Copper Knickers

AC Medway, the football team formed by Clive, Stan and Paul got off to an encouraging start. A couple of wins and a draw against sides of similar ability was a refreshing change from Upbury’s routine annihilation. Even in defeat there was honour, as Medway Athletic – a team made up of Napier Road lads – included future professional Tony Godden in goal.

Clive and Paul were impressed with the badge I’d drawn on my white football shirt. ‘We’ll have that as our official badge,’ they said. I was pleased with it too, until it came out in the wash.

Centre half was an ideal position for someone good in the air and strong in the tackle. In the absence of someone with those attributes the lads stuck me there because ‘you’re a lanky git like Jack Charlton’. I didn’t mind. I was just happy to play and practice my defensive duties at school. 

Every morning before the whistle, out came a ball for a casual crossing and heading session on the edge of the field. The numbers grew as half past eight edged closer, until as many as fifteen lads were lining up to head the same cross past the same keeper. But now there wasn’t just a goalie to beat.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m heading it away. I’m supposed to be a defender, aren’t I?’

From thereon others joined me in defence, as our early morning ritual became a competitive exercise in defence versus attack.

Breaktime: when wet weather kept us off the grass we still had the playground and the ever reliable tennis ball. Jeremy Brougham, Stephen Missin and Alan Bailey were regulars in these games. Potty buggers all; they were at the hub of strange trend to support a second division club. Norwich, Hull and Sheffield United – all had support in our playground, with the heroes of those teams being acclaimed, Brian Moore style, every time a goal was scored.

‘And the ball ricochets to Wagstaff… it’s a goal!’

And stranger still…

‘Tull! It’s a goal by Tull. Jethro Tull scores again!’

In one of these games I enjoyed one of football’s perfect moments when our goalie threw the ball out to me.

It was a terrible throw. Too hard and too high, it was coming down over my head and about to go bouncing over the wet grass. There wasn’t much I could do…

…but follow the flight of the ball and swing my right foot as I turned. Amazingly, I caught it perfectly, on the volley, and sent it straight at goal. That the goalie saved it didn’t matter. To do that with a tennis ball, at that distance, was incredible.

Bloody hell, did I really do that?

In one of those lessons when members of the class took turns at reading from a text book, my mind wandered. History was one of my better subjects but the industrial revolution, the peasants’ revolt and just about everything else in the syllabus that year bored me to tears. My day dreaming ended when Mister Askew instructed Philip Spice to stand up and take a turn. Philip’s introduction brought fresh impetus to the reading, restoring my concentration just in time to hear him trot out the line ‘and the discoveries of men like Copper Knickers…’

The whole class burst out laughing.

‘Copernicus!’ Mister Askew corrected him. He was still shaking his head in disbelief when the laughter died down and the class settled.

‘Copper knickers,’ Mister Askew muttered, and shook his head again.