When I was about five my mum and the five kids moved from our council house on the Debden estate into my new step dads house in Loughton. From here on I will refer to my step dad as dad, because that was what he was to me. A year earlier I had started primary school at four, I actually did year one twice, mainly because my mum needed to get out and work. Single mum with five kids and all that. So the move to Loughton saw me change schools as there was one just around the corner from our new home. I guess what you never know about you never miss, so when this new school didn’t have a football pitch and no school football team it didn’t have any effect on me. My dad and my brothers had no interest in football and at the time I didn’t know what I was missing.
So when I was eight my dad decided it would be a good idea for us all to become Catholic. It had nothing to do with the fact he and a few of his mates had found the best little private bar in town with the cheapest pints – all owned and run by the Catholic church. Get on the roster for unpaid bar work and you could even close the doors at 11pm and have an extra pint or two. So Tone, you are changing schools now, to the local Catholic one back on the Debden Estate. Much better to have a three mile journey to school than a 200 yard walk if it gets you closer to God. On my first day I made three friends that shared my youth for the next decade. Trouble was, at school breaks all they wanted to do was kick this bloody round ball about – and talk about Tottenham and Orient! I started playing myself a year later and whilst it was a latish introduction to the sport before long I was a regular in the school team and playing every minute of the day I could. My story about becoming a West Ham fan has no deep roots to the area or the brain washing effect parents or family can have on you – affectionately called DNA. In fact I don’t actually remember the point at which I started to make West Ham my team. I started watching Match of the Day and the Big Match and can only assume they chose me and not the other way around. What I do remember though was on the evening we won the Cup in 1964 my dad had taken my mum up the East End for a night out. The next day all they could talk about was how West Ham fans were singing and dancing in the pubs and streets and those stories may have swayed me towards the Hammers. As I grew older the draw of wanting to go to Upton Park was growing stronger.
In 1967 I was eleven and my mum and dad worked a day job and an evening job and my dad also worked Saturday mornings so getting someone to take me was a bit of an ask. My constant nagging for dad to take me to a West Ham game finally paid off when one morning he said to me; “get your hat and coat Tone, we are off to watch the Hammers”. The level of excitement and anticipation was something I don’t think I had ever experienced before but an hour later my whole demeanour had changed. Arriving at Upton Park at 2.50pm for a 3 o’clock kick off against Liverpool was only going to end one way. Locked out. Some weeks later he took me again, much earlier this time and we beat Burnley 3-2. I was hooked for life from that day on but if I wanted this new West Ham drug to live on I would have to find a way to go every second week without my dad. There was only one option open to me –get alibi’s, lie to my parents and go on my own. That is why the local priest must have got fed up with me real quick. What sins would you like to confess my son he would say each week as I knelt on the other side of the confessional box. “Forgive me but I have lied to my parents, Father”. I didn’t go into all the stories I told about how I was going with friends and their parents or similar, but he must have been shaking his head each week because I was not changing my habits. Anyway, reciting five Hail Mary’s and one Lord’s prayer in order for forgiveness was one of the best business deals I ever struck.
Money was now the problem. There was no pocket money so I started collecting Littlewoods Pools every Thursday night to pay for my new addiction. Rain, hail or snow the coupons had to be collected but it paid ten bob and that was exactly what the match day fare, kids North Bank admission, program and a bag of monkey nuts cost! Providing my alibi’s didn’t let me down I was cooking with gas! In those days, down the front of the North Bank there were so many other kids doing the same as me. The singing and chanting that usually started about 90 minutes before kick-off was like a fix feeding the habit. As we all got a bit older and taller there was a gradual move from the front to the back of the stand and away games came into the equation. Fast forward 51 years and now it is West Ham till I die. Talking of which. My dad only took me the once and I watched from his shoulders. He passed away in 1996. My first WHTID get together a few years ago included staying overnight at the West Ham hotel – the revamped corporate boxes in the West Stand. When my wife and I went back to our room that night I opened the curtains to look over the pitch which still had floodlights shining on it. I was disappointed that our room was not more central until I realised it was virtually in the exact same spot my dad and I had stood for that match against Burnley in 1967. Emotions were hard to hold back – especially as the game we had seen earlier that day was against –you guessed it – Burnley. That was the last match I was to attend at the old ground.
That is my story of how West Ham became my team, my passion. How about you? How did you become a Hammer? It would be great to hear your stories too. Thanks to Dazthehammer for inspiring me to make this the topic of the day.