OLD AZURIANS

I shall never forget, neither will those other gallant lads, that afternoon in late October 1955. As captain I had arrived at West Park on the bus carrying a sack containing black shirts, rugger balls and lemons. In the changing rooms we assembled in dribs and drabs, peering through the windows wondering if our opposition, HMS Collingwood, would have sufficient sailors confined to ship to play us.

 

Gradually ticks on my list indicated we nearly had a full side and with the arrival on bicycle of four young schoolboys detailed to play by sixth-former John Hooper, acting in his capacity of liaison officer, we now had a full side. As I struggled to cut up the lemons with a penknife the cry went up “they have arrived” followed by “my god they have brought two teams”.

 

As I made my way to investigate sailors and their families started pouring off the coaches. “We only expected your second team” I exclaimed. “That’s alright”, said a burly matelot, “we have brought a few supporters with us”. Unknown to us it was the weekend of Trafalgar Day Parade, all leave had been cancelled and only those taking part in official sports fixtures were excused the ceremony.

 

Sailors tunics and gold-braided jackets appeared on every vacant peg. Within minutes fifteen burly figures took to the field in smart new kit. They even provided two suitably dressed touch judges, unheard of for a second team game.

 

Cheered on by their fifty or so supporters Collingwood quickly took the lead and by half-time had amassed forty-five points. I had already conned them into playing only thirty minutes each way by telling their skipper that the hockey players would pinch all the hot water in the showers if we played late.

 

Somehow in the second half we managed to contain the score to ninety-four, and believe it or not they clapped us from the field and chaired some of our smaller schoolboys back to the changing room.

 

After I had collected the match fees I made my usual appeal for volunteers to come to tea. The changing room quickly emptied leaving one small schoolboy who introduced himself as Algernon and said he was willing to help entertain the visitors.

 

We climbed aboard the first coach to lead the convoy to “The George”. Both the coaches were parked on the forecourt with all the precision of a naval manoevre and to the amazement of the management about eighty sailors, officers, wives and children trooped into the bar. The usual half dozen plates of sandwiches disappeared within minutes and Algernon and I quickly became engaged in filling jugs with beer and topping up glasses.

 

Being outnumbered about forty to one the Navy quickly made it clear that no more hospitality was expected from us. In fact jugs appeared at regular intervals bought I believe in order of rank. By six o’clock sea shanties were ringing round the bar, unheard of before at the George.

 

By eight o’clock the festivities showed no sign of of abatement and I was  beginningto feel for the safety of Algernon – you know what sailors are!

 

By eight-thirty regulars were having difficulty getting into their bar and several children in the party had fallen asleep. With a hearty vote of thanks for the game and hospitality followed by three cheers for the George they filed past shaking Algernon’s and my hand on the way to the coaches.

 

We waved goodbye  as the coaches sped off into the night. Algernon mounted his bicycle and wobbled off down the road never to play again. I gathered up my sack containing the muddy shirts and balls and made my way to the bus stop pondering what press report to submit next week but storing up in my memory “A Night to Remember”.