Yesterdays
Saturday morning - Longlevens
Yesterday at the Inter School 5-a-side finals, two notable things occurred. Firstly, Norton shocked everyone by turning up on the correct day and secondly, Dinglewell did a Germany, starting slowly, sneaking through the group, nicking the semi final and winning the final with a bit to spare. Father Ted is absent from construction duties this morning due to suffering from PBTD (Post-Bentham Traumatic Disorder), while Father Jones is absent too, having received a late-night phone call from The Chairman and enrolled on an early-morning coaching course. ‘Succession planning,’ explains El Supremo, ‘and if we have any more goalless draws, the succession is likely to commence with immediate effect.’
The A Team, minus BA Baracus and a shedload of jewellery is up and running though. Father Vye, resplendent in 1980s rugby shorts and a pair of black nylon leg-warmers is living up to his Five-at-a-Time billing and with Father Burgess matching him board for board, the stadium perimeter is loud and proud before the first tendrils of day punctuate night’s pre-dawn blanket.
Young Sam has withdrawn from kitchen duty due to some last-minute rowing practice on a river near Worcester, so Mother Sam steps into the breach and takes her place alongside both the Haribos and The Chef in the GPSFA kitchenette. The Groundsman returns to GL2 for the first time this calendar year, having nearly recovered from his all-inclusive vacation at Gloucester Royal and desperate to regale anyone who utters the question, ‘How are you?’ with every gory detail of his recent ‘reversal’. No-one does, so the alimentary entrails remain hidden, for the time being at any rate.
JK (‘The Clicker’) is counting in the fans and arranging the car parking alongside The Chairman, who would love to contribute to the arrangement, only his arms are stuck in the lining of his new fluorescent jacket, meaning he can neither point to the one remaining empty space, nor extricate the foil-wrapped flapjack from the top secret trouser pocket that all former spies have sewn into the lining of their apparel. Unhappy doesn’t even begin to tell the story.
Abertawe are in town and they’ve arrived with a healthy contingent of both swans and cygnets, while Captain Burgess jogs in, mysteriously wearing a pair of old green Duke of Wellingtons. He hurries into the inner sanctum to change into his ‘proper shoes’, hoping no-one’s noticed, but everyone has. The Determinator ambles in, points out that Burgess is the only player who hasn’t yet been substitute and the captain, compliant as ever, pulls the number ten over his head without uttering a single word of protest. A hundred miles east, in a hospital bed in Hemel Hempstead, Son of the Godfather allows himself the wryest of smiles.
It’s a pre-match case of all our yesterdays as Finley Clift, captain and top scorer in 2011/12 and Adam Mace, top scorer, but not captain in 2005/06, make a changing room visit and speak articulately to the players about their GPSFA memories. They in turn are introduced to another top scorer, who’s sitting quietly in the corner, doing his sums and mentally preparing for what he might say on his own return, somewhere around 2027.
Coach Stalley has been running the line in the Yellows’ 2-1 win over their Swansea counterparts, so mercifully has no time to locate WU#58 on his FA tablet, which means there’s precious little skipping in today’s warm-up, much to High Definition’s patently obvious relief.
Despite the Bs and Girls having already won and Father Jones displaying a fair amount of menace pacing up and down the far touchline, there’s no immediate pressure as The Chairman’s temporarily out of action due to lying prostrate across a considerable number of tables in the Year 4 classroom, where JK’s doing his best to remove the problematic jacket, armed only with a hack saw and a pair of mole grips. On the pitch, Swansea are the better side in the opening third, taking the lead with a terrific strike from Griffiths, four minutes after Hambleton’s stinger has come back off the crossbar.
The second third sees the hosts having more of the ball, but the visitors stand firm until Mother Brown’s throw-in finds Slider, whose cross-cum-shot draws us level. Within three minutes however, Swansea are ahead for a second time with another fine strike, this time from McCarthy, who finds the net via the inside of the back post.
Iron Man, despite his morbid fear of rusting every time it rains, is turning in another high quality display at the centre of the home defence to deny the visitors any further opportunities, while The Swans’ centre back Chapman is contributing a similarly steadfast performance of his own.
With five minutes remaining however Obieri finally escapes his marker to fire in a near-post leveller to cue a celebratory leap that may just get him on the plane to Japan for the 2020 Olympic Games. Within a matter of seconds, there’s ping-pong of a football variety in the Swans’ box as several efforts are blocked by some determined defending, while Jones’s header is cleared off the line, much to the disappointment of ‘A full English with extra toast please.’
Ninety seconds left and Gloucester win another free kick. Burgess’s delivery is only half cleared and when Slider’s effort is deflected into Obieri’s path, a dramatic turnaround is completed.
‘I like that,’ says The Chairman, though the crumbs in his beard suggest it may not just be the comeback that he’s beaming about. ‘And you can put those boots away,’ he suggests, turning to Father Jones and adding, as a safety net against potential future downturns, ‘for the time being at any rate.’
Today’s event is being sponsored by our 1992/93 captain (but not top scorer) Michael Stow. Michael lives in Alderley Edge in Cheshire, a picturesque village full of famous residents – (Alex) Ferguson, (Rio) Ferdinand and (Michael) Carrick amongst others each have their billets there; unfortunately, our sponsor lives at the opposite end. Michael also speaks to the boys, this time at the end of the game, meaning they’ve done a fair bit of listening and a fair bit of celebrating over the last sixty minutes or so.
Eating over and players departed, the partial clean-up of Longlevens begins and two shirts (5 & 8) are again lying on the edge of the big blue bag, inside out. Wasp’s top meanwhile is armless, but as the man has wings, we knew this already. Numbers 1 and 9 are returned in perfect condition, stretched out with barely a crease in sight, numbers 2 and 4 considerably less so, while everyone else’s black & yellow jerseys are somewhere in between.
Saturday afternoon - Evesham
Despite making a last-minute getaway, getting stuck behind a 35mph horse box for the entire length of the Evesham Road and The Photographer failing to take a single breath in a non-stop ‘Crikey me’ thirty-minute monologue, we arrive at the lay-by outside the Hartwell & Spiers at five to three, just in time to see the teams take the field to a rousing rendition of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ and three single handclaps from three different people. The rest of the crowd just talk to each other and moan about everything from the weather to the team.
Gloucester miss a penalty, but eke out a fine no-score draw against high-flying visitors Barff, while chats with Father Green (Michael was captain in 1995/96 but not top scorer) and ex-player Jody Bevan (1988-90, who was neither captain nor top scorer, but all-round good egg) provide a welcome distraction from whatever’s happening on the other side of the perimeter fencing.
Elsewhere, thoughts turn to the forthcoming evening’s entertainment in the various corners of the region. It’s the end-of-month Retro Evening at the Red Lion; sadly, Father Daniels has been banned due to now being a fully paid up member of some dubious religious order or other, though Father Myatt’s busy ironing his navy blue 60s shell suit and polishing his still new-looking pair of Dr Martens in anticipation of finally winning that elusive lamb shank and celebrating with a one-man lock-in.
In Painswick, Mother May has donned her Sherlock and is heading for a Murder Mystery evening in the snug of The Falcon, where she’s confident of identifying the perpetrator, as long as it’s Colonel Mustard, with the candlestick, in the dark alley outside the ladies’ loo.
In Coopers Edge, Kelly’s away, so it’s a boys’ night in front of Match of the Day with Liverpool FC re-runs either side of the Witching Hour to follow; there’s the January barn dance out the back of The Beacon in Haresfield and Mother Brown’s been invited for an evening with The Bales (hay, not Gareth), while it’s party night at Kandahar Airport, where the electricians and plumbers and technicians and Fieldhouses on the base enjoy a wild time with sixteen tumblers, a half-bottle of Prosecco and a moth-eaten pack of playing cards.
Sunday morning - Various
Two hours sweeping the mud out of Longlevens is as good a time as any for a bit of focussed reflection. For the second week running our football hasn’t been at its best, but huge credit to the opposition who have largely stopped us playing, then moved the ball very well themselves. What we have seen though is a steely determination throughout the side to rescue, and in yesterday’s case, ultimately win a game that could very easily have been lost. In some ways, these are the best victories; in life, your greatest successes are those that you work the hardest for. Theodore Roosevelt, amongst numerous others, famously stated, ‘Nothing great ever came easy.’ It didn’t yesterday, it won’t today and tomorrow’s out of the question too.
At this very same moment, other reflections are happening elsewhere. Kelly’s reflecting on the folly of leaving the boys Home Alone, while Colonel Mustard’s considering the folly of once again having been caught carrying a duo of heavy household items, while lurking in areas that are strictly no-go, particularly in down-market Painswick.
Father Fieldhouse reflects on the folly of playing his trump card too early and losing his third consecutive game of Silent Whist to the uncouth mechanic who lives in the adjoining cell; the landlord of The Beacon considers banning members of The Tining household from future knees-ups, due to the neighbours’ non-stop complaints regarding the seismic vibrations generated by Mother Brown’s enthusiasm when performing the Louisiana Hayride with the pub’s newly-employed waitress, while the boss man at the Red Lion reluctantly revises the rules relating to admitting Brethren of any description to the late-February jamboree, thus doubling the number of potential attendees to two. Father Myatt meanwhile ponders the complete injustice of yet again not coming away with that lamb shank, despite him being the only contestant in yesterday’s ‘Sounds of the 60s’ fancy dress parade.
Monday morning – Norton Centre of Excellence
9.00am. Year 6 at Norton C of E are engrossed in a half-hour silent reading session that’s been carefully planned to give Miss Bussey an extra thirty minutes of recovery time, following 48 hours living it up at a Beatles Revival weekend in Minehead. Her three favourite numbers, ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’, ‘We all live in a Yellow Submarine’ and ‘With a Little Help from my Friends’ are all still reverberating ferociously in her subconscious, but in reality, things are better than usual as the seat at the front table is today blissfully vacant.
9.18am and a shock of blonde hair, dinner-plate smile and set of ivory-white teeth all appear round the half-open door at exactly the same moment. ‘Just got back from the dentist….’ is the last thing Miss Bussey recalls hearing before the paramedics arrive.
Monday morning; 9.18am – Goa, India
Coach Wilson is in the seemingly never-ending queue outside the duty-free outlet at Dabolim Airport. Despite the excitement of the three unannounced afternoon rides astride a bull elephant, the discovery of a new strain of chicken vindaloo in the shack four doors down from his marble-pillared five-star suite at the Verda Carmona and fourteen otherwise blissfully uninterrupted days studying the Red Army’s tactical masterclass at the Battle of Stalingrad (August ‘42-February ‘43) in ninety degree heat next to the hotel pool, he’s looking forward to a return to Blighty and the prospect of inspiring the team to getting back to the performance levels evident to everyone prior to his departure a fortnight ago. And then he sees on his phone that we’re all going to Slough Town next Saturday afternoon….
For both Miss Bussey and Coach Wilson, ‘Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away,’ is the only Beatles record that seems to have any sort of significance at all.
Gloucester: High Definition; Mother Brown, Iron Man, Wasp; WC, Slider, Lawrence, Issur Danielovitch; The Determinator; Lettuce, El Capitano.
Yesterday at the Inter School 5-a-side finals, two notable things occurred. Firstly, Norton shocked everyone by turning up on the correct day and secondly, Dinglewell did a Germany, starting slowly, sneaking through the group, nicking the semi final and winning the final with a bit to spare. Father Ted is absent from construction duties this morning due to suffering from PBTD (Post-Bentham Traumatic Disorder), while Father Jones is absent too, having received a late-night phone call from The Chairman and enrolled on an early-morning coaching course. ‘Succession planning,’ explains El Supremo, ‘and if we have any more goalless draws, the succession is likely to commence with immediate effect.’
The A Team, minus BA Baracus and a shedload of jewellery is up and running though. Father Vye, resplendent in 1980s rugby shorts and a pair of black nylon leg-warmers is living up to his Five-at-a-Time billing and with Father Burgess matching him board for board, the stadium perimeter is loud and proud before the first tendrils of day punctuate night’s pre-dawn blanket.
Young Sam has withdrawn from kitchen duty due to some last-minute rowing practice on a river near Worcester, so Mother Sam steps into the breach and takes her place alongside both the Haribos and The Chef in the GPSFA kitchenette. The Groundsman returns to GL2 for the first time this calendar year, having nearly recovered from his all-inclusive vacation at Gloucester Royal and desperate to regale anyone who utters the question, ‘How are you?’ with every gory detail of his recent ‘reversal’. No-one does, so the alimentary entrails remain hidden, for the time being at any rate.
JK (‘The Clicker’) is counting in the fans and arranging the car parking alongside The Chairman, who would love to contribute to the arrangement, only his arms are stuck in the lining of his new fluorescent jacket, meaning he can neither point to the one remaining empty space, nor extricate the foil-wrapped flapjack from the top secret trouser pocket that all former spies have sewn into the lining of their apparel. Unhappy doesn’t even begin to tell the story.
Abertawe are in town and they’ve arrived with a healthy contingent of both swans and cygnets, while Captain Burgess jogs in, mysteriously wearing a pair of old green Duke of Wellingtons. He hurries into the inner sanctum to change into his ‘proper shoes’, hoping no-one’s noticed, but everyone has. The Determinator ambles in, points out that Burgess is the only player who hasn’t yet been substitute and the captain, compliant as ever, pulls the number ten over his head without uttering a single word of protest. A hundred miles east, in a hospital bed in Hemel Hempstead, Son of the Godfather allows himself the wryest of smiles.
It’s a pre-match case of all our yesterdays as Finley Clift, captain and top scorer in 2011/12 and Adam Mace, top scorer, but not captain in 2005/06, make a changing room visit and speak articulately to the players about their GPSFA memories. They in turn are introduced to another top scorer, who’s sitting quietly in the corner, doing his sums and mentally preparing for what he might say on his own return, somewhere around 2027.
Coach Stalley has been running the line in the Yellows’ 2-1 win over their Swansea counterparts, so mercifully has no time to locate WU#58 on his FA tablet, which means there’s precious little skipping in today’s warm-up, much to High Definition’s patently obvious relief.
Despite the Bs and Girls having already won and Father Jones displaying a fair amount of menace pacing up and down the far touchline, there’s no immediate pressure as The Chairman’s temporarily out of action due to lying prostrate across a considerable number of tables in the Year 4 classroom, where JK’s doing his best to remove the problematic jacket, armed only with a hack saw and a pair of mole grips. On the pitch, Swansea are the better side in the opening third, taking the lead with a terrific strike from Griffiths, four minutes after Hambleton’s stinger has come back off the crossbar.
The second third sees the hosts having more of the ball, but the visitors stand firm until Mother Brown’s throw-in finds Slider, whose cross-cum-shot draws us level. Within three minutes however, Swansea are ahead for a second time with another fine strike, this time from McCarthy, who finds the net via the inside of the back post.
Iron Man, despite his morbid fear of rusting every time it rains, is turning in another high quality display at the centre of the home defence to deny the visitors any further opportunities, while The Swans’ centre back Chapman is contributing a similarly steadfast performance of his own.
With five minutes remaining however Obieri finally escapes his marker to fire in a near-post leveller to cue a celebratory leap that may just get him on the plane to Japan for the 2020 Olympic Games. Within a matter of seconds, there’s ping-pong of a football variety in the Swans’ box as several efforts are blocked by some determined defending, while Jones’s header is cleared off the line, much to the disappointment of ‘A full English with extra toast please.’
Ninety seconds left and Gloucester win another free kick. Burgess’s delivery is only half cleared and when Slider’s effort is deflected into Obieri’s path, a dramatic turnaround is completed.
‘I like that,’ says The Chairman, though the crumbs in his beard suggest it may not just be the comeback that he’s beaming about. ‘And you can put those boots away,’ he suggests, turning to Father Jones and adding, as a safety net against potential future downturns, ‘for the time being at any rate.’
Today’s event is being sponsored by our 1992/93 captain (but not top scorer) Michael Stow. Michael lives in Alderley Edge in Cheshire, a picturesque village full of famous residents – (Alex) Ferguson, (Rio) Ferdinand and (Michael) Carrick amongst others each have their billets there; unfortunately, our sponsor lives at the opposite end. Michael also speaks to the boys, this time at the end of the game, meaning they’ve done a fair bit of listening and a fair bit of celebrating over the last sixty minutes or so.
Eating over and players departed, the partial clean-up of Longlevens begins and two shirts (5 & 8) are again lying on the edge of the big blue bag, inside out. Wasp’s top meanwhile is armless, but as the man has wings, we knew this already. Numbers 1 and 9 are returned in perfect condition, stretched out with barely a crease in sight, numbers 2 and 4 considerably less so, while everyone else’s black & yellow jerseys are somewhere in between.
Saturday afternoon - Evesham
Despite making a last-minute getaway, getting stuck behind a 35mph horse box for the entire length of the Evesham Road and The Photographer failing to take a single breath in a non-stop ‘Crikey me’ thirty-minute monologue, we arrive at the lay-by outside the Hartwell & Spiers at five to three, just in time to see the teams take the field to a rousing rendition of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ and three single handclaps from three different people. The rest of the crowd just talk to each other and moan about everything from the weather to the team.
Gloucester miss a penalty, but eke out a fine no-score draw against high-flying visitors Barff, while chats with Father Green (Michael was captain in 1995/96 but not top scorer) and ex-player Jody Bevan (1988-90, who was neither captain nor top scorer, but all-round good egg) provide a welcome distraction from whatever’s happening on the other side of the perimeter fencing.
Elsewhere, thoughts turn to the forthcoming evening’s entertainment in the various corners of the region. It’s the end-of-month Retro Evening at the Red Lion; sadly, Father Daniels has been banned due to now being a fully paid up member of some dubious religious order or other, though Father Myatt’s busy ironing his navy blue 60s shell suit and polishing his still new-looking pair of Dr Martens in anticipation of finally winning that elusive lamb shank and celebrating with a one-man lock-in.
In Painswick, Mother May has donned her Sherlock and is heading for a Murder Mystery evening in the snug of The Falcon, where she’s confident of identifying the perpetrator, as long as it’s Colonel Mustard, with the candlestick, in the dark alley outside the ladies’ loo.
In Coopers Edge, Kelly’s away, so it’s a boys’ night in front of Match of the Day with Liverpool FC re-runs either side of the Witching Hour to follow; there’s the January barn dance out the back of The Beacon in Haresfield and Mother Brown’s been invited for an evening with The Bales (hay, not Gareth), while it’s party night at Kandahar Airport, where the electricians and plumbers and technicians and Fieldhouses on the base enjoy a wild time with sixteen tumblers, a half-bottle of Prosecco and a moth-eaten pack of playing cards.
Sunday morning - Various
Two hours sweeping the mud out of Longlevens is as good a time as any for a bit of focussed reflection. For the second week running our football hasn’t been at its best, but huge credit to the opposition who have largely stopped us playing, then moved the ball very well themselves. What we have seen though is a steely determination throughout the side to rescue, and in yesterday’s case, ultimately win a game that could very easily have been lost. In some ways, these are the best victories; in life, your greatest successes are those that you work the hardest for. Theodore Roosevelt, amongst numerous others, famously stated, ‘Nothing great ever came easy.’ It didn’t yesterday, it won’t today and tomorrow’s out of the question too.
At this very same moment, other reflections are happening elsewhere. Kelly’s reflecting on the folly of leaving the boys Home Alone, while Colonel Mustard’s considering the folly of once again having been caught carrying a duo of heavy household items, while lurking in areas that are strictly no-go, particularly in down-market Painswick.
Father Fieldhouse reflects on the folly of playing his trump card too early and losing his third consecutive game of Silent Whist to the uncouth mechanic who lives in the adjoining cell; the landlord of The Beacon considers banning members of The Tining household from future knees-ups, due to the neighbours’ non-stop complaints regarding the seismic vibrations generated by Mother Brown’s enthusiasm when performing the Louisiana Hayride with the pub’s newly-employed waitress, while the boss man at the Red Lion reluctantly revises the rules relating to admitting Brethren of any description to the late-February jamboree, thus doubling the number of potential attendees to two. Father Myatt meanwhile ponders the complete injustice of yet again not coming away with that lamb shank, despite him being the only contestant in yesterday’s ‘Sounds of the 60s’ fancy dress parade.
Monday morning – Norton Centre of Excellence
9.00am. Year 6 at Norton C of E are engrossed in a half-hour silent reading session that’s been carefully planned to give Miss Bussey an extra thirty minutes of recovery time, following 48 hours living it up at a Beatles Revival weekend in Minehead. Her three favourite numbers, ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’, ‘We all live in a Yellow Submarine’ and ‘With a Little Help from my Friends’ are all still reverberating ferociously in her subconscious, but in reality, things are better than usual as the seat at the front table is today blissfully vacant.
9.18am and a shock of blonde hair, dinner-plate smile and set of ivory-white teeth all appear round the half-open door at exactly the same moment. ‘Just got back from the dentist….’ is the last thing Miss Bussey recalls hearing before the paramedics arrive.
Monday morning; 9.18am – Goa, India
Coach Wilson is in the seemingly never-ending queue outside the duty-free outlet at Dabolim Airport. Despite the excitement of the three unannounced afternoon rides astride a bull elephant, the discovery of a new strain of chicken vindaloo in the shack four doors down from his marble-pillared five-star suite at the Verda Carmona and fourteen otherwise blissfully uninterrupted days studying the Red Army’s tactical masterclass at the Battle of Stalingrad (August ‘42-February ‘43) in ninety degree heat next to the hotel pool, he’s looking forward to a return to Blighty and the prospect of inspiring the team to getting back to the performance levels evident to everyone prior to his departure a fortnight ago. And then he sees on his phone that we’re all going to Slough Town next Saturday afternoon….
For both Miss Bussey and Coach Wilson, ‘Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away,’ is the only Beatles record that seems to have any sort of significance at all.
Gloucester: High Definition; Mother Brown, Iron Man, Wasp; WC, Slider, Lawrence, Issur Danielovitch; The Determinator; Lettuce, El Capitano.
