Читать книгу Goals to Gold - Lee Sandford - Страница 15

Basingstoke is an old Hampshire market town about 50 miles southwest of London. Hampshire County Council had done a deal with London to take some of their overspill and had undertaken a huge new building project. There were housing developments springing up all over the countryside that surrounded Basingstoke. The deal was if you could get a local job, the council would automatically rehouse you.

Looking back to the time just before we moved, Paul was beginning to get into a bit of trouble with our older cousins and local lads. As I looked up to my older brother so much, I have no doubt I would have soon followed in his footsteps. To give Paul and me a better start in life by moving us out of London, my parents had to sacrifice their own social lives, and the proximity to their support network of family and friends. It must have been tough for them, especially at the start, but they may have saved their sons from a life of petty crime and pretty poor prospects.

When dad managed to get a job as a security guard in a large company based in Basingstoke, we were guaranteed a new home in the local area, but the houses and school weren’t quite ready. Dad had to start his new job and give up the pub meaning we temporarily had nowhere to live, so we moved in with my nan for a few months. I was sharing a bed with my brother, we only had an outside toilet and our bath was in the kitchen. It was a far cry from the glamorous life of a professional footballer that I was already starting to dream of!

The first thing that hit me when we finally moved out to Basingstoke was how much space there was. There was the modest development of houses, a school, some shops, and then miles and miles of space for as far as the eye could see. For a kid who wants to run and run, it was heaven. Unlike my parents (I’m sure), I don’t remember missing London for a moment. I was too young for that kind of nostalgic longing. All I could see was the benefit of moving out of the big, overcrowded city and having endless clean, green space to run around in. Once I saw that, I never looked back.

The other thing that was all clean, shiny and new was our school. It had only been open for about three or four years, so Paul’s class, Year Four, comprised the oldest kids in the school. There was no old gang ruling the roost, there was no graffiti or broken equipment. It was ours for the taking.

Furthermore, our sports fields seemed endless. No more playing football on concrete courts; there was lush, green grass everywhere. I quickly became a sports nut. I was good at everything: cricket, football, running, rugby; basically, if it involved running, I was good at it. I was the school sports captain in the making. I was never happier than when I was outside, running around and getting muddy. Of course, this helped detract from the fact I was absolutely useless at my schoolwork!

Weekends in London had been spent hanging around the pub being told not to get in the way; Saturdays and Sundays were dad’s busiest times, with only a few hours off to spend with his kids. By contrast, weekends in our new home were about walking for miles and miles across green fields, and hanging out with dad for hours on end, bird watching through his top-notch binoculars. We were immersed in nature; it was fast becoming an idyllic childhood as far as I was concerned.