Memories of my dad, the cycling gas man

READING the article about the cycling plumber (Echo, November 13) made me nostalgic.

My Welsh dad was a cycling “gas man” in Okehampton, Devon, 65 years ago. No electric help for cycling in this hilly town but cycles were cheap.

Dad was the big fish in a little pond, being the boss of two other men.

Such lovely memories of sometimes seeing him as we were going to and from school. On one occasion I was on the way to the church when I was the soloist for the school Christmas carol service and, on meeting Dad doing his work, he said, “Sing up on the day.”

I loved the smell of his blue overalls.

Happy days.

Winifred Rickard Keynsham, Bristol

Football so distant from its roots

AS IF football were not already a million miles from its roots and its working class supporters, the postman has just delivered an invitation to “Get MUTV for as little as £3.50 a month this Black Friday”.

Well, well. This was the game that I played into my middle 30s, having trialled with Chelsea, captained Cardiff Uni, played for Aber Uni, the Welsh Unis team, and captained Cardiff Corinthians against Hereford United where I met and marked Il Gigante Bueno.

Even during this period, and those that followed it for some time, the game could justifiably be described as “the boys” being paid not much more than most of those whose aggregated entrance fees funded the entertainment.

Not any more, and, although this payment is well within my reach, I shall not be seduced into accepting it even at £3.50 a month which in any event is only for six months: that is a sprat to catch the mackerel that I could catch for nothing on Fishguard’s sea-board. All the talk of “levelling up” is just talk. Derek Griffiths Llandaff, Cardiff

Dad was the big fish in a little pond, being the boss of two other men

Winifred Rickard Bristol