{"id":368,"date":"2019-10-26T14:31:40","date_gmt":"2019-10-26T14:31:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/gonbys.com\/?p=368"},"modified":"2019-10-26T14:31:40","modified_gmt":"2019-10-26T14:31:40","slug":"newcastle-united-1953","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/?p=368","title":{"rendered":"Newcastle United, 1953"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Most football fans, when asked about the Suppression of the Monasteries, can recite a few key facts: Henry VIII’s need for a war chest, the Act of Appeals, salient points of the First Dissolution Act of 1534; some might even be able to reel off a few figures from the Valor Ecclesiastus<\/em>. Few, though, are aware of the longer campaigns waged by the religious houses to preserve their way of life despite the persecution, and the effect such campaigns sometimes had on travelling supporters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The island of Lindisfarne had its Benedictine Priory dissolved officially in 1534, but a group of disgruntled monks, with help from local benefactors and supporters, had organized as partisans and taken to the hills of Northumberland to preserve their identity, styling themselves Allus Fe Continuum Lindisfarne Priory. Generations of new exile monks preserved their legacy, and by the twentieth century, AFC Lindisfarne Priory had returned to their spiritual home, constructed some timber lean-tos among the walls of the ruined church and, stripped of their former lands and the income they once received from pilgrimage, were surviving on home-grown carrots and the meagre profits on an unlicensed mail-order strong ale called Holy Phoenix. Unbeknownst to his masters at Bass, Reg Deakin used to keep a couple of crates of this \u201cmonky wash\u201d in at the Crown and Cushion, both for personal use and for his more select lock-ins. It was there that I tried it for the first (or third! or fourth!) time, and though it was a little sweet for my taste, the hangover it produced contained exactly the sense of solitude and guilt that I had always associated with the monastic life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To\nsome Northumbrians AFC Lindisfarne Priory were a source of pride, and\na secret whose keeping united a people. Others felt differently. \nThe principal enemy of underground monasticism was the Broade\nAmalgam, a rag-taggle confederation of mercers, fishmongers and\ncasual gardeners fanatically loyal to the principles and politics of\nHenry VIII who had, of late, become somewhat partial to his methods,\nas well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By October of 1953, the tension between the Priory and the Broade Amalgam was particularly high. Over the previous fifteen years, a turncoat monk had diligently prepared an illuminated copy of the AFC Lindisfarne Priory accounts ledger, passing the finished manuscript on to the Broade Amalgam in August. The Amalgam was incensed at the reach of the Holy Phoenix ale business, and in particular just how many customers the monks had in Newcastle and North Shields, which Amalgam leaders had previously believed to be strongholds of Tudorism. Almost overnight, name-calling and isolated skirmishes gave way to arson and lynchings, and there was little reason to think things would end there. The region was divided, with every man and woman taking a side. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Enter Wolverhampton Wanderers. The Wolves’ fixture at St. James’ Park coincided with the anniversary of the Wideopen Mutterings, where, according to tradition, AFC Lindisfarne Priory had placed a curse upon Horace and Tradition Kelpfynder of Benton, which had resulted in their first-born son being born without any musical talent. The Kelpfynders went on to establish the Broade Amalgam with their neighbours the Pikes, who ran a vegetable stall in Grainger Market. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nAmalgam had no especial interest in association football, but there\nwas nevertheless reason to be cautious; the Illuminated Ledger would\nhave revealed the dealings that AFC Lindisfarne Priory had not only\nwith Reg Deakin, but also with Matthew Peeves and Archibald Black, of\nthe Noah’s Ark in Snow Hill and the Fighting Cocks respectively \u2013\nsuch trade would be frowned upon, and in the current climate could be\ninterpreted as political support. It was thus decided that entry to\nNewcastle by road or rail entailed too much of a risk, and, making\ncontact via a pair of Benedictines delivering Holy Phoenix to the\nCrown and Cushion one Wednesday evening, we organized a trip via\nBerwick-upon-Tweed, staying overnight on Holy Island in order to sail\ndown the coast and up the Tyne into Newcastle before dawn on the\nSaturday in Viking longships which the returning monks of AFC\nLindisfarne Priory had found in fair condition on the north-eastern\nside of the island and lovingly restored over many years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We got there around eight o\u2019clock on Friday night, to a warm reception. A modest banqueting hall, with a fairly low thatched roof, had been constructed along one wall of the priory’s ruins, and it was here that the prior, Father Clem Strongarm, welcomed us. Expecting nothing but carrots, we had brought along some pork scratchings for additional flavour, but it turned out there was haddock, too, courtesy of one Jonny Jarrow, a delivery boy for Newcastle fishmonger R.J. Hepworth who also moved a bit of Holy Phoenix on the side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The monks were genial hosts, not least because Father Clem was something of a Wolves supporter himself, albeit of the kind we called \u201cBreakfast table fans\u201d as they only actually followed us via their morning papers. In fact, Father Clem didn’t even get a morning paper very often and was delighted to hear how well the season was going. Despite our sincere petitions, he declined to come to the match the following morning, saying he’d \u201cgot some prayers to do.\u201d We partook of Holy Phoenix, told tales of our travels, listened patiently to the monks’ talk of gardening, brewing and bible-reading, and hit the hay early, in preparation for setting sail at around three o’clock the following morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\nwere woken by monks with torches on Saturday morning, and felt frozen\nto the bone once our heavy blankets had been removed. In the face of\nsuch conditions, the monks lent us some spare habits for the journey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There are few experiences more stirring for a football supporter than sailing to a game by torchlight in a Viking longboat<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey call us the Black Monks,\u201d said Father Clem as he bade us farewell at Lindisfarne Harbour, while monks loaded more Holy Phoenix onto the boats for the journey, \u201cBut these humble garments now cover monks of gold and black. May God be with you, and come on wor babbies<\/em>.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\nare few experiences more stirring for a football supporter than\nsailing to a game by torchlight in a Viking longboat, with the blood\nrunning emotional from strong ale. The occasion merited appropriate\nmusical accompaniment and it came from the imagination of Natty\nPeeves (the son of Matthew Peeves of the Fighting Cocks): a\nplaintive chant that would come to be known as the Matins of the\nWulfrunian Order:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The\nwind favoured us. At the quayside we were met by delivery boy Jonny\nJarrow, who looked a little perplexed as we climbed onto dry land. \n\u201cI was net expecting three boo-ats,\u201d was his greeting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs\nit going to be a problem?\u201d asked Bert Tatsfield, hugging himself\nagainst a mordant North Sea wind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jarrow\nlooked troubled. \u201cNo,\u201d he replied, \u201cNow, let’s get yez out of\nsight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nled us to a dockside warehouse, and therein to a modest partitioned\nroom, stacked high with unmarked crates. He recognized curiosity in\nsome eyes. \u201cAye,\u201d he said, \u201cit’s monky wash. Leave us\nninepence if you fancy a drop, and there’s thruppence on the bottle\nif you drop one. Now, I’ll need five of yers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bert\nwas the first to ask what was in all of our minds. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFive?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHalf\na dozen, then. Don’t think Bess could pull any more, like…\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBess?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMa\nhorse. She’s a canny lass but she’s no three-year-old…\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Concerned looks were shared among the Wulfrunian Order. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJonny,\nmate: are you sure this is the only way? Couldn’t we just get a bus\nor…\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA\nbus? Have yer teeken leave of your senses, man? You wouldn\u2019t make\nit upstairs! The Amalgam were oot on the toon last night, and it\nwasn’t pretty, like. Anyway, I promised Father Clem, and a promise\nis a promise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While\nfive of the lads followed Jonny to the cart, the rest of us made the\nbest of things, rearranging some crates into card schools and opening\nothers and the bottles therein. I was almost two bob up and two\nbottles in when Jonny Jarrow came back for the next half-dozen, so I\nwas happy to let Natty Peeves and his mates from the Fighting Cocks\ngo before us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome\non, come on,\u201d urged Jonny, ushering them out of the warehouse door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An\nhour and a half later he was back again, and this time appeared a\ngood deal more agitated. \u201cCan yers not be ready and weeting at the\ndoor, like?\u201d he said, waiting for Reg Sykes to finish his bottle of\nmonky wash, \u201cWe\u2019ve a lot of yers to get though, ya knor…\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJonny,\u201d\nI said, looking up from a pair of kings, \u201cJust give us the word and\nwe\u2019ll make our own way, seriously. I\u2019m sure we\u2019ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Amalgam are tearing up Grainger Market at the moment, searching every stall for monky wash. If they even think they smell it on yers breath there\u2019ll be a lynching\u2026. Any way, I promised Father Clem\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a quarter past two before the final group, including myself, Jack Dudley, Harry Sweep and \u201cBudgie\u201d Perton left the warehouse. \u201cTeek \u2018em with yers,\u201d said Jonny, almost squealing with haste, \u201cAh\u2019m tellin\u2019 yers we\u2019ve got to get ganning, man…\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll give you a shilling for them,\u201d said \u201cChimley\u201d Sweep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cForget\nthe deposits. Just get in, will yers\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\nclimbed under the tarp and settled down for the journey, which was a\ngood deal slower than I\u2019d been expecting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUphill,\u201d\nreasoned Chimley, before adding, somewhat bitterly, \u201cThen there\u2019s\nall that change in your pocket weighing us down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On struggled Bess up the Gallowgate…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nhad had an extremely fortunate afternoon, it\u2019s true, but would have\nhappily swapped all of my winnings to be in the ground. Though we\ncould see nothing of Grainger Town, you could sense aggravation every\ntime the horse stopped, be it shouting, a window smashing, the smell\nof smoke or just a nervous silence to the air. At one point the cart\nwas stopped by what sounded like a makeshift Amalgam checkpoint. \nJonny sounded nervous but his fishmonger\u2019s tarp won some benefit of\nthe doubt. On struggled Bess up the Gallowgate until we could hear\nthe a calmer sound, the multiplied muttering of a pre-match crowd. \nThe horse stopped and we climbed out, but when I turned around I saw\nthree men with pitchforks questioning Jonny. Budgie dropped his\nbottle onto the ground in surprise, and one of the interrogators\nspotted the label. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYous!\n Come here!\u201d he called, and started walking towards us. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRun for it, lads!\u201d shouted Jonny, and we took to our heels immediately. \u201cEnjoy the game!\u201d he cried, in obvious discomfort, before adding, \u201cI promised Father Cle-e-e-…\u201d his words distorting into mangled howls and blood-curdling screams. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

We made it to the ground just in time for kick-off, and after a couple of verses of \u201cFor He\u2019s A Jolly Good Fellow,\u201d in honour of Jonny Jarrow, and a None<\/em> of The Wulfrunian Order (using the same words as had been devised for our Matins) we watched the Wolves win 2-1. Come on me babbies!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Caught in the crossfire of Neo-Tudorism and the underground monasteries, The Wulfrunian Order must make their way to St James’ Park undercover of night and then a fishmonger’s tarp….<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":372,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-368","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/368","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=368"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/368\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=368"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=368"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=368"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}