Читать книгу RED & WHITE PHOENIX - KEITH POLLARD - Страница 9

After leaving school in August 1961 at the age of 15, I went straight to being an apprentice sheet metal worker at George Clarke’s on Hawthorn Avenue. I also joined Constable Youth Club and played in their under 17s under coach Ron Everett. We played ‘friendly’ games that season, not entering the league till 1962.

Clarke’s was an old coppersmith engineering company that had been in Hull for many years. On my first day, I was put to work with a lad called Latus, John was his first name, I think; he was a senior apprentice, so was actually given jobs to do by himself. He was making some aluminium pipe clips and he gave me the job of cutting off the bits of pipe that the bolts went through. With a feeble old hack-saw it was a bastard of a job. They had a brand new saw and I said to John, “Why don’t we use that?” But he said I needed the practice. I took a few lengths of this aluminium pipe and cut about 50 of these bits, but he was not impressed and went to the foreman, who gave me a telling off on my first day for not doing as I was told.

I can still remember a few of the coppersmiths I worked with even 55 years later. Stan Clark, who had crooked foot because apparently he got caught up in an old drive shaft which twisted his leg really badly; Bernard Brown, who also sold goldfish at Hull fair every year; Bob Sanders, who was probably one of the oldest tradesmen in the world and always had a cold; ‘Geordie,’ who cleaned the aluminium filler rods with emery cloth and degreased them with methylated spirits, which he used to drink – especially on Saturday mornings when we worked overtime and he had been on the pop the night before; another Ray Ward, who had a bad leg and only relief he got was if he had it raised, so he used to stand next to a bench with his leg on it and fall asleep standing up.

But I wasn’t really interested in the copper-works and did not really learn much there. I was much more interested in rugby. Constable under 17s at the time were one of the best teams in Hull, with players that we looked up to as kids with admiration. Big Ritchie Wilds was the captain – a great leader and prop forward; Arty Glentworth, like his old man, Harry, he became a bit of a legend in and around Hull – a real ‘one off’; Laurie Rawlings was at loose forward and later coach of West Hull ARLFC and Yorkshire; Paddy McGee was a real hard man; Tommy Smith was a strong hard winger who should have made it as a pro – he was a bit like Jason Robinson in stature but had more of a nasty side.

Several players did turn professional, like Keith Barnwell, Cliff Stark, Maurice ‘Bim’ Fletcher, Richie Wilds and Dave Robson, who was later to be on the board of directors at Rovers; all these signed for Hull FC and were just a few of those we associated with and learned our trade from.

They were great times down at the youth club. We were a bit of a raggedy bunch but we never got into anything more serious than a few scuffles. There were no drugs in those days – only drink, and we were daft enough on that!

I had my first drink at about 15 when I started work, in the Red Lion on Redbourne Street. I didn’t have a lot – just enjoyed myself. The Kevin ballroom in Market Place and the Locarno on a Monday night were places you just had to go. I remember standing on the fringes watching the girls dancing in a ring round their handbags, trying to drum up courage to go and ‘split them,’ hoping you did not get ‘knocked back’ and have to make the long walk back to the side with your head held low and your tail between your legs. We waited for the last dance to ‘move in for the kill’ hoping you could take a girl home – but more often than not it was a slow walk home alone or with the lads, saying there was no-one there you fancied anyway.

My time at the youth club, ‘Cunny’ we called it, always brings back pleasant memories. The club leader was called Mr Johnston –a rather straight-laced man that you would never have dreamt would be involved with a youth club on Hessle Road, but he kept a tight ship and was really good at his job. He was also in charge of youth employment in Hull. Come to think of it, not many of our lads were out of work and we all had decent apprenticeships – I would not be so impertinent as to say he favoured our club but I am it sure it helped. Alongside Ron Everett our coach, was the former Hull KR hooker and captain, Jim Tong. Jim was a smashing bloke who took to coaching kids like a duck to water. They were not just coaches but like uncles or father figures to us, and they helped us in more ways than just rugby. Ron later was employed by Hull KR as their first academy coach, which was a very clever move by them, as he was Mr Rugby League at the time in Hull. He travelled all over the town on his Lambretta scooter, watching players and persuading them to join Rovers rather than the Black & Whites at the Boulevard. He had done the same thing in reverse whilst at Cunny, when he got the likes of Tony McGowan, Ron Martin, Chris Davidson and Dennis Oaten, to move across the river from East Hull. It was a big move for them, but at the end of the day, I am sure it worked out to be a good one.

We did not play ‘out of town’ a lot in those days, as the local league was very strong and the road system was not what it is today. The M62 was not even dreamed of and few people had cars.

One time we did play away was in the Yorkshire Cup competition. When they announced the draw at the beginning of the season we hoped we would be drawn away from home because it meant a trip away and a night on the beer. There was an apocryphal story that the Cunny under 19s team, the lads who moved up to this age group the year we joined the under 17’s, went away to play in the West Riding on one occasion and on the way home stopped at Buckles Inn near York on the A64. As the Cunny coach was about to leave, a coach from Wakefield arrived, and ‘pleasantries’ were passed between the rival groups. Allegedly Tommy Smith and Allan Kirkby went onto the Wakefield bus ‘to say hello,’ and when they staggered off they were covered in blood and in a partial state of undress. Apparently they had taken on all comers before being overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers and thrown off the coach. Fun times!

I met my first real girlfriend whilst at Cunny. Maggie Berry was her name. She was a smashing lass and still is a good friend. We still share a laugh about old times when I see her. Maggie used to sing on the working mens’ club circuit with her brother Alf, who became a big clubland turn – a country and western singer off Hessle Road, that is culture for you! Alf now lives in the posh part of the city at Kirk Ella, but in those days they lived in a terrace off Redbourne Street behind where another mate, Howard Laybourne, lived above his dad’s shop. Whilst Maggie and I were going out together we had a few ‘snogging sessions’ down the back passage and his old man, Fred, would often shout out of the bedroom window, “Hey Pol, eff off home – I want to get some sleep, you fat bastard.” Our relationship did not last long, I cannot remember exactly why – I think I was one for being with the lads and too young to start courting on a regular basis. Or perhaps it was just the exotic places I took her to.

Maggie married a real character off Hessle Road, Jimmy Hicks. Jimmy used to play for the now defunct Dee Street Recs Amateur Rugby League Club. One year they got to the Yorkshire Cup final, where they were losing with two minutes to go, when the ball was moved out to the wing and Jim took it in full stride. He flew down the touchline with only the full-back to beat, and being Jim, did not take into consideration that the rain had made the ball like a piece of soap, so he went for the big finale and dived full length for the corner – a bit like the South African winger who played for Hull FC, Wilf Rosenberg. When poor Jim landed, the ball shot out of his hands and into the crowd, whereupon the whistle blew and Dee Street had lost.

Constable Youth Club Under 17 - 1960-61Constable Youth Club Under 17 Squad - 1962-63

Some of the lads did get ‘hooked’ very early though and quite a few met their wives at the Cunny. Three former team mates who did were Willie Allan, who married Joanne Platten; Joe Kelsey, who married Carol Bilton; and Pete Walker, who married Irene Oakes. It was a really close family club and a great time in my life. There was a real friendship amongst us, and other girls that come to mind are Anne Rex, who married a fisherman, Jimmy Crellin; Sue Sharp, who was a real bonny girl whose brother Jon used to knock about with us; and Denise Dunn, who was part of our gang. I had not seen Denise since we were 1963 until one day in the mid 1980s when I was in the Spread Eagle in Withernsea with my dog Mac. It was a Sunday afternoon and when Denise came in, the dog snarled at her, which was unusual for him, but some people are frightened of dogs, who can smell fear. When I realised who it was and told him she was okay, he stopped and I told her that he was only protecting me. She said that she could not ever remember me needing protection, we had a good laugh and both she and Mac relaxed. It was great to see her again after all that time. I had a thing for her then – I thought she was ‘really nice,’ which was how you described a girl you fancied in those days. Mac loved going in the Spread Eagle, and even when I was working away, he used to try and take my wife Jacky in there when she took him for walks down the beach. She said, “Every time we walk past the beer garden entrance, he turns left to go in.” I replied that I could not understand that – knowing full well that we always called in for a pint when I took him out.

In the summer of 1962, I had my first holiday away ‘on my own.’ Mike Lunn, Pete Walker, Howard Laybourne and I rented a chalet at the Golden Sands Chalet Park in Withernsea. Mike Lunn thought he was God’s gift to women that he could pull ‘anywhere, anytime, any-place.’ He played for Cunny on the wing and later signed for Hull FC; he was an all-round athlete who also swam for England schools, but if making love was an Olympic sport, he would have been a gold medallist. Pete was madly in love with his then girlfriend, Irene, and Howard had an obsession for a girl from Cunny called Linda Hookem, but we left all the girls behind and went off on the train to ‘With.’ Withernsea was to Hull what Southend was to London – a place where working class people took their holidays before the aeroplane opened up travel to places like Majorca. I had been there lots of times in my younger years staying in places like converted railway carriages and double-decker buses. We had a great holiday – drinking in the Spread Eagle and the Butterfly and dancing at Withernsea pavilion. It was the ‘Swinging Sixties,’ with the young girls in their summer frocks and miniskirts.

Constable Youth Club Under 19

One night after a good drink – well for 16-year olds it was a good drink anyway – Howard and I met a couple of girls at the pavilion and took them down onto the sands. They were staying at the north end of the town on Nettleton’s Field, a well-known part of the resort at the time. The girl I was with and I were minding our own business when ‘Lab’ started calling to me out of the gloom. Apparently, he was having problems with his girl. Now I did not need to know this anyway, but when I heard the girl cry and him march off I jumped up and went to find out what was going on. I started running after him with my jeans falling down my knees and doing a good impression of a penguin. But he was out of sight, so I went back to my girl – only to find her consoling her friend, so all our evenings were spoiled. I never did find out what had happened with ‘Lab’ and the girl but I arranged to meet my girl again the following day. We met near the lighthouse before going back to her caravan on Nettleton’s Field whilst all her family were out. I know it was well worth the wait, but all I can remember of her was that she was from North Hull – an area I never really frequented.

Inevitably, Mike Lunn had got together with a girl from Manchester on the first night and that was him taken care of for the week – she must have been really something because he was well and truly knackered by the time we went home – so much for the Olympic champion! As I said, ‘Lab’ had a thing about Linda, and we were walking back to the chalet one night after a few drinks, when I realised I could no longer hear him behind me. I could not see him anywhere, and thought he had fallen over the cliff edge, so I shouted for the others to come and help me look for him. By the time we heard a voice somewhere in the distance I had sobered up somewhat, and we eventually found him in a gully laying on his back pulling petals out of a flower and saying ‘she loves me, she loves me not.’

It was around this time that I first started getting interested in pop music, along with country music, which at that time was not the typical sound that you heard a lot on Hessle Road – although my old man was a big fan of Jim Reeves. I was into the Stones; blues; Long Jon Baldry, who sang with Alexis Korner’s Incorporated; the Beatles to some extent; Billy Fury, who was my favourite Liverpool singer; and the Hollies. I remember Billy Fury being on at the Kevin ballroom when all hell broke loose, which was not unusual at that establishment. There were fights going everywhere and the band had stopped playing, whilst Billy Fury was watching through a gap in the curtains until someone took a swing at him and he quickly disappeared off stage.

Later in Australia I got into country music; Glen Campbell, John Denver, Merle Haggard and Charlie Pride were my favourites. I remember even when I was back home Glen Campbell was always on the radio singing Wichita Lineman, which was his big break. He was massive in the states and I understand that 52 million people a week used to watch his TV show. Someone once said to me that he looked like someone you would want your daughter to go out with. He was born in 1936, one of 12 children, in a small town called Delight in Arkansas, and learned to play the guitar without being able to read music. It certainly worked for him because after becoming a session musician and playing for many well-known singers he sold 45 million records of his own. There are many other artists that I admire from the sixties and going forward to present times, my music appreciation covers numerous forms. I only wish that I had learned to play a musical instrument.

Around this time, Peter Walker and I saw an advert in the Hull Daily Mail about an open trial being held at Rovers old Craven Park ground and decided to go along on our bikes and have a go. At the time I had only been in East Hull twice – practically a full day trip with two buses each way required to make the journey. The trials consisted of four half-hour games and we played in all four. Afterwards, Rovers’ legendary coach Colin Hutton asked to see us, and noted down our addresses and other details. When it emerged that we were still only 15, he spluttered and said he should not even be speaking to us. Nevertheless, he told us that the club would get in touch with us later if we were interested. Later, I got a message through Ron Everett, asking if I would like to play for Rovers ’B’ as well as Cunny.

K Sanderson, R Davis, P Walker, Me, D Stockman, T Ingram, J Milner, M Rollinson and J Walker on a night out at the Continental Club in HullA family night out at Skyline in 1965

I had certainly improved on the rugby front, because I signed professional forms for Hull KR on October 12th 1962, aged 16 years and five months, along with Johnny Moore, Cliff Wallis, Eric Palmer, Chris Young, Peter Fox, Les Chamberlain and Brian Mennell – all of whom made their mark on the club in various ways. The deal was that Rovers let players finish off their seasons with their amateur clubs before joining them on a more regular basis.

So I played out the season with Cunny and we won the Yorkshire Cup that year, the first time ever for a Hull team. We beat Thornhill Boys Club from Dewsbury in the final at Castleford’s Wheldon Road ground. After returning to Hull with the cup, we set off, cup in hand, to our local, ‘The Engineers Arms’. The landlady, Maud, duly took the silver chalice from our captain, Willie Allan, and offered to fill it up with amber nectar. Only on handing it back to Willie did she read the inscription on the cup – ‘Yorkshire County Continuation Cup Under 17s.’

“Bloody hell!” she said. “You bastards have been coming in here for two years!” But no more was said as we drank our fill of the Worthington E best bitter.

We also won the Hull and District Cup that season – it was a good season all round. My life had changed completely now. I was a professional sportsman, training two nights a week and playing at weekends for either Rovers ‘B’ team, eventually to became the Colts, or for Cunny. I made my debut for Rovers ‘A,’ the reserve team, against Bramley at the old Barley Mow ground on a dark winter’s day. It was a depressing place. The old dressing rooms were at the back of the pub with old rickety wooden stairs that were as steep as the north face of the Matterhorn. The visiting players’ bath was not much bigger than a normal bath and looked like a watering trough for animal. Brian Gill was the A team captain, and former long-serving first team full-back Wilf McWatt was the coach. Wilf’s only words of wisdom were, “If you make a break and pass the ball keep your eye on their full-back, he is right dirty bastard and will take your head off.”

As the runner in the forwards, with quite a turn of speed for a prop, I made a few breaks during the game. On one occasion as I ran through the defence I passed the ball to my left for Brian Burwell to score and I spotted out of my right eye the full-back lining me up for a stiff arm tackle. Just as he came near, I stepped off my left foot, raised my right elbow, which him right between the eyes, and he dropped like the proverbial stone. The referee did not penalise me, and I swear that he had a slight smile on his face as he pointed to the spot for Brian’s try. As I looked back to see the fullback face down in the mud, Brian Gill murmured in my ear, “Welcome to professional rugby league.” Then, as we lined up for the restart my fellow prop forward, Ken Grice, an experienced old hand, looked at me and said, “Well done, young ‘un!” I felt quite chuffed to be honest, and I turned out for quite a few games in the reserve team in that 1962/63 season.

Me, ‘Spider’, Billy Walster and Colin Smith in Ferry Boat InnMe and ‘Spider’ with some of the Hessle Road beauties

During the summer close season, Rovers ran coaching clinics for their ‘up-and-coming stars’ – and me. Jim Drake, a former Hull FC legend who was by then with Rovers, looked after the forwards and a Rovers legend, ‘The Cornish Express,’ Graham Paul, took the backs. We trained one night a week and Jim gave us many words of wisdom on tactics and what would be expected of us as professional rugby players. Jim and his brother Bill played in Hull FC’s great forward packs of the late nineteen-fifties and early ‘sixties. FC then had a great side under the man many believe was the instigator of modern coaching, Roy Francis. What Roy did not know about rugby league was not worth knowing. Amongst Jim’s words of wisdom was his theory about forwards that is still applicable to this day. “You have three types of forward,” he said, “runners, ball-players and crunchers.” The latter did all the tackling, ‘taking ball up’ (driving into the first line of defence) and enforcing – exactly what Jim himself did.

“The average player can do one of these things,’ he used to say. “A good player can do two of the things and the great players can do everything.” When I think back over the years about the great forwards, going back to the 1960’s, I realise that he was absolutely right. In those days, we had forwards like Derek Turner, Vince Karalius, Frank Foster and Laurie Gilfedder, who could fulfil all three roles. In the modern era, their counterparts are Sam Burgess, James Graham, Gareth Hock and Sonny Bill Williams.

Jim used to tell a story about when the Black and Whites were in their pomp. In those days, of course, they played throughout the winter, and over Christmas they had the traditional Christmas Day fixture at home to Rovers, who were not then a very strong side, and were away to Bramley at Barley Mow on Boxing Day. Roy Francis decided that as these were two reasonably easy games he would rest half of his forwards for each game and give a few reserves a ‘run out.’ In modern times, many players do not drink alcohol from the start of pre-season right through to the end of the season – but it was very different then. Roy told Jim that he would play against Rovers and would be rested for the away fixture, when Bill would play. Roy asked that those who played in the first game abstained from drinking on Christmas Eve and could have a drink afterwards, and those who had the Rovers game off should not drink on Christmas Day.

It was a plan they all agreed to. Bill decided to go and see his mother in York between the two games, but was to be back to travel on the team bus to Bramley. All the players arrived at the Boulevard in good time for the bus except for Bill. There were no mobile phones then, of course, and very few people even had landlines, so Bill could not be contacted. Roy decided that they would leave Hull and hope that Bill could get to the café near Boothferry Bridge, that both Hull and Rovers used for a meal en route – usually steak and eggs.

When the bus arrived at the café the owner informed Roy that someone had rung, saying they were on their way and not to worry. He had not left a name but it was assumed that it was Bill Drake. Jim, meanwhile, was on the bus, albeit feeling a bit under the weather due to his having imbibed more than a few drops of the amber nectar the night before.

After eating, the players were about to start their ritual walk towards Goole to stretch their legs and ‘walk off the meal’ they had just eaten, when a taxi arrived, out of which emerged Bill Drake, covered in bunting, wearing a coned hat and blowing a Christmas horn. He walked up to Roy, blew the horn in his face and wished a happy Christmas – all of which went down as well as you would imagine. Roy told him to get back in the taxi and that he would deal with him at training next week. As he turned to get back on the bus, Jim was chuckling away, as a twin brother would, when Roy turned to him and said, “I don’t know what you’re bloody laughing at Jim, you are playing today now.”

Roy was something of a disciplinarian, and when he said ‘jump’ the only question was ‘how high?’ – so there was no point in Jim arguing. So he played, and as it transpired, he was not the only one who had been ‘on the pop.’ What should have been a straightforward game was won only by a slender margin. Even the part-time professionals went off the rails now and again, and some things will never change. Rugby players will always be rugby players, and most of all human beings.

As you will have gathered, I was not very interested in work –and by then playing rugby was my main priority. I may not have been the brightest, but even I could work out that I was better off playing rugby at £7 for a win and £3 ten shillings for a loss, rather than working a basic 42 hours a week (including two hours on a Saturday morning) for £2 6s 5d a week. Added to this was my belief that Clarks only used apprentices as cheap labour and that the foreman hated me as a rebel without a cause. We were supposed to go to night school three nights a week to pass exams that then allowed you day release to go to college, but needless to say I did not go. I used to go out of the back door with all my gear, put it all in the shed and instead take my training gear and go to the Cunny and go training. My old man used to go barmy when he found out – usually from his mate, Jimmy Lloyd. Jimmy always reminds me of this when I see him whilst watching West Hull, where he is on the committee.

By this time, I was a regular in Rovers ‘A,’ playing every Saturday. Playing for Rovers opened up lots of other possibilities for me, especially with the girls. I was a bit of a ‘Jack the lad’ around town in those days. We used to meet in city centre at a pub called the King Edward opposite the old Gainsborough fish restaurant. It was a Darley’s pub and the beer was awful. At 16, I was an expert in beers – after all I had been drinking for two years at least! But it was a central place and the upstairs was the place to be seen at the time. We also met there on Mondays before going to the Locarno ballroom – we could not get a drink in there because they only had a members’ club and you had to produce your birth certificate to join. We met at the King Edward if we were going ‘around town’ or up to the Ferry Boat Inn on Hessle Haven. This was a great pub at the time, with live bands on most nights of the week. There were plenty of girls there too, and I knew quite a few of the regulars. Another good pub was the Halfway on Spring Bank, which also had live bands on, and the place really rocked.

I met my second regular girlfriend, Silvia Crickmore, at a dance in Hessle Town Hall. She was a lovely girl, whose brother was Charlie Crickmore, who at the time played for Hull City in their great team of the early sixties with players like Chris Chilton and Ken Wagstaff. One day, I went to pick Silvia up at their house in Havelock Street. I was very keen on her and had taken her out a few times but had never met her parents before then. She answered the door and took me into the lounge where her old man was sitting, reading the Hull Daily Mail’s ‘Sports Green’. He lowered the paper for a second to say ‘hello,’ and then carried on reading. The room was full of Tigers memorabilia and photographs – and Charlie was everywhere you looked. Silvia’s father lowered the paper again and said, “City did well – did you go?” When I said that I had not, he appeared aghast and looked me up and down. I said that I preferred rugby, upon which he asked if I was a Hull FC supporter. I said that I used to be, but that I was better now, and laughing nervously, told him that I played for Rovers. He looked at me as if the cat had just dragged me in, stood up without saying a word, and walked out of the door with his sports mail under his arm. I never set eyes on or spoke to him again all the time I was going out with Silvy – which was not really all that long. I was too young to settle down, we split by mutual agreement, and I do not remember ever seeing her again.

Hessle Road had quite a few pubs running its length, in fact there was an old saying you couldn’t drink half a pint in each pub without getting drunk – I made a few attempts and can confirm this is true. Our pub crawl started at the Vauxhall Tavern, built around 1809 and one of the oldest pubs in Hull, and then on to the Inkerman Tavern and the Barrel, both down side streets, but pubs you just had to visit. Back then onto ‘the Road’ to the Rose, Lilly, Alexandra Hotel (still there today), and the Adelaide Club. The latter was a great venue and one of my favourite places for a night out – and it used to have real top line entertainment in those days. Freddie Star was on one night when he first started off, whilst Freddy ‘Parrot Face’ Davies – a great comedian – and Kenny Ball and his Jazz Men were two more who appeared there and became international artists. Unfortunately, the Adelaide was demolished to build the flyover at Daltry Street and the licence was transferred to the Phoenix Club.

The 1966 Christmas Party at the Railway Club, Capper Pass

The next stop on the pub crawl, was the Strickland Arms, then the Wassand Arms, both off the main road and both still standing, before returning to the main road to the Criterion and then the Red Lion down Redbourne Street. This pub it was a great little place –right on the corner of Redbourne Street and Sefton Street. It was a bit like the Rovers Return on Coronation Street. It had a great atmosphere and had been in the Mellors’ family for years. Maude Mellors was a really typical pub landlady and we had some great times in that pub. One of our pals, Lennie Lloyd, who was a great practical joker, organised a bus trip to Bridlington and everyone in the pub put their names down to go and paid him their money every week.

On the appointed morning at 9.30, Maud opened up early to accommodate the throng – I remember that one grown man even had a bucket and spade, would you believe. We were sitting there waiting patiently when, quite casually, in walked Lenny. “Where are you lot going?” he said, looking amazed. “What!? The Bridlington bus trip – remember!!” the whole pub reverberated.

“Who organised that without asking me if I wanted to go?” was his reply. There was a deathly silence in the room. “What about the money we have been giving you every week, you fat bastard?” someone asked.

“That was for the Christmas ‘diddlum’, I told you that when I started collecting” he replied. I started to see the funny side, but I was the only one at first, and my cousin demanded to know what the hell I was laughing at. He was sitting there with a handkerchief on his head, tied with a knot at each corner, with his wife June who was dressed up to the nines, as she usually did – a good looking girl our June. In the end, Maud put some food on at short notice and we all had a day in the pub – and probably had just as much fun there.

Back to the pub crawl, there was then one of Hull’s most famous pubs – the Star and Garter – better known as ‘Rayners’ after one of its’ most famous landlords. This was the pub used by most of the fishermen and was always heaving when I was a kid. It was supposed to be the longest saloon bar in the north of England, and had four pump stations, each with three or four barmaids on a busy day, which in those days was just about every day. It was a real ‘drinker’s pub’, which also had a back room, which I am led to believe a lot of ladies of the night used – not that I frequented that, of course.

St Andrews Club was opposite Rayners down West Dock Avenue. Sunday dinner times were a great session there. The father of Hull FC player, Tony Dukes, was compere there for years. Across the road and down the next street was Dee Street Club, notable for its’ great open age rugby team, Dee St Recs, who were very strong in the 1950s and early 1960s.

Of course, pubs were only open 12 until 3pm and 6pm until 10.30 then, and I do believe that was better than today’s unlimited opening. There did not seem to be as much trouble with drunks as there is now. After Dee Street, there was the Subway Club, then, back on the main road, the next pub was the Halfway – supposedly halfway along the road but I always thought it was rather more than that, especially after a few drinks! The last pub was ‘Millers’, another pub named after one of its old landlords. Its’ proper name is the Dairycoates Inn and it is also still there. Believe me, it was quite a journey, which I never made without being three sheets to the wind, as the old fishermen used to say.

The people who lived on the road were very superstitious, particularly the ‘three day millionaires’ as the seamen used to be called, as they were very flush with money for a few days after returning home from sea. One of the things they did not like was going back on board ship with what they called ‘shrapnel’ or pockets full of loose change, so they would often literally throw it away before they got in their taxis to go down to the dock. Often, as a young kid, I profited when a fisherman who was going away threw his loose change in the air amongst us.

There was everything you needed on Hessle Road. We used to go in Burton’s Snooker and Billiard Hall, which was above a furniture shop, and we used to go in Tommy Hollome’s barber shop because he gave a great crew cut which was all the fashion in those days. Tommy’s son Keith was a lead singer in a local Rock n’ Roll band. He was quite good too, I remember seeing him quite a few times at the Half Way on Spring Bank in Hull.

Another character was Sammy Wolfe, who had a barber shop at the town end of the Road, near Daltry Street, that was very popular amongst the fishermen. They always had a cut, or their ears lowered, as we said, before going away on a 19-day trip and it was a dead giveaway when you saw a fisherman with a fresh haircut that he’d be going back to sea the following day.

On the subject of pub crawls, the ‘Old Town’ of Hull is a really good place to go, with some of the finest pubs in the entire county of Yorkshire, reflecting centuries of history. We used to meet at the Kingston, which is in the Market Place near Trinity House Lane, a really old pub with big Italian-style windows and hand-crafted wooden carvings which decorate the bar. After leaving there, we turned right where, just a few yards down the road, there is the Bonny Boat. This is a small pub, but it has a long history, its name reflecting the great days when Hull was one of the world’s biggest whaling ports. One of my mother’s cousins was the landlord here and, as a teenager, when we went in town, Mam used to say, ‘go and see your Uncle Toby.’ I always used to say ‘hello’ and although it was never much more than that, it was a good bragging right to have an uncle with a pub. Reportedly, one sea captain returned with an Eskimo he had captured during a sea skirmish. The Eskimo, complete with his kayak, was kept in the city, but pined for his homeland and his freedom until he died. His boat, now kept in Trinity House, was his memorial – a ‘bonny boat’. From there we would across the bottom end of Whitefriargate and into the quaintly-named Land of Green Ginger – the longest street name in Yorkshire. Down this street is The George, one of the oldest pubs in the city which has a truly great bar – a typical English pub.

The George’s claim to fame is as having the smallest window in the world. The unusual street name attracts speculation. Some believe it arose from the ginger trade but the more romantic prefer a very different story. It is said the street is called after a lady of the night who walked the area in the 18th Century. A red-head, it is claimed she was hailed with cries of ‘gie us a grin, Ginger.’ From there it was on to the Burlington Tavern, a popular and long established Bass house. After the Burlington, it was down a narrow passage and the entrance to Ye Olde White Harte – surely one of the most remarkable public houses in Hull. It was the venue of a critical meeting that saw the beginnings of the English Civil War, when Sir John Hotham refused entry through the gates of Hull to the Royalist forces. The room where the decision was taken, aptly named the Plotting Room, was for several years a restaurant and is now available for private bookings. The carving in the Plotting Room is original and dates back to the Jacobean Period – the 17th Century. It really is an ‘olde worlde’ pub – it even has a carefully preserved skull retained behind the bar. The story goes that the skull, which has been examined by doctors on several occasions, was found in the attic during renovation work in 1881 and is that of a poor serving girl. Others have claimed it is the skull of a young man who may have died from a blow to the head. Either way, the George is an essential place to visit.

One of the places we used to go to was the old Palace Theatre on Anlaby Road. It was built in 1897 and was one of 23 theatres that have existed in the city over the years, only a couple of which are still in existence. The New Theatre, opened in 1939, is a reconstruction of the Assembly Rooms and the Hull Truck theatre, which is now housed in a brand new building on Ferensway in the City Centre.

The Palace had been turned into a variety show establishment, with the stalls area housing tables and chairs in cabaret style. It seems old-fashioned now, in the modern day era of discos and night clubs, but the Palace was a great night out. It was under the same ownership as another old theatre, the Tivoli, which opened in 1902 as the Alexandria Theatre, before changing its name to Tivoli in 1912, and then the New Tivoli in 1914. An artiste called Arthur Lucan used to play an old women called ‘Old Mother Riley’ at the Tivoli. He used his wife as his daughter in his sketches and made quite a lot of black and white films that were quite funny at the time. I suppose he was the first ‘Mrs Brown’. Lucan actually died backstage at the Tivoli in May 1954, midway through performing his act. Drag artist Danny La Rue unveiled a bronze statue of Arthur Lucan years later in 1986 to mark the place where he died, which is now at the back of a café in what is now Tivoli House.

One act that sticks in my memory is a stand-up comedian called Joe Church. He used to walk out on the stage with a plank of wood under his arm and rested his arm on it whilst he held the microphone in the other hand. Towards the end of his act he used to say, “I suppose you are wondering why I take this plank of wood with me, and keep turning it over?” Of course, the audience usually shouted a few ribald comments, after which he said “It is my lucky plank – apart from which, it has all my jokes on the back.” He turned it round and sure enough there were postcards the full length of the plank. He then took a bow and walked off, the crowd giving him a rousing ovation. I later spoke to him at the bar and he told me he could never remember jokes, so he took the plank on with him.

We had some great nights at the Palace. In 1958, it took the name of ‘The Hull Continental’ but sadly, some seven years later, it closed its doors for the last time in 1965. One of the comperes there was Duggie Brown, whose sister Lynne Perrie played Ivy Tilsley on ‘the Street’ and who later became famous through The Comedians on television. The resident dancers, some of whom lived in a caravan at the back of the building, were the J W Jackson Girls, who each week performed a routine that appeared to the regulars to be little different from the previous week – it was just the music that had changed. The entertainment was varied to say the least, with jugglers, magicians, singers, comedians, even the occasional stripper, but it was all good clean fun and in the best possible taste. I still love live acts and club life.

A couple of years ago, I went to a ‘Hessle Road reunion’ at West Park Club down Walton Street, where the famous Hull Fair is held. It was the first time I had been in a working mens’ club for years and it was still same routine, with a couple of acts and the bingo. The bingo was the part of the evening I really could not stand – in the old days at the Phoenix, we used to go downstairs for a few quick ones and leave the women in the concert room to play.

Until quite recently, a few of my mates and I still went ‘down road’ to visit some of the old haunts. It is not quite the same these days, as most of the houses have been pulled down and new ones rebuilt, or the land turned into factory units. But it is still a great place to shop and visit.

Back to my rugby career. At the end of the 1962 season I went to Bisham Abbey to attend the coaching course set up by the rugby football league, along with team-mates Cliff Wallis, Billy Halsey and Chris Young. Two of us went by train – not a journey I’d want to repeat – and came back with Colin Hutton in his car. The other two went with Colin and came back on train. It was a cost-cutting measure – not much has changed over time!

We did not know it then, but there were some of the all-time greats of the game on that course. Dougie Laughton of St Helens became an established international and later a coach, winning pretty much everything; Terry Fogerty of Halifax, a great forward who sadly passed away a few years back; Tony Karalius, who played for St Helens for many years; Colin Clarke of Wigan, who went on to play for Great Britain and fathered Phil, who followed in his footsteps and is now a Sky TV pundit; the late, great Leeds half-back Mick Shoebottom; and Derek Robinson of Swinton, another to become a Great Britain tourist. There were too many to mention. Our coaches were Colin Hutton, Bert Cook, Laurie Gant and Albert Fearnley, who trained us hard every day. Albert was one of the famous Halifax pack of the late 50’s and early 60’s who terrorised the game, and he certainly commanded our respect.

There was a pub more or less outside the Abbey Gates, the Bull Inn, a typical little country Inn that we went into nearly every night – unless we went down the road to Marlow or Cookham. It was all new to us – I had never really been out of Hull or travelled ‘down south,’ apart from going to Wembley for the final. We had a great week that I will remember forever.

One incident will always live with me. In a pub we visited, the Ferry I think it was, there were quite a few girls, and a lot of the lads were happily chatting away with them. I was sitting at the bar when I was approached by a woman. I was only 16 and she might have been about 30 – she was tallish but very slightly built and her hair was cut short, the Mary Quant look, if you remember that; she had the shortest mini-skirt I had seen and a real low-cut top. She started talking to me, asking me what we were all doing in the area as she had heard the mixture of strange accents. I thought what a friendly sort, and at just 16 I was soon in love with this beautiful creature. I was under no illusions that she was in my league, and why she had picked me out from the mob that had invaded Cookham this evening I did not know, but I went along with the flow anyway. She asked me my name and told me hers was Simone, I had never heard such an exotic name – it all added to her attraction and I was hooked, ‘line and sinker’ as they say. As we sat on the bar stools, her with her back to the wall in the corner, her skirt started to ride up and I could not help but look down. I was definitely getting turned on and she knew it, whispering something about liking younger boys, and asking me my age. As you have to be 18 to legally drink in pubs, but only 16 to have sex, and as there were no bar staff in earshot, I said sixteen.

“Mmmm, that’s a wonderful age,” she said, “and you are a big boy for your age.” We continued to talk and I could not quite believe what we going on. Then she asked me if I fancied going somewhere quieter with her. Did I!? She went to the toilets, returned to finish her drink and said, “Let’s go outside, away from the crowd.” As she slipped off the bar stool I lowered my eyes, hoping for a glimpse of what was beneath her skirt and saw she was not wearing any panties. She looked right in to my eyes, giving me the most sensuous smile I had ever seen, then said to me, “It’s all yours if you want it.”

Coming off Hessle Road, the only time I had mixed with ladies of this age was in pubs and clubs, and most were either married to fishermen or worked in fish houses – being seduced by an older woman was totally a new experience for me, the sort of thing I could only read or fantasise about. We went out into the beer garden, where darkness was falling, and she led me round the back of an outbuilding into a short and narrow dead end. She put her arms around my neck and her lips met mine, her tongue exploring the inside of my mouth, whilst my hands slid down from her waist onto her firm bottom and her breasts were pushing into my chest so hard I could feel her erect nipples. I let my hand explore between her legs and felt her wetness as she gave a little moan. If there had been a lottery then, I would have thought I had won it.

We feverishly undid our clothing and I lifted her on to me, I could lift her quite easily, she put her arms around my neck again her legs wrapped around me as I slid inside her. It was the best feeling of my short life. Alas, it was not a prolonged one, and as I approached the point of no return I moved to pull out, but she whispered, “No, it’s okay, leave it there.” I did as I was told and just enjoyed my sensational finale. We stayed joined, still kissing, after it was over – I was still in heaven. When I put her down and she fished a pair of the skimpiest knickers out of her handbag, put them under my nose and I automatically sniffed them, the mixture of fragrance from her perfume and her love juices were beyond belief. She laughed and said, “Come on, we must get back inside.” We went back into the pub and I ordered a drink, whilst a few of the lads were grinning and looking my way, with ‘we know what you were doing’ looks on their faces.

I was still under the foolish impression I was going to finish the day in cuddled up in bed with her for the night, but ten minutes or so later an older bloke walked up, about 60 I reckon, a real country gent, all Harris tweed and corduroy trousers. He gave her a peck on the cheek and she introduced her husband. He asked her if she was ready, whereupon they both said it was nice to meet me, and as she walked out the pub arm-in-arm with him she turned and mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’

My jaw was on the floor when one of the younger local girls came up to me and whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry you are not the first, and you most certainly won’t be the last.” She said that the woman was a local and well known for her fetish for young boys. It seemed that her hubby was impotent, and knew what was going on. She would go out find someone, he would then pick her up and she would tell him the story of what she had just done. I asked her how she knew.

“I used to work for her and she used to talk about her conquests quite openly,” she said. All the locals in the pub knew what was going on and that I was this week’s or day’s victim – but I must be honest, I didn’t really mind too much. I did enjoy it – oh yes, I most certainly did.

In the 1963/64 season, I played every game in Rovers ‘A’ team and enjoyed it. But work was another matter. I had hated working at Clarks pretty well from the first day. I was hauled up in front of the manager, a Mr Collins, who started to chastise me about not going to night school and said that if I did not enrol that year they would sack me. I told him that there was no point as they did not have an evening painting and decorating course – all I ever seemed to do at work was to paint pipes, I never got the chance to do what I thought was supposed to be my job. At nearly 18, I couldn’t even weld properly. It was three years of my working life wasted.

The foreman, Jack Gledhill, put his two penneth in and, firing on all cylinders by now, I told him what to do as he had never given me any help, and I gave him a few other home truths for good measure. So it was no surprise that a few days later I was summoned to the MD’s office. Mr Peter Smythe, so the story went, had married Sir Thomas Ferens’ daughter, which had moved him up the ranks – he had never been on the shop floor and had not a clue how the other half lived. I was escorted in by Jack Gledhill again and told to sit down in front of this big oak desk. Mr Smythe read me my rights, so to speak, telling me once again that if I did not enrol I was out of the door. I told him exactly what he could do with his job in what might be termed industrial language.

Jack said, “You can’t talk to Mr Smythe like that,” so he got a taste too. I had never seen eye-to-eye with Jack, overtime being a big bone of contention. I was never offered Saturday mornings, which I could do, only evenings, when I was training – which, of course, I could not.

Fortunately, though, I had organised another job through a friend of mine who worked at Capper Pass, a big smelting plant on the outskirts of Hull, at Melton. The maintenance manager there was a chap called Harry Collinson, who happened to be a big Rovers supporter. He told my mate Tony that if they sacked me I had to go and see him and they would take me on as an apprentice to finish my time. I had already been to see Harry and told him they had sacked me, which was a bit of a white lie at the time, but I needed to get away, so it was all set up for me to start at Cappers as soon as I got clearance or my P45, whichever came first.

I was later called in and given another chance to redeem myself by Mr Smythe, who told me that as I was nearly 18, I did not have to go to night school. I panicked then, but gave him another mouthful in the hope that he would sack me. It worked that time, and I was marched out – free at last! I felt like a condemned man who has been given a pardon – a great feeling anyway. My old man fumed as only he could, almost frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. But once he had come down off the ceiling and I could tell him about Capper Pass he was okay. I had a week off and started work at Cappers the following Monday morning. It was one of the best things I ever did.

At the time, I was knocking about with a few lads – ‘Spider’ Davies, Trevor Ingram, ‘Bull’ Milner and Colin Smith, who eventually became my best man at my wedding. We drank together and ‘hung out’ a lot at each other houses. Spider, as his name suggests, was a tall lanky bloke but who could pull women like there was no tomorrow – some of them absolutely gorgeous too!Spider, Colin, Trevor and I went on holiday in the summer of ‘64 to the Norfolk Broads. We hired a boat for a week, despite the fact that you had to be 21 to do so, but my old man signed all the forms and we never let on how old we were. We paid a mate from work to take us in his car, and it was a horrendous journey across country to get there. But the boat was duly handed over to us, and after a quick lesson in how to handle it, off we went. It was a Captain class boat, like a caravan on water, with two cabins, each with two separate bunks, to use the nautical vernacular. We set off for Great Yarmouth, stopping at as many hostelries as we could on the way. We reached a vast stretch called Breydon Water, where very shallow boats must keep to the marked channels, and it really felt like going out to sea. From there, we kind of turned a corner and crossed the expanse of water to Great Yarmouth, at the mouth of the river Yare – amazing what you remember from all those years ago!

We had a great holiday with lots of drink and girls. Of course, Spider met a girl one night in Great Yarmouth and fell in love as usual. I never knew anyone fall in and out of love like him. When we moved on, he actually got a bus back to meet this girl – Colin also going with him to see a girl he had met. I’m afraid that in those days, love never entered my head. Most of the pubs we stopped at on the Broads were out of the way and often with young ladies with their parents, bored looking for some fun – so we felt obliged whenever we could help out. We used to take it in turns to take girls back to the boat – do not rock the boat certainly never came into it!

One day, I decided not to visit the alehouse that we had moored up near to, as I had over-indulged in the amber nectar the evening before. When the lads went off for a session, I stayed behind for an easy day doing what I did best then – bugger all. Whilst I was sat up in the aptly-named cockpit area, contemplating going to the pub to meet the lads, a young lady walked up the towpath. Apparently she was staying on a caravan park not far from where we were moored and had gone for a walk along the tow path. As she walked up I could see that she had a wonderful figure and I smiled at her. We exchanged a few pleasantries before I asked her if she fancied a cool drink, as it was a quite warm that day. She said, “Yes please,” so I told her to come aboard, trying to impress her with the nautical speak.

Anyway, whilst she had her drink, she was looking about as if she had never been on a boat before, so I offered to show her around. There was not really that much to see, but I caught a twinkle in her eye when she said she would like to see everything. Perhaps it was just that, but there was something about this girl that seemed to get to me in a very short time. We came to the main cabin, with single beds either side, and she sat on one and said, “Mmmm, these are comfy.” She then handed her drink to me and lay down on it, kicking off her sandals off as she did. She must have been nearly six feet tall because her head was at one end whilst her feet were nearly over the end at the other. As she lay there, her tee-shirt had moved up, showing her midriff, and she said, “Ooh, I could sleep in these no problem – they’re great.” I put the drinks down and sat on the edge of the bunk, still not 100% sure if she wanted some fun.

“I’d love to share it with you,” I said, looking straight into her eyes. She looked straight back at me, but I picked up no real emotion. Her hand was on the bunk beside her, her long slender fingers quite gorgeous in their own right, so I put my hand on hers. She then rolled it over and, entwining our fingers, lifted them both together to her mouth, first kissing, then licking my fingers, and then taking them in her mouth one at a time and slowly sucking each one. I bent over to kiss her lips and she responded with her tongue that parted my lips and entered my mouth. She then pulled my tee-shirt over my head and started to lick my nipples. I responded in kind, removing a rather sexy lace bra and making sure that I gave her equal attention. That did it, and she moaned, “Ooh yes, I love that, suck them!” As she arched her back her stomach muscles hardened, and I thought she was definitely the sporty type who worked out.

As she kicked her shorts off and I stood up to remove my jeans she smiled and then slipped her panties off. I’d never seen a shaved girl before, and as I looked she started to play with herself. She then grabbed me, pulled me to the side of the bunk and took me in her mouth, whilst I took over from her with my hand. When I got on top of her she wrapped her legs round me, I entered her and we worked our bodies together slowly. She then whispered, “I want it doggy, okay?” Ever the gentleman, I always try to oblige, and as she got on her knees with her head in the pillow, I entered her from behind. It was the best sex I’d had in my short career – this girl left them all for dead! As far as I was concerned at the time, she was an expert.

We lay together afterwards, just exploring each other’s bodies, stroking and touching, and eventually we did it all over again. We stayed together most of the afternoon before she had to go, as her parents were returning in the late afternoon. I asked could we meet again, but she was going home to Bristol the following day, which was just a bit too far away! I really had fallen for this girl – she had something that certainly turned me on.

I went to see the lads in the pub about four hours late, by which time it was closing time. I say closing time but the landlord there did not bother – there was no chance of the police being around there unless they were lost, the road was nothing more than a track. The lads were on the way out as I walked up, “Where the hell have you been?” they said, but I just said I’d fallen asleep. That night we went back in the pub, and guess who walked in with her parents. She smiled when she spotted me, but gave me a ‘please don’t come over’ look. Later, she came to the bar and we had a few words before she returned to parents. Spider said, “I think you’re in there, Pol.”

“Nah, not my type,” I replied. I’ve often wondered whatever happened to her, I will never forget her and that wonderful afternoon we spent wrapped in each other’s arms.

Spider and I were mates for a few years until he started working away and he hitched up with a girl down south. He later emigrated to South Africa and currently lives in Fish Hoek, which is now part of Cape Town. Bull Milner and Trevor Ingram drifted away too, and that left Colin and I, who remained friends for years.

Me, Trevor Ingram and John Milner in the Ferry Boat Inn