Editor’s note: During the course of recent correspondence I came across this article by Mark Leesdad. Knowing that it would be of interest to many of our readers I asked Mark if we could reproduce it on this site and he kindly agreed.
Looking back, it must have been an evening game. I say ‘must have been’ because, as I recall, we’d spent the morning down at Bristol City’s Ashton Gate ground, collecting autographs. Yes, it must have been an evening game.
It was the summer of 1963 and football clubs were busy with close season training and pre-season friendlies. And Bath City had pulled off something of a coup in the pre-season friendly stakes. A game at Twerton Park against top Welsh club Cardiff City. Cardiff City, an autograph hunter’s dream, a side packed with internationals and, the icing on the cake, they’d just signed the legendary John Charles, bringing him back to his homeland from one of the top Italian clubs – Roma I think. The papers were full of his return and a big crowd was expected to see the ‘Gentle Giant’ as he was known, playing his first game back in England.
So this was the plan. Autographs at Ashton Gate, catch the train to Bath, watch the match, hopefully get a few Cardiff City autographs at the end of the game, then train back to Temple Meads. The plan got off to a very good start. “Where are you lads off to today then?” asked Bristol City legend John Atyeo, as he patiently signed the umpteenth photo, newspaper picture or team picture, for our group of autograph seeking, pen pal satisfying youngsters. “Bath City – they’re playing Cardiff and John Charles is in the side.” “Want a lift up?” asked John. Is the Pope Catholic? “Yes please,” we all responded.
And so, the six of us crammed into John’s old Morris Minor. I say six of us, seven if you count John’s old sheepdog. As I recall, ‘Big John’ lived in Dilton Marsh, so it wasn’t strictly en route, but he went out of his way for us that day, something I’ve never forgotten.
We got to the ground in plenty of time but, for some reason or other, there was little opportunity to get autographs before the game – I think the Cardiff party had been held up and had no time to stand around satisfying the demands of the huge crowd of autograph hunters gathered around the dressing room door.
The game? Well, it was a long time ago, but, if my memory serves me well, it finished one apiece – no doubt some local historian will correct me if I’m wrong. But it was an entertaining game with the countless Welsh internationals in the visitors’ line up, demonstrating their soccer skills. And none more so than the majestic John Charles, who simply oozed star class.
At the end of the game, we had a problem. To start with, the crowd of autograph seekers now waiting at the dressing room door had grown to epidemic proportions, making the chances of getting all, or even any our pictures signed nigh impossible. Secondly, our train back to Bristol was due to leave in half an hour.
And so, with heavy hearts, we abandoned our plan to stay behind for the treasured much in demand signatures and rushed to the station to get our train. We only just made it. And then, as the train pulled away and we made our way down the carriages looking for an empty compartment, an unbelievable sight awaited us. Taking up two or three carriages were the entire Cardiff City team. There was the star man himself – John Charles – with team mate and brother Mel, Ivor Allchurch, Derek Tapscott, Alan Harrington, Graham Verncombe, Barrie Hole and Peter King, to name but a few. It was certainly a ‘pinch me I’m dreaming’ moment.
Of course, what we hadn’t known was that the Cardiff team had come by train, with a local coach firm taking to the ground and then back to the station. And, because of the train timetable involved in them getting back to Bristol and then changing trains to complete their journey back to Cardiff, they had just enough time for a quick shower before jumping straight onto the coach for the station, much to disappointment of the hoards of autograph hunters at the ground.
For the duration of that unforgettable Bath to Bristol train journey, we mingled with those soccer superstars of yesteryear, obtained countless autographs, as, in the comfort of British Rail’s finest, they obliged every request for a signature, none more so the legendary John Charles, who must have finished the journey with writer’s cramp.
We disembarked at Temple Meads in a bit of daze. Walked all the way home, talking nineteen to the dozen about our good fortune. Even the ticking off we got from our parents for being late couldn’t dampen our spirits.
Thinking about it, we were quite late home, so it must have been an evening game!
