While the Aston Villa defence may not have been quite as generous as we’d hoped at the weekend, West Ham supporters still have cause to be grateful to the Midlands club. We may well have acquired our iconic colours from them.
There is a wonderful story that when we were in our infancy a man named Bill Dove, who helped train the Thames Ironworks team and was the father of one of the better players, was at a fair in Birmingham where he was challenged to a foot race by four Villa lads who happened to be there as well. What’s more, they wanted to have a few quid on the result.
Unfortunately for them, Bill was a top-class sprinter and romped home a clear winner. More unfortunate still, they didn’t have the cash to honour their debt – and no one took plastic in those days. Just as it was all on the point of turning ugly it transpired that one of the Villa boys was responsible for doing the club’s washing and he offered a complete set of kits by way of payment. The story goes he later told his incredulous bosses that the gear had mysteriously “gone missing”.
Sadly, there’s not a shred of evidence to support the tale – which is a shame, because I love the idea of receiving stolen goods from the Villains.
Early photographic evidence suggests that Thames Ironworks – which every Hammer from the age of seven upwards should know was the factory side which evolved into West Ham United FC – played its first games in a dark blue strip, before switching to light blue shirts, white shorts and red socks. However, as all those pictures were monochrome the whole business is not as black and white as might be hoped.
So if Thames Ironworks never played in claret and blue, when did West Ham first do so? “The earliest photograph I have been able to find showing West Ham wearing today’s colours was taken on 16 January 1904,” says historian John Simkin. “The game was against Plymouth Argyle at the Memorial Ground.”
Simkin is a clever man, and he’s got three degrees to prove it (he’s not got the Three Degrees, obviously – that would be tantamount to kidnap, which is clearly a very serious offence). Simkin doesn’t believe the Bill Dove story, but he reckons there might be an Aston Villa connection. He says: “The directors of West Ham were seriously concerned about the financial situation of the club at the beginning of the 1903-04 season. Given their perilous situation, did the wealthiest club in England take pity on them and donate them a set of claret and blue shirts?” I guess we’ll never know.
You’d think that no shirt would be complete without a badge, but study the old photos and you’ll see that West Ham teams of the past often played without wearing one (a badge, not the shirt – this isn’t Newcastle). And when they did, there was no castle. Early shirt badges merely had the two crossed hammers that represent our ship-building heritage. The highly stylised fortress which symbolises the Boleyn Castle didn’t appear until much later.
Of course, the move to the Olympic Stadium has prompted another redesign and the Boleyn Castle has got the chop. The revamped crest includes the word “London”, which I guess is handy if at any time you forget where you are. But I can’t help thinking we’ve missed a trick here.
Rather than merely listing the name of England’s capital city, we could have given the badge an extra touch of class by adding a motto. If we’re going to a superpower in European football as a result of taking up residency in such grand surroundings at Stratford, we might as well have all the trimmings. Not that we have to waste a lot of time dreaming up one of our own – we can simply borrow someone else’s. It doesn’t matter much what it says, but it does have to be in Latin. It’s just not a proper motto otherwise.
There are a few to choose from. Tottenham go with Audere est facere (to dare is to do), but we don’t want anything from them, thank you very much. Man City’s motto is Superbia in proelia (pride in battle) while Everton’s is Nil satis nisi optimum. That translates roughly as “only the best is good enough” – but for my generation those words will always be preceded by the line: “The Milky Bar Kid is strong and tough,” so it doesn’t quite fit the bill.
For Blackburn the way forward is Arte et labore – by skill and hard work – but look where that has got them; Bolton’s _Supera morass (overcome delays) sounds as if it was created as an early radio traffic bulletin for anyone using the M6; and, despite the best efforts of several managers, not least our very own Paolo Di Canio, Sunderland still have some way to go consectatio excellentiae – in pursuit of excellence.
I’ve always had a soft spot for Queen’s Park, the Scottish outfit whose home ground is Hampden Park even though they themselves are amateurs. There’s nothing like thinking big in my book. Their motto, Ludere causa ludendi, means “to play for the sake of playing” – and while that may not quite tie in with the club’s ethos of recent years, I reckon it sums up what West Ham are all about.
Incidentally, if there are any Jesuit scholars reading this who quibble with the Latin translations I suggest you take up the matter with my learned friend who provided them, Professor Vic E. Pedia.
With or without a badge, I reckon shirts generally look better on players than supporters. Replica kit certainly doesn’t suit middle aged men with bulging midriffs – I know this because there is no shortage of mirrors in my home. I’m a scarf man, myself.
My mum knitted my first West Ham scarf – alternate squares of the sacred claret and blue with tassely bits of wool at both ends. I loved it. Sadly, the other kids with whom I went to school didn’t – especially the ones who supported Chelsea. Things came to a head in the playground one day when some of these boys in blue tried to part me from my precious knitwear. But I had no intention of giving it up (although I have to admit now it was not because I have ever been particularly brave; the truth is there was no way I was going home to face my mother without that scarf, which she had sweated over for hours).
I’m not going to exaggerate here – this wasn’t the Rumble in the Jungle. Nor was it the Thrilla in Manila. This was the Tussle with the Tassels. Even so, with a couple of kids pulling one end and me desperately clinging on to the other, the immediate future was looking decidedly bleak for my scarf.
My mum wasn’t the world’s most enthusiastic knitter (I’d had to beg for months before she got cracking with her needles) but she obviously knew what she was doing. As the tug-of-war became more intense it seemed inevitable her creation would come apart in our hands. Amazingly, it didn’t. But it did stretch. By the time my assailants lost interest, that scarf was about twelve feet long. The squares, so carefully created, were no longer square – they were distinctly rectangular. However, they were still in my possession and now I had an item of clothing that I could wrap around more than just my neck. I could have mummified myself in it.
This was some years before Tom Baker became Doctor Who. (I think it was Patrick Troughton at the time). But I did wonder in later years if one of the small crowd who had witnessed my rather undignified struggle had gone on to be something in the BBC’s wardrobe department and convinced the producers that what a Time Lord really needed was a scarf as long as the District line.
As a parent myself, I do realise that it would be impossible to fob off your kids with a bit of homemade knitwear these days. You’ve just got to smile bravely and visit the club shop knowing full well you are going to have to put your hand in your pocket and buy the replica kit.
However, if you are in that position yourself, you may like to use the following piece of football trivia as a way of recouping some of the outlay.
Wait until you on are on a long drive home from an away game and tell your travelling companions that the game which led to teams having to wear different colours in a match took place in 1890 when two sides confusingly turned out in red and white stripes. Be generous, and inform them at no extra cost that the home team was Sunderland. (If you’re stuck in a traffic jam, and really want to spin this story out, you could add that when differing kits became compulsory in 1892 it was the home side which was compelled to change if there was a clash, a rule that was in place until 1921. I’ll leave that up to you.)
Providing your mates are still awake, you now raise the prospect of making this discussion more interesting by suggesting a small wager that no one can name the other side in red and white stripes at this historic encounter. Give them three guesses – the chances are they won’t come up with the right answer. It’s Wolves. Unless you’ve got a right clever dick in the car, it’s got to be worth a punt that none of them will know that. Just don’t put your shirt on it.