The Diary

16 February 2005: East Midlands Memories, And An Audience With Robbo

?As I was saying to Bryan Robson earlier today?..? Genuinely. No word of a lie. We really DID have words with the guy today; lots of words, in fact, and the full text of that interview will be available for both your perusal and delectation in your next Grorty Dick. How come? Well, I suppose you have to thank (or blame, depending on point of view!) The Fart for the whole thing. Pensioners, you see, can get away with much that would earn those of lesser chronological age a lengthy spell in the nick, so who better to ask than our new manager directly after the liaison committee meeting held some time last week?

Well before he?d opened his mouth to ?pop the question?, as it were, our crusty co-editor had already mentally estimated his chances of actually securing the much-desired interview to be on a par, just about, with that of the US suddenly offering abject apologies to their British counterparts concerning the great quantity of tea they?d so petulantly chucked into Boston Harbour over 200 years ago. How shocked he must have been to get the answer: ?No problem; when do you want to do it??

This also presented me with a slight ethical problem, as I?d previously avowed not to do another interview for the fanzine ever again. It?s all water under the bridge, now, of course, the circumstances leading up to the adoption of different ground-rules for subsequent Dicks were quite different when I threatened to not do any more, so a few days back, I decided to bite the bullet, swallow my pride, and agree to a wretched meeting. And, to be fair, quite a pleasant time we had, too this afternoon. Always good to bat the breeze with another Baggie, even if both our paths have become widely divergent over the years No, seriously, to be perfectly frank with you, I really hadn?t expected Robbo to say ?Yes!?, but he did, fair play to him, and that?s why today found us eagerly wanting to descend upon him from afar. And at the new training ground ? hadn?t been there before, so plenty of opportunities for me to grab some handy stock photos. As far as the results are concerned, as I said, they?ll be in (probably) your next GD, so keep those bloody gig-lamps peeled.

So ? that?s our manager sorted today, a thundering great audio cassette full to the gunnels with material to convert to print, and lots of piccies for me to take away also. Oh, well ? at least the transcription of the evidence will keep me a very busy Baggie indeed for the next few weeks. But that wasn?t the only item on the agenda today; travelling back via Birmingham, with The Fart still in tow, we then headed off to GD Towers to grab a bite to eat, and ready ourselves for GD Job Number Two, the East Birmingham Supporters Club meeting held at the Snooty Fox pub tonight.

Well, there?s at least one thing we?ve learned tonight ? never, NEVER follow travel instructions grabbed straight off the internet. Up until our leaving the M42, everything was fine, but no sooner had we headed off out towards the next bit of civilisation in those there parts, what the printed sheet had to tell me was completely different to what I was actually seeing written on the road-signs. Just as well I wasn?t relying on that printed sheet to get me out of an emergency situation, or something, then, wasn?t it?

We?d expected lots of Baggie people for this one, and we weren?t to be disappointed. Because of the sheer numbers involved, the Astle clan had to get the licensee to open up one of their bigger function rooms in order to accommodate fully those wanting to attend. Lots of people there I only knew from briefly seeing their faces either, say, on matchdays, or when purchasing fanzines, but good to see ?em all the same. On arrival, Laraine was there, of course; not only that, for the first time, we were introduced to Laraine?s eldest grandson, Chris, age 17. He?s the exception to the rule, as far as the Astle clan go, because he?s totally lacking in footballing DNA, bar the bit scientists label ?height?. Although still a teenager, he absolutely towered over me, and was around the same height as my other half. And he absolutely hates the game, so no point whatsoever in talking about football with him.

It was while we were awaiting the start that Laraine went to fish something out of her handbag ? and no sooner had the mystery item been revealed in its full glory, all three of us simultaneously felt an uncontrollable urge to retch, and violently so. What was the cause of it, then? A bloody WOLVES serviette, that?s the sort of things some will do to get sponsorship! It was also while we were awaiting the arrival of the guests we found a little gem ticking away, in The Fart?s tote bag. What was in it? His brand new mobile. Despite having read through his stuff prior to coming out, he?d been having transcription problems anbd couldn;t make calls. Mind you, it didn't exactly help that he had the Portuguese language option going on the phone!

Although there had been about eight in total invited, regrettably, a few of those had to cry off in the end, so welcome, instead to Bomber Brown, Duggie Fraser, and about twenty minutes later, Derek Dougan, know to most around these parts as ?The Doog?, and, because he came ready-packed with that sort of notorious background, ?That yampy cowin? Wulves bloke?, was how most of my peers regarded him? Me? All that, but with knobs on.

A fair few years since I?d seen the guy in the flesh last, but the face itself was all-too familiar ? once a Dingle, always a Dingle. What with that, the hollow, haunted, almost, look to his face, the white hair and the three-quarter-length black coat, all lent a certain Hammer Horror-esque quality to the proceedings. The late Christopher Lee would have absolutely loved it, I?m sure. Would anyone dare take the risk of exposing him to bright sunlight, I wondered. And, more to the point (stake!), was the buffet well-equipped with more than its fair share of garlic-based dishes? All a total fallacy, but with football clubs, you can?t be too careful.

Completing the cast-list for the evening was the Main Branch master of ceremonies, John Homer. In order to bring some semblance of quiet to the busy room, he shouted ?ORDER, ORDER!?.? Came back a voice from the from the direction of the floor: ?OK, I?ll have a lager?.? Once John had declared the meeting over in his own particular style, it was then over to John Mainwaring. As you might already know, John was the person who recorded that fantastic tribute to his real idol, The King, which he played to the entire audience tonight, and with only an acoustic guitar by way of accompaniment.

The Doog? He always enjoyed the rivalry, and couldn?t think why they thought he was gay. He has a fond memory of one game, where we played Villa, and there were 58,000 in the crowd. One aspect of football that totally eludes him today is why there?s so much hatred around with regard to relations between both sets of supporters. He still misses the dressing-room banter. For us he had words of encouragement ? to keep the faith, despite all the rotten luck we?d been experiencing on the park. He also mentioned a game where Wolves had played us, they were winning 3-1, and he?d clocked Jeff Astle. That was the cue for Bomber to chip in and relate the story of the goal he scored in that same game ? but with his hand! Naturally, when he did it, he expected to get sent off, but instead, the ref pointed to the centre circle!

And so we come to Duggie Fraser. He?s a lot different from the hard man I knew back in the sixties, somewhat rounder in shape, shall we say? And coming complete with a Jimmy-Greaves-like moustache, the only difference being it?s snow-white. He, to, had a story to tell. Of the time, in 1963, when he flew down from Aberdeen to Birmingham ? we?d just signed him ? and once in the city, he hadn?t a clue how to actually get to the ground! These days, they?d lay on a chauffeur, a suited flunky to oil the wheels of any problem, the works. But, he said, he never saw an argument in the dressing-room all the time he was with us. As he so rightly declared, in tones that sounded like he?d gargled with concentrated sulphuric acid for the two hours preceding the meeting, ?If you picked on one of us, you picked on the lot of us.? So called ?hard men? of today? Observed Duggie, ?Then, if you went into a tackle, guys just shook it off?.

And then it was Bomber, once more. Jeff, he said, was absolutely brilliant as a player and as a man. The dressing room was a great place to be because you never knew what he?d do next, and as a result, kept all the lads in good spirits. There was no better header of a ball than him. The Doog reckoned the ?best goalscorer I?ve ever seen.? was none other than Jimmy Greaves. Tony Hateley? Joe Bugner in football shorts!

Then there was the issue of grounds, the more awful specimens thereof. Derby, naturally, came in for some vituperation, as did Burnley and Bolton. ?Swamps!? said Dougan, dismissively, and when looking back, I really can?t argue. Today?s pitches were like bowling greens by comparison, and all the panel declared they would have loved to have played on them.

Stories about Jeff? Well Duggie Fraser brought up the old one ? those who?ve heard Jeff in full flow will probably remember - about him taking the ball in Albion?s own half, running upfield, beating two or three opposition players on the bounce, getting clobbered by one, then once treatment was over, getting the ball again, and making further progress in similar fashion. Gets into the box, gets clobbered again, and as he sends the ball towards the goalmouth with what remaining strength he could muster, up comes Jeff, and casually taps it into the back of the net! Cue for the Brummie to go wild, ?Astle is our King?.? Etc. Said Duggie indignantly, ?Jeff gets all the credit, and there?s me still lying in the goalmouth with my legs half off!?

Tony Brown remembered Jeff?s reaction to that ?Mexico Miss? once he was back with the Baggies following the World Cup. Loads of his fellow-players took the mick once he was back, but he never rose to the bait; just simply said, ?Must have been the atmosphere swerving it?.!?

Tony also recalled the time Jeff got mistaken for a Hills coach driver the very first game he played fro the club following his signing from Notts County. It was the green blazer he wore that did it; in those days, that was the standard uniform for the coach firm?s drivers ? and once his new chums let on what they?d assumed at first, Jeff was never again to be seen wearing the offending garment.

In response to The Fart?s recollection of the 1968 Battle Of Bruges, Bomber recalled that when Jeff finally came back from the hospital after being treated for concussion ? one of the Bruges lot quite intentionally laid him out cold ? and was back in the hotel room he shared with Bomber, the Manchester lad reckoned that it was one of the most peaceful nights he?d ever had rooming with Jeff. The concussion had managed to do what no managerial edict could ever do ? shut him up!

Moving on to the contentious subject of payers who were the real animals in the game back then, Duggie told of a practice seemingly adopted by the Leeds side of the late sixties/early seventies, that of filing studs, Totally illegal, of course, purely and simply because of the astonishing damage studs thus treated could wreak on mere flesh and sinew. In fact, Duggie told of the time Billy Bremner caught him that way, and caused an enormous gash on his right upper thigh. The scar?s still there, and still very vivid, apparently. Another player not to win universal approbation around that time was Terry Paine, of Southampton. The Doog reckoned he saw Derek Parkin badly injured as a result of some ?special attention? from the Saints veteran.

It was about that time one of the younger Astle clan brought The Doog a drink over from the bar. Poor kid, she couldn?t have been much older than eight or nine, and as she handed over the drink, the Doog kissed the back of her hand. ?Make sure yer goo and wash yer hond afore yer goo ?ome!? instructed John Homer in inimitable style, to great hilarity from the audience.

Jimmy Hagan? Oh, dear. Apparently, when he finally moved from his house, he was discovered to have taken every item of electrical fitting with him! Plugs, sockets, light fittings, the works. He?d even painted the walls only as far as where the borders of pictures were ? once he?d gone, and with him the pictures, there were bloody great rectangles where the pictures had been! Said his missus, ?I?ve been with him for 25 years, and I still don?t know what makes him tick!? Strict? According to Bomber, once he?d decided on a particular course of action, he?d never change his mind. A characteristic he shared with one of our much more recent managerial incumbent, I reckon.

Almost the interval, now, and we were shown two of the raffle prizes ? copies of Derek Dougan?s latest book, ?The Sash He Never Wore ? 25 Years On?. Picking it up in wonderment, I said, ?Blimey, this has got to be rare ? a Dingle actually writing a book!?

Following the break (a smashing buffet was laid on, by the way), and a chance to have a natter with Duggie Fraser ? he was in the same job as I for around 22 years, and I very often used to see him at The Green when prisoners were transferred from Nottingham nick to ours ? it was then time for a few more memories. George Best, his silky skills, his warm personality, his drink problems ? I?m saving a couple of hilarious anecdotes about George for another piece ? childhood heroes (that was the time Duggie had everyone scratching their head with his fond recollection of a footballer he?d idolised; trouble was, when he tried to come up with the name, he then had the biggest attack of mental block since the night George Bush found himself mysteriously elected president), Irish football ? oh, all sorts of stuff.

Before we knew where we were, it was eleven and time to get chucked out. Another song from John, this one about Jeff?s young grandson, Matthew, who is still banging in the goals like a good ?un, and seriously intends to inherit The King?s Hawthorns crown one day. That?s the subject-matter of that poignant piece, and it will be in the Club Shop before too long, I?m reliably informed. We then had a little speech from Laraine, after Dave Bowler, Albion programme editor, presented her with the T shirt that Jason Roberts wore the day we played Walsall, just days after Jeff?s death, and after scoring, removed his shirt to reveal the one beneath to the TV cameras ? and that was it.

I haven?t covered by any means all of what was said last night. Blimey, it?s now gone four in the morning ? what do you want, eggs in your beer? Suffice to say it was a bloody good night, a bloody good spread, and everyone in the room genuinely appreciated what each and every former player had to say about football, both back in the days when Jeff played, and now. I shall be using some snippets from the meeting in my next offering, so look out for them.

And Finally??One Oh, Tel, Tel, what have you done? Never, NEVER tell Albion supporters, especially ones like me, who can spread the embarrassment factor far and wide, about the time you won a BBC competition to find the best football poetry writer in the area, the subject matter being the Blackburn v Wolves Cup Final. Although being of the far more sensible Albion tendency, The Fart wrote a paean of praise to the god-and-cack, and it being adjudged the winner, he then had to come into the studio to read the damn thing out on-air! A Baggie, singing the praises of The Dingles, and what?s more, very publicly indeed? Oooh, makes me knees go all wobbly just thinking about it!

Two. What is it about Dingles? There I was, tonight, with my camera, and taking pictures, as per usual. Bomber? No probs, the equipment worked perfectly. Duggie? Ditto. Everything fine and dandy, in fact, until I got to bloody Dougan. Try as I might, press every knob and elctronic gismo I had, and I still could only get one decent picture of the guy. I know I'm as biased as sin, but could it be I genuinely have a distinctly anti-Dingle camera here?

 - Glynis Wright

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