Читать книгу To Cap It All - Kenny Sansom - Страница 11

I went to an all-boys school called Beaufoy Secondary School, which was situated in the Lambeth Walk, south London, and it was during my time here that I won my first England schoolboys’ cap. The Chelsea legend John Hollins presented me with it in a big elaborate ceremony in the main hall we used for assembly. John gave a great big speech to all the boys about sport and education. He told us that football was great, but that our schoolwork must come first. Later, when we were alone, he whispered to me, ‘Just do what you want, Kenny. If it’s football that’s in your blood, then go for it.’ I willingly took his advice.

Our sports teacher was Mr Bond. My name is Bond – James Bond. Oh, he was so smooth and fit. He was also excellent at his job. I can’t say he actually produced top-class athletes, but he was enthusiastic and encouraging, which was good enough.

When I was playing football for England schoolboys while at Beaufoy, there was another pupil playing basketball for the country. Mr Bond nurtured any boy who demonstrated talent, so I guess that, as well as being a smoothie, he was also a great motivator. Later I was to be managed by another smoothie, George ‘Stroller’ Graham, but that was way down the line.

This was the late sixties in London and there were lots of black lads living in our area. Attitudes to racism, which had been born out of ignorance more than anything else, were rapidly changing. My parents had been raised in the heart of postwar London at a time when close-knit communities resented what they perceived to be an intrusion in their ‘manor’, but I’m glad to say this was never an issue for us. A generation down the line made a big difference. Later on I was to become great pals with Viv Anderson (the first black player to represent England) and Vince Hillier (my big buddy at Crystal Palace), so, even if I had taken any of these small-minded prejudices on board, it would have been wiped out when I met these true gentlemen.

I was in Tudor House, and there is no way on earth you could describe our housemaster as smooth. He was a big black man who stood for no nonsense whatsoever. If you misbehaved you got the slipper and there was no escaping it. I’d like to say I was smart enough never to get caught, but I was driven by fear more than by brains. Having some old boy whack me over the backside with anything at all filled me with terror.

At least my fear made me sharp and my little legs run faster than the wind. I’m a bit embarrassed to confess that sometimes I would get a mate of mine to carry out a prank on my behalf. I’d think up something wicked and then pass the dirty deed on. I’d feel guilty for a while, but then my sense of humour, which was always waiting in the wings, used to click in and, even though I say it myself, we would all end up roaring with laughter.

Some of the boys may have had a sore arse, but not Sansom. My arse stayed a slipper-free zone. I’m talking about daft stuff here – never anything serious. School meant sport, lessons and hopping the wag – normal schooling for most of us.

One of my best mates, Tony Morris, lived in a flat not too far from our school and his parents were out at work all day, so naturally it was his home we invaded on a regular basis. We’d sit there chatting about football and girls while scoffing choc-ices and lollies out of his freezer.

I wasn’t a rough, tough, kid – far from it. I only ever had one fight, and that was a reaction to catching some rotten kid banging my brother David’s head on the ground. I didn’t have a violent bone in my body, and still haven’t, but I saw red that day. David and I, like most brothers, often argued, but if outsiders threatened us we would defend our own.

Defending has always been a bit of a theme in my life. I find it quite ironic that I could defend for my country for almost a decade, but that I often found myself too afraid to defend those close to me. Take Elaine, my childhood sweetheart and wife of 27 years, for example…