eased the pain. Every month I’d scour the magazine counter at Twydall Post Office, eager to snap up the latest issue and read every word, adverts and all. Football Monthly was the magazine for any committed football fan and I committed for life when I sent off for this…

And sometimes I bought one of these…