The Blues

Smells of Childhood - a "must read" PART ONE ...
Smells of ChildhoodMemories of Small Heath by Mary M. DonoghueChapter EightFootball Crazy!In blue and white scarf,"rattle" in hand,I sangand cheeredwith the restof the fans.For years I have waitedto be partof the crowd,noisy, excited,shouting out loudas goalsare scored,one, two and three--by the other team,unfortunately!St. AndrewsA pall of gloom hung over the whole of Small Heath, in fact the whole of Birmingham and the footballing world. Jeff Hall, right-back for Birmingham City, and just twenty-nine years old, had tragically died. He was one of the Blues' brightest stars, having been capped for England seventeen times in his short career.I was upset that someone so young, and obviously very fit, could be stricken by Polio, believing it to be a disease of childhood and hadn't realised, until then, that everyone was vulnerable. At that point in my young life I hadn't encountered Death so couldn't identify the strange, lost feelings I suffered when I read in the "Evening Despatch" of the tragedy.Mrs H, an avid Blues supporter, cried for days, a forlorn, keening sound which affected all of us. "He was a lovely young man," she pointed out to everyone, "and such a brilliant player", breaking into more heart-rending sobs. Jeff's death affected my eldest brother, Denis, very badly, and although I hadn't at that point, actually been to a match, I felt his sorrow. He moped about the house for days after Jeff's funeral, his sad face a constant reminder of the tragedy, and I prayed hard to my God to give him back his sense of fun.Although Jeff wasn't Birmingham born, the city had taken him to their hearts and my heart wept for his family. How proud they must have been of his achievements, and how distraught they must be at such an unexpected end to their son's life. That he died on a Saturday I found particularly moving, but I couldn't understand how the sun kept shining, it was a particularly mild day, when something so dreadful had happened to one of God's children. I was relieved there wasn't a match that day for I felt sure that all his team-mates wouldn't have wanted to play without him there. It was a very sad, bleak time and I prayed for something nice to happen to lift the gloom.A memorial in the form of a scoreboard and a clock, were erected in Jeff's memory. The scoreboard, as far as I know, is still there today, but I don't know what happened to the clock. It doesn't seem much to remember such a great player, but then I'm just a female!It was strange to think that the Blues team was formed by a group of cricketers, from Holy Trinity Cricket Club in Bordesley Green, looking for a winter pastime, way back in the 1800's. The team was known as Small Heath Alliance, and in 1905, during a dinner party at the Swan Hotel in Yardley, the name was changed to Birmingham City Football Club. For some reason people were not keen on the "City" part of the name so the team was known, for a long time, simply as Birmingham Football Club.In Little Green Lane there is a pub called The Cricketer's Arms, and I often wondered, as a child, how it came to have such a name. It obviously had something to do with the Holy Trinity Cricket Team I suspect.Mrs H was a great source of information when it came to her beloved Blues. Her husband and son weren't interested in football at all, which we thought was strange, as most families supported our local team. On match days, a blue and white striped hat perched jauntily atop her short black hair, scarf wound round her thin neck, looking quite incongruous over the long black coat, with the hem of her pleated black skirt showing many inches beneath, a fresh bunch of violets or freesias pinned to her coat lapel, she tripped down the yard, black, leather-soled shoes resounding on the cobbles. With rattle in hand she would say, "I'm off to see our boys win - see you later!" and with a sweep of her skirt, a shake of her rattle she disappeared down the entry.It seemed a very strange hobby for a lady of indeterminate years, very elegant, quietly spoken, and I never could visualise her shouting her lungs out with all the men! On her return from the match, flowers wilting, scarf billowing over her shoulder, brown eyes alight, she would say, quietly, "We won!" then disappear indoors to prepare her husband's tea.She spoke knowledgeably about the players, as if she was a personal friend to them all! I know she attended many of their social functions for, some time before, I'd puzzled for days when she told Mother that she'd "been on the floor all night". Later I learned she'd been dancing with the Blues players. She spoke with awe of Merrick, Houghton, Scholfield, and of the team's glorious win against Sunderland (6-1) in 1958, and of her disappointment when they lost to Manchester City in the F.A. Cup in 1956. Bert Trautmann broke his neck during that match but still carried on playing!My earliest memories of football was the rush to "save" cars on a Saturday when the Blues played at home. For just sixpence we offered to "mind" innumerable cars, sneaking off home as soon as the supporters were out of sight! Nearly every car in those days was black, and even the oldest was clean and cared for. I loved to run my hands along the sleek, shiny bonnets, the faint smell of polish lingering on my fingers until tea-time. Most of the men would smile, funny how all the drivers were men then, never seeming to mind my grubby fingers, and hand over a shiny sixpence. Sometimes we weren't paid until after the match was over, something we weren't too keen on as, if Blues lost, none of the men were inclined to pay up! If anyone dared not to pay us, they suffered for it the next week as we'd pretend all the spaces were booked and paid for by someone else! When I confessed that particular sin to Father O'Keefe he didn't have a lot to say, just gave me a short penance and whispered gruffly, "You'll learn, child, you'll learn!"
(The contents of this post were edited on 19 Jul 02:46)

Blue Gordon