Читать книгу Bill Nicholson - Brian Scovell - Страница 13

In October 1939, Bill Nicholson was called up for military service and joined the Durham Light Infantry at Brancepeth Barracks. Brancepeth is a village five miles south west of Durham, no more than 65 miles from Scarborough. ‘It was tiring work,’ he recalled. ‘When we first arrived, we had to drill with wooden rifles because the real thing was in such limited supply. I worked hard to pass the Cadre course and became a lance corporal and then a sergeant. Most of my six years in the Army were spent in Britain as an instructor, first in infantry training, which I knew little about, and then in physical education at Brancepeth.’

In World War I, hundreds of footballers were slaughtered, many of them with ‘Unknown Soldier’ on their gravestones because of the carnage and confusion on the battlefields. But in World War II, senior officers were intent on using footballers as trainers and role models. Few sportsmen fought at the front line. One exception was Captain Hedley Verity, the Yorkshire and England bowler, who died in a prisoner-of-war camp in Italy after being shot at Caserto in 1943. Eleven years older, Verity was a hero to Bill Nicholson while he was growing up and collecting cigarette cards of cricketers. In the winter months, each barrack room at Brancepeth was rationed to just one bucket of coal a day and soldiers often stole coal from any source they could find. To keep warm, they had to keep on moving and Bill was at the forefront, teaching large groups of men on 16-week courses.

Between 1939 and 1946, the Football League was suspended and the local professional clubs were not allowed to play in competitive matches, but friendlies were permitted and he made 15 appearances as a guest with Newcastle, Darlington, Hartlepool United, Middlesbrough, Sunderland and Fulham. Fan John Noble first saw him play when he was representing Darlington: ‘He helped Darlington to be one of the best teams in England and one of the other quality guest players was Jimmy Mullen of Wolves. As kids we used to hang around outside the changing rooms, kicking a ball about, waiting for the players to come out, hoping they would join in. Bill Nick always did for a short time and that made our day. He was always smart in his uniform, ready to get the bus back to camp.’

In 1939, a quiet and reserved young Bill left north London but within weeks he was on his way to becoming a confident, authoritative lecturer, used to addressing huge numbers. It was no surprise that so many ex-Army people became football coaches when the Football League resumed in 1946. ‘My experience proved invaluable because one of the prime requisites in coaching was being able to put your ideas over,’ he said. His Army spell was extended when he was sent to the headquarters of the Central Mediterranean Forces in Udini, Italy. There he was fortunate to meet Geoff Dyson, the dynamic athletic coach, who later became the AAA coach. Bill recalled: ‘Geoff was a fantastic organiser and lecturer and probably had more to do with my becoming a coach than anyone.’

The other person he met at that time who proved a strong influence was his first and only girlfriend, Grace Lillian Power, who lived at 17 Farningham Road, a few hundred yards from White Hart Lane. When he was first billeted out at Tottenham, he lodged at 23 Farningham Road, four houses up, and started taking her out. He came round almost every night and she later recalled: ‘My father had a billiards table and he often used to come and play.’

Mr and Mrs Power had three daughters: twins Grace and Ivy and elder daughter Winnie, of whom Bill once admitted: ‘I fancied her originally, but soon changed.’ The family nicknamed the twins ‘Darkie’ and ‘Fairy’ because Grace was dark-haired and Ivy was fair. ‘I detested the name Grace and I preferred Darkie,’ explained Grace. Throughout her life, Grace’s nickname continued despite the arrival of New Labour and political correctness. She died on 30 July 2007 at the age of 87 – in fact, all three sisters died within six months of each other. Daughter Jean said: ‘She was a wonderful mother and everyone loved her. She always looked on the good side of life and never complained. Even after a particularly difficult visit to hospital, she thanked me for taking her and said she’d had a lovely day.’

Darkie called Bill ‘Willie’ and was the only person to use that name. Their daughter Linda described their relationship: ‘I can see why she caught his eye when he lodged just up the road. You could tell they really loved each other and I think they were lucky to have each other.’ The marriage took place at St Mary’s Church, Lambsdown Road, Tottenham on 1 March 1942 during the groom’s short leave from his regiment, with no time for a proper honeymoon. He was 23 and she was 21. Tony McKenzie, one of Bill’s nephews, said: ‘Darkie was always laughing and joking. She idolised him and she was always there for him – a perfect wife for a football man. Years later I sometimes stayed with them and she did all the cooking and Bill did all the washing up. They were happy days.’

The Nicholsons rented two attic rooms in Farningham Road for a while before moving to Commonwealth Road just around the corner. Living next door was Ted Ditchburn, the Tottenham goalkeeper who was born in Gillingham and played 418 appearances between 1946 and 1958. He was two years older than Bill and was able to buy a swanky American car, which he nicknamed ‘the Dillinger’. The vehicle had running boards just like in the American gangster movies and, as Bill said, ‘It needed some handling.’ At the time Ditchburn had yet to pass his driving test.

It was eight years before Bill could afford his first car, a Morris series E. He didn’t really need one: he could walk to work each day. In the early days of their marriage, the Nicholsons would cycle to Epping Forest on Sundays. It was a regular ritual. Commonwealth Road was hardly more than a Ditchburn drop-kick from White Hart Lane and Linda said: ‘It was on the other side of the playing field behind the East Stand. Good job we grew up so close to the ground because we were able to see Dad at lunchtimes when we were in Coleraine Park Elementary School and later, when Tottenham County Grammar School was built. Sometimes fans knocked at the door and Dad was always very nice to them. Mostly I think they respected his privacy, though. We used to have budgerigars when we lived in Commonwealth Road and they spent a lot of time out of the cage. Later we adopted a stray cat. At first Dad didn’t want to bring her into the house, but he ended up fussing over the cat more than anyone else.’

Most football managers take new jobs and moving around the country is often a trial for wives and children alike. Bryan Hamilton, the former Northern Ireland manager who played and managed at Ipswich, Everton, Millwall, Swindon, Tranmere, Wigan, Leicester and Norwich, once said he moved house on 18 different occasions. Bill Nicholson was the exception. He lived at Farningham Road and Commonwealth Road between 1936 and 1958 before first renting and then purchasing his detached three-bedroom in Creighton Road, two years later. Bill and Darkie lived in an area just under a mile from White Hart Lane for their happy marriage of 62 years, and in their final two years, they lived in nearby Potters Bar – an incredible record.

Darkie was an expert seamstress and was proud of her achievement in passing the City and Guilds exam, which enabled her to teach Home Furnishings and Upholstery at Tottenham Technical College. With new clothes in short supply – clothing coupons were needed to obtain them – she customised garments with other bits of material, very make do and mend. Linda recalled: ‘In the War most people had to be strong characters because they never knew what was going to happen when they woke up the next day so they tried to make the best of everything and enjoy a simple life. I think that is a lesson for today’s generation.’

Interviewed by Hunter Davies for his highly praised work, The Glory Game, Darkie was quoted as saying: ‘We didn’t have much of a social life together but I am not moaning. I accept it all. I understand why he has got so much to do. He knows that he’s missed things. He would love to have been more of a family man because he loved his own family. Even though they didn’t have much, they were very happy. Who would have thought when he arrived as a boy from Yorkshire in 1936 that he would be lord of it all at Tottenham? He’s said many a time that there is only one job in football and that’s playing. When you finish playing, the enjoyment ceases. He says it is a bastard of a job, being manager. That’s the word he uses. All he watches for is mistakes, jotting them in his little pad. I’m for it if I don’t get refills in time. It’s his job to watch for mistakes and he doesn’t enjoy it.’

Frank McLintock, Arsenal’s driving captain in their 1971 Double, told a wonderful story about Darkie. ‘She was an amazing lady, so highly regarded by everyone she met, and I often went to watch Tottenham’s matches. One day I said to her: “It’s a terrible job to park around White Hart Lane. You haven’t got any ideas about it?” She said: “You know where I live, come and park at the back. Bill’s got a couple of spaces. You can use one.” So Arsenal’s former captain, the hated figure, parked at the house of Tottenham’s manager!’

Linda remembered: ‘When Dad left the house he always had to look immaculate. Darkie made sure his shirts were nicely ironed, but he always shined his shoes every morning; he loved shining all of our shoes. She did all the cooking and always had a cooked lunch ready for him because he was not often there for dinner. But he was always the one who had to time his boiled egg to perfection. Mum definitely played a big part in his success and I told her on many occasions how proud I was for her and Dad as well, keeping the household going and making sure the right things happened at the right time. When things went wrong, she generally had to fix them. I learned at a very early age how to put a plug on a new appliance and things like that!’

Darkie would stay up at night, waiting for Bill to return home from one of his scouting trips, and he would sound the horn of his car to let her know when he had arrived.

Joe Hulme, the famed England and Arsenal right-winger and Middlesex cricketer, was manager of Tottenham when Bill was demobbed in 1946. Joe was renowned for being one of the fastest wingers in the history of the game and in the 1932/3 season he scored 33 goals for Arsenal, a record for a winger in one season, and over his career he played in five FA Cup finals. Cristiano Ronaldo, who may be a shade quicker, has upped that scoring record considerably.

Joe was born in Stafford and starred with Blackburn, Arsenal and Huddersfield; he also scored 8,013 runs with 12 centuries for Middlesex (1929–39). He was appointed Tottenham’s assistant secretary in 1944 and two years later took over from manager Arthur Turner, the accountant who became secretary and worked at White Hart Lane for more than 40 years. I knew Joe well – he worked for the People for many years and was very popular, always joking with the players.

When Bill reported back, Joe asked him: ‘Do you fancy playing against Chelsea on Saturday?’ He was enthusiastic and Joe said: ‘You’ll be up against Tommy Lawton.’ He might have thought it was one of Joe’s jokes: though Lawton was only 5ft 10in tall, he was the finest header of the ball in the game at that time, possibly ever. A year or two before, the two faced each other in an Army game and Bill, who was 5ft 9in, thought he had a good game against him. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Lawton this time, ‘you’ll be okay.’ Again, Bill used his expertise to nullify Lawton’s powerful headers.

During the 1945/6 season, he played 11 League matches and joined a summer coaching course organised by Walter Winterbottom in Birmingham. Sir Stanley Rous, the 6ft 4in tall FA secretary who had been headmaster of Watford Grammar School and refereed the 1934 FA Cup Final, was the first person to think of starting coaching courses in the late thirties. Born in Oldham in 1913, Winterbottom played several matches as an amateur for Manchester United before a back injury ended his brief career. During World War II, he was head of PT at the Air Ministry and reached the rank of Wing Commander. After leaving the RAF, he was about to apply for the post of principal at Carnegie College (where he had worked earlier) when Rous offered him the job of England manager in 1946. Members of the FA Council knew little of Rous’s surprise plan and shared the view of most managers and players that coaching was unnecessary. But Rous was a dominant figure and talked his colleagues round: eventually Winterbottom became the national manager and also, the national director of coaching. He held his jobs for 16 years, the same term as Bill’s managerial career.

Bill soon signed up for the course and passed his Full Badge at the first attempt alongside Joe Mercer, Alan Brown, George Smith and George Ainsley. He recalled: ‘Walter was an exceptional man. He had more influence over the game in England than anyone and he worked prodigiously hard. He travelled the country on his own, lecturing non-stop. He persuaded dozens and dozens of players to take up coaching and he was like a Messiah, spreading the word.’

Winterbottom observed: ‘There were managers who didn’t manage, they just signed cheques. It was player power, with the older players deciding the tactics. The game was nearly all long balls and there was a loosely created midfield. Nobody worked out even simple things.’

Winterbottom and his disciples, Bill among them, met considerable opposition. Because of his lack of top-class experience as a player, Winterbottom was branded a man who didn’t understand the game. Journalists mocked him, but those who believed in him knew that he expanded their knowledge and made them better players and managers. Each year they would gather at their summer coaching conference to discuss the game and learn from each other. They didn’t claim expenses for travelling: they paid their own.

In the next three seasons under Hulme, Tottenham finished sixth, eighth and fifth in the Second Division and Bill Nicholson missed just five matches out of 126. He was possibly the most consistent player of that time. Although he rarely made the headlines, his teammates realised he wouldn’t let them down. Mostly he played on the right as a defensive wing half, but his supreme fitness enabled him to do plenty of attacking as well. It was a happy time and his daughters were born at home: Linda on 26 February 1947 and Jean on 1 October 1948.

‘I was born in the middle of the Deep Freeze in 1947,’ remembered Linda, who has now lived in the USA for more than 30 years. ‘The country was covered with ice and snow for three months and there weren’t many matches played. There was a snowstorm on the day and the midwife had problems getting to us. I’m certain that Dad wasn’t present at both births – men didn’t do that in those days. And I’m not sure he changed a nappy!’

There were some influential players under Joe Hulme and one of them, Vic Buckingham, who graduated from Northfleet in Kent – the same nursery club as Bill – had many interesting, educational talks with his teammate. He was a humorous, debonair man, who had also obtained his FA Badge at a young age and was always available to pass on his knowledge. Four years older, he went on to become an innovative coach with a worldwide reputation. He started out by coaching Oxford University and the amateur side Pegasus, who won the FA Amateur Cup under his direction (Pegasus was run by Professor Sir Harold Thompson, a powerful and destructive influence at the FA). Buckingham shared similarities with Danny Blanchflower – a wing half who created good things. He went on to manage Bradford, WBA, Ajax, Sheffield Wednesday, Fulham, Ethnikos, Barcelona and Seville. It was an impressive CV.

But another pioneering coach was about to enter Bill’s life – Arthur Sydney Rowe was born in Tottenham, a 10-minute walk from White Hart Lane. He had a season with Northfleet before signing as a professional with Tottenham; between 1929 and 1939, he made 182 appearances when he retired because of a knee injury. Not many footballers of that time went through their careers without having a cartilage or two removed, leaving them with permanent limps. Thirty-three, he was a qualified coach and coached the Army team. He was successful with non-League Chelmsford City and they won both the Southern League and the Southern Cup in the same season. Six months before World War II broke out, he coached in Budapest and soon won the respect of board officials and players alike: ‘I was enjoying it, but I was lucky to have got back to England before someone blew the whistle on me.’

Jimmy Hogan, a tiny winger from Burnley, was one of the earliest coaching pioneers when he coached the Dutch side in 1912, moved on to train the Austrian side two years later and coached the Hungarian and German sides in the 1930s. They liked his unorthodox style of coaching and he was revered in Hungary. His work contributed to the emergence of the Hungarian players after World War II, who went on to become the first country to beat England, 6-3 at Wembley, in 1953 and forced English football to look outwards, inside of inwards, finally ending their decades of insularity.

Arthur Rowe was offered a three-year contract from the Hungarian FA in late 1939, probably inspired by Hogan’s reputation, but it was too late: the war had begun. With Tottenham finishing fifth in 1948/9, Joe Hulme was sacked and the directors made a surprise appointment – the Chelmsford City manager Arthur Rowe, one of their own.

Walter Winterbottom, Joe Mercer, Ron Greenwood, Bill Nicholson, Arthur Rowe, Vic Buckingham and Jimmy Hogan loved football with a passion and wanted to improve it, to make it more entertaining. These coaches weren’t in it for the money or material goods: they never besmirched the game and they upheld the old, true Corinthian creed of fair play. Bill Nicholson typified that approach.

On 5 May 1949, the signing of Alf Ramsey was complete and Rowe, who had been appointed on 4 May, now had another strong voice in his dressing room. But there was one essential difference: Ramsey didn’t go in for coaching and had his own opinions about how the game was played.