The Wettest Corner

 Issue #16 of View from the Allotment End, the very wonderful North Ferriby fanzine, is now available to pre-order from @VFTAE and includes this article by me about a rainy night in Haltwhistle with Harry Pearson -:

As a kid, one of my sporting heroes was Chris Balderstone, who combined captaining a Carlisle United side he guided to promotion to the top flight in 1974 with a distinguished cricket career, initially with his native Yorkshire, but mainly at Grace Road, during  Leicestershire’s glory years from the early 70s until his retirement in 1986. A classy, ball-playing midfielder who weighed in with his far share of goals, Balderstone represented The Cumbrians on 386 occasions, bookending his career with stints at Huddersfield Town and Doncaster Rovers. Additionally, he was a stylish and attacking batsmen who could bowl more than presentable left-arm orthodox spin, winning 6 trophies with Leicestershire, before taking up umpiring after retirement.

Perhaps his most notable sporting feat took place on 15 September 1975; having just joined Doncaster from Carlisle, he participated in a County Championship match and a Football League game on the same day. After close of play on day two of Leicestershire's match at Chesterfield, he changed into his football kit to play for Rovers in a 1–1 draw with Brentford. He returned to Chesterfield the following morning to complete a century and take three wickets to wrap up Leicestershire's first ever County Championship. Absolute Boys’ Own stuff, which meant it was unsurprising Chris opted to play the whole of the 1976 cricket season, which saw him selected for two tests against the West Indies. To those of us of a certain age, the phrase “doing a Balderstone” is still instantly understood.

To a muted fanfare, I decided that I would “do a Balderstone,” as for the first time in almost 50 years, I have no football team to follow. From 1972 until 2008, I wasted my love and money on Newcastle United, before my decision to walk away from the rotten edifice the club had become, saw me unexpectedly invited into the bosom of Percy Main Amateurs, a club I still have the utmost affection for. Sadly, despite the success of my book about the club, Village Voice, it became increasingly obvious that my cerebral talents were not a relevant skillset for a club that required practical, hands-on, physical graft to keep the ground in serviceable order. However, in July 2014, I really felt I had come home, when Newcastle Benfield asked me to assume the role of programme editor. I was honoured beyond words to be involved with my beloved Benfield, the club I’d loved the most since they’d joined the Northern League in 2003.

Unfortunately, my passionately left wing principles became a sticking point in post-Brexit England, where even amateur football clubs came under the control of those espousing authoritarian populist, ultra-right wing views. Hence in October 2019, I was sacked as programme editor for an article decrying the racist abuse of one of our players. In December 2019, I was banned from the ground for the rest of the season because I’d been canvassing for the Labour Party in the General Election. I appealed to be allowed back as a spectator only for 2020-2021, but this was rejected.

I suppose, I could have cast about for another club needing volunteers, but my heart wasn’t in it. Consequently, rather than scuttling around trying to watch friendlies and then competitive games, until 19 September, my Saturdays were dedicated to Tynemouth Cricket Club.  However, in the spirit of the totally dysfunctional nature of 2020, the football season didn’t begin in competitive earnest on a Saturday. The 2020/2021 season began on 31 August with the FA Cup Extra Preliminary Round tie between Woodford Town and London Colney, which the home side won 3-1. In the North East, there were a dozen FA Cup games, all limited to 300 punters and mainly accessible by advance ticket only. While my heart was at Sam Smith’s Park, where Benfield beat Seaham Red Star on penalties, my body remained in the house, as my brain worked out a route map for my return to competitive spectating. I may not have been able to enjoy that very particular, specialised frisson of anticipating my team’s line-up in the first game, but at least I had some idea of where I’d be going.

My New Year’s Resolution for 2020 had been to get as close to completing the 42 Scottish League grounds as possible. It didn’t quite work out that way. When my first attempt to visit the seemingly impregnable 4G surface at Alloa was rained off on 11 January, it was a hint of things to come. While I did get to Recreation Park for a 2-0 loss to Ayr United at the end of March, the subsequent lockdown saw me glumly accept refunds from rail companies, as planned trips to Airdrie, Dundee and Motherwell bit the dust. While my desire to enjoy a load more Caledonian visits still burns brightly, there is little to no chance I can take the High Road while Janette Mugabe keeps the border closed. The obvious next choice would have been to explore the Northern League, except I’ve already been to every current ground. Instead, I chose to focus on my beloved Northern Alliance.

Established in 1890, the Alliance is the proud, beating heartbeat of Tyneside and Northumberland football, boasting 4 divisions of 16 clubs, with only 9 I was yet to visit. Despite the doomsday prophecies of the mass disappearance of football clubs, only 2 Alliance teams went under before the season started; Blyth Town and Burradon were both from the third tier and played on council pitches I’d not yet shivered at the side of. You see, the Alliance is at step 7 in the Pyramid, where ground requirements are less stringent. No lights, seats, cover or hard standing needed, though a permanent rail around the pitch is required in the Premier Division. However, I’d managed the tick off all the Premier Division teams, leaving me with the following 7 members on my hit list: Haltwhistle Jubilee, Rothbury and Whitburn in Division 1, Ellington and Seaton Sluice in Division 2 and the inaccessible duo of North Sunderland and Wooler in Division 3.

The lack of lights at this level means that there can only be 1 set of midweek games at the start of the season, on 2 September, and even then, kick off was 6pm. When searching for a game, circumstances ruled out Ellington v Cramlington Town and North Sunderland v Wooler, as getting back after the game by public transport was simply impossible. Seaton Sluice v Wideopen was perfectly accessible, to the extent I’d go there on the bike, but they were at home on 26 September, the first post cricket Saturday, so I plumped for the Tyne Valley derby between Haltwhistle Jubilee against Hexham; El Reiversco as it should be called.

Years ago, Haltwhistle Crown Paints were a force to be reckoned with in the Alliance, but the closure of the factory meant the team folded; even their pitch lost its lustre when the town’s new by-pass cut it adrift. Then, about 4 years back, Haltwhistle Jubilee decided to concentrate on Saturday football, which meant they entered the Tyneside Amateur League, of which I was the chair. They blew the opposition away, winning the title while remaining unbeaten, before ascending into the Alliance, where the same story repeated itself; after three full seasons unbeaten, the Hexham game was their debut at this level.

I’d only ever seen Hexham once before; a crazy 5-4 home loss to Newcastle University in a blizzard back in 2014. While it always amazes me that a town of such size and relative prosperity as Hexham doesn’t have a team at a higher level of non-league, such as the long gone Hexham Heaerts in the North Eastern League back in the 50s, the place is at least home to the best football writer on the planet; Harry Pearson, who I’ve been proud to call a pal for a quarter of a century now. Harry was keen to see the game, so I arranged to meet him on the train which, less than half full, pulled out of Central Station at 16.23 on a chilly, overcast afternoon.

It was just starting to drizzle when we arrived in Haltwhistle, half an hour before kick-off. Being functionally illiterate when it comes to map reading, we wandered aimlessly around the pretty, but closed, Main Street, observing such fascinating retail outlets as the slightly disturbing Centre of Britain Army Surplus, which I doubt has ever displayed a Vote Corbyn poster. Deciding we’d never make kick off without help, Harry grasped the nettle and inquired of a local rural type just where the “football field” was. Gesturing with a rolled golf umbrella, he sent us on our way and we quickly found Willa Park. While we waited patiently for the late arriving Hexham team, our guide arrived just after us. Being honest, Willa Park is simply a pitch, though a flat, well-grassed, perfectly maintained and billiard table flat pitch. There are new changing rooms and a fair sized car park, and the local community can be very proud of the ground, fringed on two sides by impressive, stone built houses and the other by countryside, as well as their team.

We took our vantage point among the Hexham contingent, who were the minority part of a crowd that numbered approximately 75. Then, the rain started in earnest; an incessant biblical torrent that saturated everyone, umbrella-toting or not. In the first few minutes, the Hexham keeper distinguished himself with 3 superb saves, an instinctive block and two tip-overs, as the home side took the game by the throat from the off. By way of contrast, the visitors had a solitary chance: one of the forwards kneeing a loose ball over at the back post. Hexham rued this spurned opportunity when Aaron Hardy put Haltwhistle ahead, finishing off a well-structured passing move with a composed finish. Soon after, the same player struck the bar in a one-sided first half that ended in disaster for Hexham when Dan Parker doubled Haltwhistle’s lead by stroking a loose ball home.

Two minutes after the abbreviated interval, Parker seemed to have put the contest beyond all doubt with another composed finish following a fine move from front to back. At this point, Harry and I swapped viewing positions, by heading to the other side of the pitch, which coincided with an unlikely comeback, as the visitors climbed off the canvas. Unfortunately, there were no team sheets to consult to identify the visitors, though as the rain reduced my copy of Requiem for a Dream by Hubert Selby Jr to literal pulp fiction, I doubt it would have survived the conditions. COVID-19? I was more at risk of contracting trench foot. The weather didn’t discomfit Hexham who pulled one back after a bit of a scramble, before a quality free kick and a sublime outside of the foot 30 yarder into the top corner tied things up with 10 to go.

Here we were, soaked to the bone in a former farmer’s field in the wettest corner of rural west Northumberland, but it could have been a Champions’ League decider, so important were the stakes for players and spectators alike. Then, in the last minute, we had a winner. Paul Wilson stormed into the box, shrugged off a challenge, then clipped the ball home, past the despairing lunge of the wrongfooted keeper. The celebrations were as fervent as the despairing anguish was real. It had been an immense struggle; do not be deceived, football in the upper regions of the Northern Alliance is far superior to what is on offer in the bottom division of the Northern League. The final whistle was greeted with a throaty roar and appreciative applause. We set off for the station, our shoes sloshing with rainwater, and only 100 yards down the road, did we realise the rain had stopped, so absorbing had the game been. It had been a fitting return to competitive football after 6 long months.

I was still wet when I got in the house at almost 11, so I made a nice mug of hot chocolate, perused the Northern Alliance results and fell asleep dreaming of my next new ground. Rothbury v Hexham? Ellington v Stobswood? Wooler v Blaydon? Only time will tell…