Taken from issue #10 of View from the Allotment End, published on Non League Day, here's my take on my trip to Workington with Benfield and how it prompted thoughts of my dear, departed mate Ken Sproat -:
I’ve
never liked my first name. Were I to have been given the choice, Joe is the
appelation I’d have gone for. As it is, I’ve often used only the initial
instead, hoping to hoodwink people into believing I was actually an Isembard,
an Ichabod or an Ignatius. By contrast, I really like my surname, partly on
account of its rarity value, meaning I’ve endured half a century of
misspellings and inaccurate pronunciation, but mainly because every single
Cusack in the south of Tyne area phone book while I was growing up, could be
back traced to either Henry, Dan or Tom; my grandfather and his two brothers
who arrived on Tyneside from County Cork in the early 1930s.
When
broadband internet and smart phones changed our lives forever, one of the first
things to be jettisoned were address books; those cumbersome, hardback,
alphabetised volumes of scribblings, crossings-out and inaccurately recorded
personal details. Instead, data harvested from the Royal Mail’s website
provided a reliable source of post codes. Once, in search of a relative’s
business address (builders if you’re asking; we’re Paddies remember), I
accidentally discovered the existence of a Cusack Close in south west London.
Further delving provided me with the useless but intriguing knowledge that another
street to bear my surname was Cusack Crescent in Workington and this is where
the story really begins.
In
the 1970s, the local ITV station for our region was the clearly defined Tyne
Tees organisation, covering an area from the Scottish border to North Yorkshire
and as far inland as the Pennines, where the Border TV franchise took control
of the airwaves. The Beeb did things differently, as BBC North East was a
geographical misnomer, on account of Cumbria being part of our region as far as
Auntie was concerned. Probably because the Auld Fella tried to be properly
English and not an Arran sweater wearing yahoo belting out Clancy Brothers and
Dubliners songs, except when in drink, we were a BBC news family. The result of
this was I developed a degree of affection for Carlisle United and Workington
football teams, as they got a mention during Friday and Monday sport bulletins.
This didn’t happen among ITV families; mates at school who watched Tyne Tees
(generally ones living in social housing) had no interest in the fortunes of
Whitehaven or Workington Town rugby league sides either, because they’d never
even heard of them. In many ways I wish I’d been a couple of years older, so I
could have remembered if Barrow’s demotion from the football league in 1972 had
received a mention on Look North; I
suspect not, as the rugby league team were seemingly too far away even for BBC
North East’s purposes.
Workington,
like Alnwick in Northumberland and Sedgefield in Durham, continues to host an
ancient free-for-all annual game of proto football, which is called “Uppies and
Downies” in Cumbrian parlance. As Alnwick have, for the second time, been
relegated from the Northern League and Sedgefield don’t have a senior team, it
seems that these charmingly violent and anachronistic mass outdoor scrimmages
each Shrove Tuesday are the natural sport for those three settlements. It would
be hard to argue otherwise, especially after the events of 1977. Association
football was introduced to Workington in the 1860s by economic migrants from
Dronfield in Derbyshire, close to modern football’s Sheffield cradle, known as
“Dronnies,” but the first Workington club went out of existence around 1910.
The current outfit were formed in 1921 and joined the Football League in 1951,
replacing New Brighton, being managed by such notable figures as Bill Shankly,
Joe Harvey and Keith Burkinshaw, though the nearest the Reds had to glory years
were under the stewardship of Ken Furphy. He led Workington to their only
promotion to Division 3 in 1964, a League Cup quarter final the year after and
their highest ever finishing position of 5th in 1966. Sadly for the
Reds, Furphy moved on to Watford that summer and the year after Workington
plummeted back to the basement, where they were to spend their last decade as a
league club, with the final 4 campaigns seeing them prop up the table.
Back
in the days before automatic promotion and relegation, the bottom 4 sides in
Division 4 and any non-league club who fancied giving it a go, put themselves
forward for election at the Football League’s AGM, generally held at the Café
Royal the night before the FA Cup final. Generally, a kind of protective cartel
maintained the status quo, but a definite bias against the inaccessible bits of
the north west could be discerned. Firstly, Barrow were replaced by Hereford in
1972, then five years later, Workington were voted out of the league, to be
replaced by Wimbledon, who are now known as MK Dons of course. In response to
the fateful vote, Look North had a
feature on the repercussions for Workington the following week, where it was
revealed that the trophy cabinet at Borough Park held a replica of the Jules
Rimet trophy, presented by FIFA to all 92 league clubs in 1966 and a runners-up
snooker trophy won by the Supporters’ Club three years previous. It would have
been hilarious if it hadn’t been so tragic.
The
next year, 1978, Newcastle United suffered relegation and we went on a family
holiday to Llandudno. I was 14. I didn’t want to be there. I was a monumental
pain in the arse the whole time. In fact, only one thing, or one person
actually, lifted my mood the entire time. Sharing the hotel was a
cigar-smoking, wise-cracking, rubicund little boozer by the name of Tom
Meldrum. He was an undertaker, strangely enough, but also the chairman of
Workington AFC. While he spent most
nights in the bar, regaling the gathered crowd with his less than diplomatic
comments about the football establishment who he felt had traduced his club, with
especial ire visited upon former boss Keith Burkinshaw as Spurs, where he was
manager, were Wimbledon’s main sponsors. While I’d guess Keith had the signings
of Ardiles and Villa on his mind more than the fortunes of his isolated old
team, I took the point. Tom Meldrum was great company, though strangely
unattractive to mine eyes. He did have a stunningly beautiful blonde daughter
called Anne, who I fell head over heels in love with and spent the week
pitifully pursuing, until she administered the coup de grace on the last night of our respective vacations by
being spotted in a passionate clinch on the promenade in the arms of the hotel
dogsbody, Gareth; a six foot, muscular, sixth form rugby player who washed
glasses and waited tables. Frankly, I can understand her choice…
Subsequently,
Workington didn’t cross my mind until the early 1990s when, as a devoted and
inveterate fanzine reader and contributor, I used to scour the columns of every
issue of When Saturday Comes for new
publications. One time I saw a listing
for Nothing Borough Park Team;
hailing from the unlikely source of Bournville, Birmingham, it was a
publication dedicated to Workington AFC. I bought the first issue, read it and,
as is my wont to this day, submitted an article. It was entitled (Not The) Summer of Love, told the tale of
my thwarted passion for fair Anne and appeared in issue #2. As I contributed to
dozens of fanzines in those pre-internet days, it was hard to keep in touch
without the convenience of electronic communication, though I did sit up and
take notice when Blyth Spartans hosted Workington in April 1994, on one of
those blank FA Cup weekends we fans of Newcastle United have got used to over
the years. My mate Ken Sproat was the official club historian at Spartans, so I
went to the game with him. Blyth won this Northern Premier League game quite
comfortably 3-1 and I didn’t see any sign of the editorial board from NBPT. Of course, I didn’t let this no-show
discourage me and I rapidly wrote another article for them, sent it off and
duly received a copy of issue #3 a few months later in time for season
1994/1995. Sadly, during a recent campaign to declutter and catalogue my
printed memorabilia, I was unable to locate NBPT
#3 anywhere, though I do recall it was advertised as being the final
edition. Undoubtedly this is why I sought to make no record of my next
encounter with Workington.
Ken,
as well as loving Spartans, had a soft spot for Bedlington Terriers from the
Northern League, having bought his first property in the former pit village.
Consequently, when Terriers went on a run to the second round of the FA in
1997/1998, including a 4-1 hammering of Colchester United at the magnificently
titled Doctor Pit Welfare Ground, then claimed a place trip in the FA Vase
final the year after. having bested a home quarter final with Workington, Ken
deserted his post at Croft Park for some inverse glory hunting. Workington
brought 600 fans. However, Terriers won 1-0 and eventually went to Wembley,
where they lost the final 1-0 to holders Tiverton Town who’d seen off Tow Law Town,
also of the Northern League, the year before, but no matter. These were
Bedlington’s good times.
In
true step 6 style, a 53-seat coach of players, committee and fans set off
westward at 3.30 in the afternoon, across the A69 and into the teeth of the
Cumbrian rush hour on the A595, where it took longer from Carlisle to
Workington than the rest of the journey. We parked up at 6.30. The players went
to warm up. The fans went to the bar. The committee were royally entertained by
a wonderful club in the jewel of their delightful old ground; The Shankly
Lounge of Borough Park. It wasn’t just a cuppa and a biccy for hospitality;
Workington provide visitors with a full cooked meal, recognising the distances
that away teams have to travel. They’re great people as well; genuinely
friendly, open and interested in our club.
Just
before kick-off, we stepped out into the aged, atmospheric decaying grandeur of
Borough Park, where almost 500 had gathered on scarlet hued, brick-built
terraces, where 3 sides remain under cover. Our hosts ushered us to the away
section of the Directors’ Box, behind the dug-out, then reminded us to pop in
at half time for a hot drink; essential on a blustery Cumbrian night, where the
early stages were played out to a cacophonous soundtrack of skeins of
vituperative, migrating geese. As far as the game is concerned, we went 2-0
down in 9 minutes, steadied the ship, conceded a third just after the break,
came back from the dead with 2 rapid goals on the hour, missed a gilt-edged
chance to draw level, let in 2 calamities as we pushed forward and grabbed a
final consolation in the last seconds to lose 5-3. It was a hell of a game and
no disgrace to have lost it to a team 2 steps higher in the football pyramid.
Certainly, it had been the sort of game that would have graced Non-League Day,
though I remained strangely detached from the events that had unfolded.
Workington
5 Benfield 3 took place on Tuesday September 11th, 2018; 17 years to
the day since the horrific events at the World Trade Centre in New York.
However, the date will forever resonate with me because of the tragic news I
received the day before. You see, whenever I think of Workington AFC, I will
always think of Ken, because he took his life on Monday 10th
September 2018, aged only 54, on what was designated World Suicide Prevention
Day. There had been no signs, no warnings, nothing tangible. He’d been at
Kidderminster to watch Spartans on the Saturday. I’d meant to text him on
Sunday to mention I was finally off to Borough Park, but it was my partner’s
birthday and we went for a few pints, watching Tynemouth CC 2nds winning a cup
final, so I didn’t get around to it. Could I have prevented the tragic events
on the Monday? Almost certainly not, but I’ll always take the time to contact
friends in future, just to make sure.
Regardless
of whether it’s 9/11, Non-League Day, World Suicide Prevention Day, whether
Spartans, Bedlington or Workington are playing or not, I’ll always take time
out to think of my mate Ken Sproat, as well as his widow Janine and daughter
Bethan. He was a great bloke. You’d have loved him.
Really enjoyed reading your article,as a follower of the reds and a native of the town we don't make enough of our history,hopefully the proposed new stadium will breathe life into another forgotten northern town
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