Cherished Football Highlights
Anthony Smith of Westcliff-on-sea, Essex remembers:
My earliest memory of football with my dad was one glorious day in July 1966. I was aged five and he was dancing around the front room like he had just single-handedly won the World Cup for England. There were empty bottles of beer strewn around the room, discarded wherever Dad had been too nervous to remain seated when the final against West Germany went into extra time. Like most of the country, we watched the final as a family on a black and white television set and at the final whistle the wild celebrations from Wembley were mirrored in our front room as Mum and Nan joined Dad in a celebratory jig.
England’s victory earned me a 10s note and a handful of change after Mum and Dad had been out that evening to celebrate. It was the most money I had ever been given and was gratefully received by my World Cup Willie money box.
So, I knew the importance of football to Dad, and I started to take a real interest in the game. Long before I kicked a real football, I was playing indoors with a pair of rolled-up socks, lashing them Geoff Hurst-style into an imaginary goal net in my bedroom.
Whenever Dad went to games, I started to pester him to take me. There was no supporting any of the big glamorous London teams for Dad. His heart was very much with our local club, Southend United. Dad would meet his brothers in the ground and usually the home games took place on a Friday evening to avoid clashing with the Saturday afternoon kick-offs at West Ham United, Tottenham Hotspur, Arsenal, or Chelsea.
My first visit to Roots Hall was just before my seventh birthday in November 1968. Southend had been drawn at home to non-league King’s Lynn in the FA Cup first round and Dad had finally thought I was old enough to go with him to see the game. In front of a crowd of 9,983, Southend amazingly won 9-0 with hat-tricks from Gary Moore and Billy Best.
I replayed every one of Southend’s goals in my head that night before finally falling asleep. I slept with the matchday programme under my pillow as I dreamed of my new heroes.
Just before Christmas the next month, Dad took me back to Roots Hall to see the next round of the FA Cup. Once again, Southend were drawn against non-league opposition, Brentwood Town. And it was festivities all the way as Southend crushed their fellow Essex team 10-1. Forwards Moore and Best surpassed their exploits of the previous round by scoring four and five goals, respectively. The Southend crowd were delirious and chants of “We want 11” rang out around the stadium.
The smell of the hot dogs and burgers with onions and the pungent reek of the gents toilet block linger in my memory. But the memory I cherish most is the alone time. Even among a crowd of 13,107, the feeling of having Dad all to myself for several wonderful hours was brilliant. Dad was all mine from the walk from our home off Southend seafront, up Pier Hill and then through the High Street and finally Victoria Avenue towards Roots Hall. No sharing Dad’s affections with my siblings, Mum or Nan; all mine for those precious few hours.
Like most men of his generation, Dad was not a touchy-feely individual. He wasn’t one for talking of his feelings or uttering those words that come so easily to me now with my children, “I love you”, but I knew through his actions I was loved and cared for.
Dad is long since gone but his love for his beloved Southend United continues through me all these years later and it’s a love I have passed on to my children, too.