1954 - A year of decisions.

Johnny Mike Frank Ronny Paddy 

We meet every Monday night at the Myrtle Tree in Hotwell Road.
Five old boys with a million memories, and a common love for Bristol Rovers Football Club.

We first met in 1944. It was my seventh birthday on the very day that I announced to Mum that I was off in search of  friendship.
"Trouble doesn't travel uphill." Mum directed me to turn left and head for Kingsdown Parade.
 I turned right, and wandered off down Marlborough Hill. Before I'd even reached Eugene Street, I somehow knew I was about to strike gold. I could hear that most magical of sounds. I could hear the sound of children at play.

I turned the corner and stood spellbound. At the far end, the Montague Hill end, were a group of about a dozen young girls. They were chanting, laughing and shouting as they threw balls, skipped and played hopscotch.

The rest of the road, the bulk of it, was taken up by a fast and furious game of football, which was being played by a group of young boys who were all roughly about my age. I stood behind the goalmouth at the Marlborough Hill end. The goalmouth consisted of a tree and a pillar, and looked far more professional than the usual piles of jumpers.


 The goal mouth

I stood, waiting patiently for an invitation to join in. The goalkeeper, a stocky young lad with a shock of  brown hair appeared to be the boss. He was barking out orders and instructions to all and sundry. He was wearing a thick green crew neck jumper, and a pair of woollen gloves. He looked just like all the professional goalkeepers I  had seen on the backs of cigarette cards.
"Don't fart about with it there Johnny," he roared at the blonde, curly haired boy in front of him. "Put your foot through it, and get rid of it."
"It was your ball Pat. You should have come for it." The blonde boy fought his corner.
"Our John's right." A younger blonde boy spoke out. He was clearly speaking in favour of his older brother.
"Keep out of it Frank, I will sort it." Johnny pulled rank.
Another shot flew past the tree. I stuck out a foot, and for the third time in a few minutes, I prevented the well used tennis ball from journeying down Marlborough Hill. As I threw the ball back to the 'boss', a woman's voice from one of the upper floor windows summoned 'Freddy' to lunch. The plump mid-field general, who was wearing a pair of wellington boots trudged forlornly off.
"That's all we needed." The boss clearly wasn't happy, and then he turned and looked at me.
 "Fancy a game?"
I nodded, trying to look cool.
"We're three - two down; what's your name?"
"Mike." I nervously edged my way out on to the hallowed cobblestones.
"We've got Mike." The boss bellowed the information to the opposition.
I managed to score twice in quick succession. The 'boss' grabbed the ball, thrust his index finger and thumb into his mouth and produced a piercing whistle
"That's it: full time: we won four - three." He smiled and beckoned me over to join himself, Johnny and Frank. We sat on the pavement, our backs against the wall, and stared in silence out onto the bombed building waste at the rear of Marlborough Street.
 Paddy turned out to be a cousin that I didn't know I had.
 In one foul swoop I had found football, friendship and family.
It was the start of an alliance that is still going strong some 70 years later.

 Take me back in time, maybe I can forget.
Turn a different corner and we never would have met. 

So sang George Michael way back in 1986, and whilst writing my memoirs, Just a boy from Bristol, I have become acutely aware of just how much a few random decisions and chance meetings can change the course of our journeys through life. 1944 was such a year, and exactly ten years later, 1954 was to be another.

I was seventeen in the May of that year, and I had already started to mark time in life as I was due to start my National Service the following year. The strong alliances that we had forged as young boys all those years earlier were still there, but slowly, things were beginning to change. Johnny had found love with Janet, the younger sister of Bristol Rovers legend George Petherbridge, and was drifting away, and Paddy had already started his National Service in the Royal Navy. I was working as an insurance clerk for Royal Exchange in Corn Street, and I was desperately looking for love and trying to lose my virginity.
I was managing to fall in love on a regular basis, but I was desperately shy, and struggled in my relationships with the girls. The latest girl to attract my interest
and attentions lived in the lower floor of the block of
flats that made up Eugene Street.
I will call her Mona Lisa, because I understand she is still
alive and happily married. She was always sat in her open
window staring out at the world. She had long black hair and
a pale, gentle beauty. After a few nervous conversations through the window, I finally plucked up the courage to ask her out. To my amazement she agreed, and I was set for my first ever official date.

I combined it with my birthday, and rolled up in a brand new outfit. I had opened up a credit account with Horne Brothers and purchased a pale blue, drape jacketed suit with tapered trousers. A sort of high class Teddy Boy outfit. We went to the old Embassy cinema in Queens Road, and watched Cary Grant in Gunga Din. I cried as Din was shot, and died, as he sounded the alarm on his bugle. Looking back, it was probably quite a shrewd move, because she cuddled up closely, and wiped away my tears with her fingers.


We walked home slowly, her hand in mine, and her head on my shoulder. We kissed goodnight, and I watched her into her house. She waved before she disappeared inside, and I was walking on air as I strolled back up Marlborough Hill.
Her mother played darts for the Albert in Marlborough Street, and I drank there myself from time to time. Mona Lisa asked me to partner her on the dart's team annual, end of season outing. I jumped at the chance, and we boarded the coach and rattled our way down to Clevedon and the Salt House Public House.

A lot of booze was drunk that night, although Mona and I remained sober. We cuddled up on the return journey, and when we got back, everyone piled back into The Albert. Mona's mother pulled me to one side.
"I'm going to trust you to take my daughter home." She studied me closely. "Do I have your word? You do understand?"
I nodded: I understood only too well.
I was seventeen, and that night I kissed a girl, really kissed a girl, for the very first time. I wanted more, and I believe that she felt the same. I suddenly realised that I didn't know the next move. I nibbled at her neck. She moaned softly and I nibbled some more.
I had a sudden vision of her mother's face, and I heard her voice. Do I have your word? You do understand?
I had one final nibble at her neck, and then I gently ushered her into the house, and walked away.

The following night, I rushed home from work, tidied myself up and headed down to Eugene Street. A light was shining from her flat and the window, as ever, was open. Mona Lisa was sitting in the window, she was wearing a chiffon scarf around her neck. As I approached, she moved away, the window closed, and the light went out. I was devastated, and I headed down the lane to The Albert. There was the usual crowd at the bar, and the usual buzz of conversation. It fell silent as I entered, and then Mona Lisa's mother walked across the room towards me.
I didn't see the left hook coming. The punch caught me to the side of my mouth, and her several rings cut through my flesh and drew blood. I dropped to one knee as she stood over me with her right fist clenched.
"If you ever lay one finger on my daughter again...so help me god, I'll swing for you." She turned and walked away. Someone at the bar clapped, and someone else sniggered.
I walked away as well. I never went in The Albert again, and I never saw Mona Lisa again. I had another eight months before I went away on National service. That was time enough to waste several more golden opportunities that might have changed my life, but more of that later.
Take me back in time, maybe I can forget.
Turn a different corner and we never would have met
Would you care?












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