THE DAY I MET BERT TANN (for the first time), IT WAS A BAD DAY.
It was 1951; I was fourteen, approaching fifteen, and I was in love again. The object of my affections was Valerie Grey, a pupil at St Gabriel's Convent School in Dighton Street, at the bottom of Montague Hill. The world was a vastly different place back then. Young girls were closely supervised by their parents, and the streets were empty by 10 o'clock each night. Valerie suffered from a double whammy, because she was also under the strict and watchful gaze of the Sister's of Mercy Nuns who ran the school.
I would rush home from school with wings on my heels. I would linger on the corner, just hoping to catch a glimpse of my beloved.
The girls were shadowed until they boarded their buses. The Nuns were clearly of the opinion that every boy was hell bent on seducing their charges.
I can't speak for every boy, but I am prepared to admit that my intentions were less than honourable.
So we conducted our relationship at arms length. I would escort her to her bus stop. Down Montague Street we would saunter. I would be walking on one side of the street, Valerie and her friend on the other.It was ultra platonic. She would convey messages to me by means of a loud conversations with her friend.
"We have music tomorrow night, so we will be late coming out...about 5 o'clock."
"No school tomorrow, it's a holiday."
Then, off they went on the bus. There would be a wave, and sometimes, she would blow me a kiss. A kiss that would keep me walking on air until the next time. All that I knew about her was that she lived on Fishponds Road. I was blisteringly shy at that age, but I was plotting and planning, slowly building up the confidence to take the friendship on to the next stage.
One more illusion shattered, one more broken dream.
I was late on parade, detained for a missing homework. When I arrived they were, amazingly, still there. They were dillying and dallying in the doorway. My relief was to be only temporary. As we made our way down to the Horsefair, she broke the news.
" That was a sad day. My last day in England."
"Where are you going?" Her friend joined in the charade.
"Alberta in Canada, we are emigrating."
She looked rather wistfully across the road, and then, the pair of them started singing.
"Little Mr 'baggy breeches', I love you," and then they were gone. She blew me a kiss, and they waved until they were out of sight.
I had one last throw of the dice. I knew that Valerie lived on Fishponds Road, and I knew that Eastville Park backed onto it. That night I rounded up the boys, and convinced them that Eastville Park was teeming with nubile young maidens. I led the motley crew of John, Frank and Paddy along Stapleton Road to our destination. Whilst they scanned the park for available girls, I studied Fishponds Road for one last sight of Valerie. Neither party had any success, and after five abortive laps, we were heading for the gates when we struck gold. Not female gold, but out of the gathering gloom emerged the unmistakable figure of Bert Tann.
Bert Tann had become Manager of our much loved Bristol Rovers a year earlier. He was a Jose Mourinho
figure in his time. He was young, innovative, charismatic and loved a gimmick, the pre-season training under canvas at Weston super Mare being a prime example. He had already led our unfashionable little side to the quarter finals of the FA cup. Now, here he was striding towards us; it was like having a vision of God.
He was tall, distinguished and smart. His black hair was well oiled and swept back. There was not a hair out of place.He was wearing a blazer, a strikingly white shirt, and a blue and white club tie. His grey flannel trousers were immaculately pressed, and his brown brogue shoes were highly polished. His trademark handkerchief dangled foppishly from his breast pocket, partly obscuring the huge club badge. His dog, either a red setter or an Irish wolfhound, trotted by his side on a loose lead.
"I'm going to speak to him." I muttered.
"You can't do that !!" John and Paddy spoke as one.
Too late, he was upon us. He nodded and smiled.
"Alright Bert?" I inquired with as much nonchalance as I could muster.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw 'Bert' freeze, then turning in his tracks,he struck with the speed of a cobra, grabbing the lapels of my coat, raising me to tip toes and pressing me against a tree. I could feel the heat of the anger in his eyes. I could feel his hot breath on my face, and I could see the hairs in his nostrils quivering.
" The name," he hissed, "is Mr Tann."
He relaxed his grip on my coat, and brushed me down, studying my blazer badge as he did so. " St Bwendans " He had a Jonathon Woss type speech impediment.
"I would suggest that the next time you wish to be wude to me, you wemove your school blazer. I'm sure your Headmaster would love to know about this."
He walked away. I was quite badly shaken, John, Paddy and Frank were lying on the floor, helpless with laughter.
I never did see Valerie again, or hear what happened to her. I was, however, to meet 'Bert', but in different circumstances. That's another story.
 |
| Dighton Street Convent School, bottom of Montague Hill. |
I would rush home from school with wings on my heels. I would linger on the corner, just hoping to catch a glimpse of my beloved.
The girls were shadowed until they boarded their buses. The Nuns were clearly of the opinion that every boy was hell bent on seducing their charges.
I can't speak for every boy, but I am prepared to admit that my intentions were less than honourable.
So we conducted our relationship at arms length. I would escort her to her bus stop. Down Montague Street we would saunter. I would be walking on one side of the street, Valerie and her friend on the other.It was ultra platonic. She would convey messages to me by means of a loud conversations with her friend.
"We have music tomorrow night, so we will be late coming out...about 5 o'clock."
"No school tomorrow, it's a holiday."
Then, off they went on the bus. There would be a wave, and sometimes, she would blow me a kiss. A kiss that would keep me walking on air until the next time. All that I knew about her was that she lived on Fishponds Road. I was blisteringly shy at that age, but I was plotting and planning, slowly building up the confidence to take the friendship on to the next stage.
 |
| 15 year old Boy from Bristol |
One more illusion shattered, one more broken dream.
I was late on parade, detained for a missing homework. When I arrived they were, amazingly, still there. They were dillying and dallying in the doorway. My relief was to be only temporary. As we made our way down to the Horsefair, she broke the news.
" That was a sad day. My last day in England."
"Where are you going?" Her friend joined in the charade.
"Alberta in Canada, we are emigrating."
She looked rather wistfully across the road, and then, the pair of them started singing.
"Little Mr 'baggy breeches', I love you," and then they were gone. She blew me a kiss, and they waved until they were out of sight.
I had one last throw of the dice. I knew that Valerie lived on Fishponds Road, and I knew that Eastville Park backed onto it. That night I rounded up the boys, and convinced them that Eastville Park was teeming with nubile young maidens. I led the motley crew of John, Frank and Paddy along Stapleton Road to our destination. Whilst they scanned the park for available girls, I studied Fishponds Road for one last sight of Valerie. Neither party had any success, and after five abortive laps, we were heading for the gates when we struck gold. Not female gold, but out of the gathering gloom emerged the unmistakable figure of Bert Tann.
Bert Tann had become Manager of our much loved Bristol Rovers a year earlier. He was a Jose Mourinho
figure in his time. He was young, innovative, charismatic and loved a gimmick, the pre-season training under canvas at Weston super Mare being a prime example. He had already led our unfashionable little side to the quarter finals of the FA cup. Now, here he was striding towards us; it was like having a vision of God.
 |
| Bert Tann. Our greatest ever Manager. |
He was tall, distinguished and smart. His black hair was well oiled and swept back. There was not a hair out of place.He was wearing a blazer, a strikingly white shirt, and a blue and white club tie. His grey flannel trousers were immaculately pressed, and his brown brogue shoes were highly polished. His trademark handkerchief dangled foppishly from his breast pocket, partly obscuring the huge club badge. His dog, either a red setter or an Irish wolfhound, trotted by his side on a loose lead.
"I'm going to speak to him." I muttered.
"You can't do that !!" John and Paddy spoke as one.
Too late, he was upon us. He nodded and smiled.
"Alright Bert?" I inquired with as much nonchalance as I could muster.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw 'Bert' freeze, then turning in his tracks,he struck with the speed of a cobra, grabbing the lapels of my coat, raising me to tip toes and pressing me against a tree. I could feel the heat of the anger in his eyes. I could feel his hot breath on my face, and I could see the hairs in his nostrils quivering.
" The name," he hissed, "is Mr Tann."
He relaxed his grip on my coat, and brushed me down, studying my blazer badge as he did so. " St Bwendans " He had a Jonathon Woss type speech impediment.
"I would suggest that the next time you wish to be wude to me, you wemove your school blazer. I'm sure your Headmaster would love to know about this."
He walked away. I was quite badly shaken, John, Paddy and Frank were lying on the floor, helpless with laughter.
I never did see Valerie again, or hear what happened to her. I was, however, to meet 'Bert', but in different circumstances. That's another story.
Comments
Post a Comment