No, not that ‘first time’ – it’s your mind, not mine! This is my latest attempt at writing something for John Holton’s Writer’s Workshop. As you will see if you follow that link, John has given us his usual selection of themes from which to choose, and I’m going with #5 and writing about the first time that I went to a sporting event.

As this was more than sixty years ago my memory may be a little imperfect. My fantastic Dad was a great believer in introducing his kids to things they might enjoy, and for me that meant quite a few days out with him at cricket matches, and at the local saloon car racing and go-karting sites. The one which remains most in my memory, which I think was in all probability the first, was the time Dad took me to the football and began a love of the game which has lasted to this day. His efforts were made all the more special by the fact that he didn’t follow the sports that closely and knew little of them, but it was the thing Dads did for their sons, wasn’t it?

Try as I might I can’t find any records of that time which would confirm when this took place, but the game was between my local team Dover FC, as they were at that time, and Burton Albion. I have been able to confirm that both teams became members of the Southern League Division One in 1960, and I’m pretty sure that this would have been in their first season in the league, when I’d have been seven. I don’t really recall anything of the game itself but it has left one lasting impression on me: when we were walking back to catch the bus home we passed a chap working in his garden, who asked if we had been to the game and how it went. I have a very vivid memory of answering “we won 2-0” before poor Dad could even open his mouth, so excited was I for what I had just experienced.

This is the venue, Crabble Athletic Ground, which is still the team’s home:

That is a much later photo, as in the days I first went there the stand at the bottom left of the photo hadn’t been built, but you get the idea. It was a multi-purpose site: the football pitch was on the top level, and lower down were both rugby and cricket pitches, and there was even a mini golf course built on the hill beside the two levels: I once took thirteen on one of the holes, which involved a lot of walking up and down the hill due to constant overshooting of the green!

We went in through turnstiles which then led to the path up to the pitch. This is how they look now, but I recall them as being much less grand back in the day!

You’ll see from that photo that the club is now known as Dover Athletic, which has been the name since 1983, when the original club folded and were reborn under the current owner, who has devoted the time since then – and much investment – into making it the best it could be. We have enjoyed promotions and endured relegations since then, and twice even managed to make the play offs for promotion to the Football League, but in all honesty we were punching well above our weight and last season’s latest relegation has probably returned us to our true level.

I found an older photo, of a clip from the local paper, which brought back memories of a similar result:

We also played Dartford in the Kent Senior Cup in, I think, 1967, and beat them 2-1 after extra time on a dank Tuesday night. By then I was going with Ian, my best friend, though both sets of parents queried the wisdom of allowing that when we got home later than expected – explaining the concept of extra time making us miss our bus took some doing!

I have added other teams to my support list since then – namely Tottenham Hotspur and Leyton Orient – but your first love never leaves you. Once I reached the age of being trusted to go on my own or with friends I hardly ever missed a match until we moved away, even including the weakened team that played in the Kent Floodlight League on a Tuesday night, as this gave us the perfect opportunity to hurl insults at one of our PE teachers, who played for that team, knowing he could do nothing about it!

Writing this has been a real trip down Memory Lane for me, thinking not just of the football but of all the things I loved about my Dad, who sadly left us eighteen months ago at the age of 95. As I said, he didn’t know an awful lot about the game, but he did once referee a match. One Sunday morning he, my sister and I took our dog for a walk around the village playing field, which was also the home of Whitfield FC, who played in the local Sunday League. They were delighted to see us, as the referee for their match hadn’t turned up, and they pleaded with Dad to referee for them to avoid having to cancel the game. He pointed out that he knew few of the rules, but they promised to be on their best behaviour and he would only have to adjudicate on things like the ball going out of play and keeping time. All seemed to be going well until the team captain came over at some point in the second half to ask how much time was left. Dad looked at his wrist and I could see the realisation dawning on his face: his watch had stopped! I had to run home, pick up a spare watch and announce to the teams that they had actually played a 75 minute second half instead of the regulation 45. Some knackered and relieved footballers saw the funny side of it, fortunately. He had one job…

As well as attending countless football matches over the years – of all three teams, plus Norwich City in uni days and even a visit to Wembley to watch England – I played the game a lot as I was growing up. Kickabouts with Dad in the garden, with friends on the village field, and then for school and Sunday League teams: that first trip to a game has led to a lifetime love affair. I don’t think I was ever this obsessive, though:

The accents are a little thick but I’m sure you got the drift. That was Robin Hall and Jimmy MacGregor with their song Football Crazy, which was released in 1960: perfect timing to complement my memory! Life is full of these moments, isn’t it?