Up the Clarets!!!!

Alastair Campbell, Matthew and the signed Burnley FC shirt.

This child sized Burnley football club shirt of our Matt's has a very interesting history.

But it needs some background information to explain the significance.

Long ago when I was young, my dad, myself and eventually my mum, were avid supporters of Burnley FC when I lived in  Lancashire. Until I was 13, we were at East Street, Woodcroft, then on to Haslingden Old Road, Rawtenstall. 

Every home game would see us atop a double decker bus making the journey "over t'moor", (as folk would say), from Rossendale, to drop down the other side into Burnley itself. We caught the bus opposite the Co-op shop at the bottom of Thorn Street, and there were extra ones on match days  A sense of anticipation was palpable and the general hum of conversation about the opposing team and our team, rolled on with the bus as it carried on its journey, packed to the gunwhales!

If you rode on the top deck, you could hardy see through the haze of cigarette smoke! On wet days, the windows all steamed up, and the smell of damp clothing added to the atmosphere.   

The bus disgorged its passengers,having completed the long steep hill down from the moor as it reached the Bus station. We joined the hoards of others all walking towards Turf Moor ground. Come rain, hail, sleet or shine. Snow was more difficult!! In harsh winters the road over the top down into the town could be closed. 

Burnley were in the First Division and a really great side. It is the one and only time I ever attempted to knit anything,not being domestically useful(!) and painstakingly did knit one, purl one, in the two colours of Claret and Blue, until I had a scarf long enough.

This I festooned with badges of the Burnley players. I also had a football rattle. I'll bet Health and Safety would ban them now!

In the season of 1961/62, Burnley progressed through some thrilling FA Cup Final matches to reach the hallowed turf of Wembley itself.

There was a ticket lottery, using numbers in the programmes and dad got a ticket allocated and I didn't. There were two other lads we knew who also got tickets.

So, he decided to take us all to Wembley on one of the overnight coaches provided by the club. Then accompany us all the way to the ground, leaving me with his own ticket, and go back to watch the game on TV at his cousin's, who lived a stone's throw from the station at Wembley itself.

I was  just 14 years old and had never been to London in my life before. 

So it was a great adventure.

We arrived very early in the morning, and after some breakfast in a cafe, dad took us to see the sights, knowing London like the back of his hand.

I was so disappointed with Buckingham Palace, pronouncing it to look like a biscuit factory! maybe I expected the grandeur of Windsor Castle!

Eventually we got to dad's cousin's and had some lunch.

Here I am outside Buckingham Palace 

And with mounting excitement we walked up Wembley Way with the chants of the supporters, and the colourful sea of team scarves and flags, not to mention the rattles!!

All along the route were ticket touts, and we also had to keep our pockets secure.

I will never know to this day how dad felt as he left us at our entrance.

I only know it was a sacrifice for him,made voluntarily.

Unfortunately we lost 3-1 to Spurs! But it was still an experience to have been there.

So, on to the rest of the story.

Moving quickly forward, when our Matt was born and still a youngster, we lived in Cowplain Hampshire, and dad got him a Burnley bobble hat, in the hope that eventually his grandson would show an interest in football. Obviously those who knew him would see his love of the game, and also that of cricket.

Dad with Matthew, 1977 

So to continue again.......

We moved up to Birmingham in1981, and the nearest football team had to be Aston Villa as they also play in Claret and Blue. Matt was 7 when he went to his first match at Villa Park. He became an avid supporter, and also fulfilled an ambition when he played on the hallowed turf with a team from work. We were all there cheering him on! They lost, but to him it didn't matter!! He was cock-a-hoop!

Meantime becoming political animal, (and how!) he discovered that Alastair Campbell was going to be in Birmingham at the ICC, giving a kind of lecture and question and answer session.

He got a ticket like a shot!

During the evening Alastair said he had a signed Burnley FC shirt to give to the person who asked him the best question.

So Matt managed to have the mike and proceeded to tell the story of his Grandad Smith and his mum, Vivien, and the trip to Wembley. Then he asked Alastair if he would've given up his ticket to go to Wembley.

Alastair said that was a very hard question to answer, being a rabid Burnley supporter himself, and didn't think he could've done it!!

As a result he gave Matt the Burnley shirt having signed it.

And what a happy bunny he was!!

He told his grandad all about it and it passed into the Smith archive of stories!

The stuff of legend!

When the girls ruled the roost!!

In this picture, the top of East Street can just be seen on the right, it's gable end appearing off white. To the left of the chimney are the new houses being built in the 1980's. These are on the fields where we had the hen pens, and where we used to play. Some of the neighbours we knew let us use the hen huts as our own special "dens". We girls had one and the boys another. So enjoy another letter from the "Woodcroft" selection and more to follow!           

The new houses being built in the fields where we used to play

Friday night was bath night!!

I remember when we lived up East Street, having a bath in front of the open fire, complete with it's fireguard of course. It felt scratchy and when the water became cooler, mum would boil some more in the kettle and pour it in.You had to make sure you tucked your knees under your chin so as not to be accidentally burned!

I hated having my hair washed, and the jug of water pouring over my head making soap suds run into my eyes so they would sting,was a source of lament! Eventually I would learn how to hold my head face up so the water poured down my back instead. On becoming a teenager, it was my mum's turn to constantly tell me that "You wash your hair too often" and also "You shouldn't go out straightaway now you've washed your hair, you'll catch cold"!                At what point we graduated to using the bath in the back bedroom I cannot remember, but here is a letter I wrote about it to the Rossendale Free Press, from Peter Fisher's archives. His sister Maureen kept them in a scrap book.

The last letter is one from our dad, and he is writing about his father-in-law Jimmy Westwell, who was known as "Jimmy Curly". Here is the transcript. 

"East Street has featured in your columns recently.At number 12, there was a gas bracket in the wall in the attic for illumination.

When required, the arms were swivelled from the wall before the gas was lit.  It glowed in an orangey-yellow arc.

My wife's father, Jimmy (Curly) Westwell, shouted from the attic one evening "Ethel! There's summat burning up here" She, (dad's wife) went to investigate. It was his own mop of hair that was singed. He was standing too near the fire .

Neither of them are with me now, but the memories linger on. "