My favourite month of the year was always September, with its St Martin\u2019s summers and first golden hints of autumn, and the dazzling sunny days that always mark the beginning of the football season. This is our new year, without the pressure of making resolutions; instead we surrender responsibility for our future happiness and prosperity to the gentlemen in old gold and black, knowing we\u2019ll ultimately be disappointed, but not every Saturday, not all year.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
September of \u201822 was a little different, though. Saturdays were still the centrepiece of the week, of course, but the mood in the Fox, the Feathers, and the Unicorn, was more black than golden. Wolves had yet to win. Jack Addenbrooke had died. And Dicky Toolan was out of love again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was his mum who answered the door. \u201cOi\u2019ve tried weckin\u2019 \u2018im up, Gonby,\u201d she said turning her back to me and heading to the kitchen, where a kettle whistled urgently, \u201cCor do it. Cuppa tie?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThanks, Mrs T. Mind if I try?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I headed up the creaking staircase and knocked on Dicky\u2019s door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWake up, featherhead, we\u2019ve got a train to catch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAy gooin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAy gooin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be daft. Your mum\u2019s brewing a cuppa downstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAy gooin\u2019,\u201d he repeated, angrily though not towards me, \u201cFootball\u2019s stupid. Grown men running around. Wyester money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s Nelly Bamford talking, not you, Dicky. Now come on. First win of the season\u2019s waiting for us in Manchester. You don\u2019t want to miss that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTea\u2019s ready!\u201d shouted Mrs Toolan from downstairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Of course, I didn\u2019t believe we were actually going to win that day. We\u2019d scored one goal in five games so far and the only thing the optimist in me could find to look to were the new grounds we might see in whichever Third Division we landed in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I chatted a little with Mrs Toolan before Dicky emerged, unshaven, his blond mop unruly beneath a topcoat of pomade, and what appeared to be the suit of a down-at-heel Victorian undertaker. Or one of his clients.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
With no time for a makeover, I kept my sartorial concerns to myself and we headed out to the High Level station. I suffered a long lament regarding Nelly, her soft, womanly ways, and her hardness towards Dicky as we climbed North Street, and I wished for an open taproom or a friendly face that might distract my friend, but none appeared; excursions had been organized by the Honorable and Worthy Pedallers, a rival splinter group styling themselves \u201cThe Well-Oiled of Compton\u201d, the Veterans of Kirbekan Wolves Supporters Club, Gentleman Jack\u2019s Jolly Ramblers and the Horseley Fields Flotilla, and we appeared to be the only ones taking more conventional transport.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After some fruitless cajoling for strong drink, I bought us a cup of tea each and we sat in the refreshment room. Dicky said very little, and nothing that he hadn\u2019t already said during the walk there, chin down into his chest and playing with the tablecloth. I lit a senior service and, looking around for a less depressing view, saw an old lady approach our table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell here\u2019s the jolly prince Richard,\u201d she said croakily, a ringless arthritic hand clawing at her sagging neck, \u201call glum, for he doesn\u2019t know his fate\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDo I know you?\u201d asked Dicky, rather rudely I thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh, I know you, master Richard. I know your past, and I know your future.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBegone, crone!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Here I had to draw the line. \u201cDicky! Stop moping and mind your manners. I think the lady has something to say to you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNothing to say,\u201d she said, enigmatically, \u201cSomething to give.\u201d And she laid on the table a blue velvet pouch. Dicky stared at the gift irritably for a few seconds, and then we both looked up from the table. The hag was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHave a look inside,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dicky reached inside and retrieved a packet of Craven \u2018A\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI had one of them off Clem Badgers the other week,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAr, me too,\u201d replied Dicky. \u201cTaste like fresh air. And do\u2019 roll your eyes loik that, Gonby! Yow smoke Senior Service same as I do!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know I do, ar, but I do\u2019 spend me woolly life moaning, do I? What else is in there?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dicky pulled out the next gift and lay it on the table. Neither of us spoke a while.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat is that abomination?\u201d I asked, finally, and Dicky launched a mouthful of tea across the refreshment room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho\u2019s moaning now, eh?\u201d he asked. I was just pleased he was smiling again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The article in question was a rosette, half in our beloved old gold and black, and half in the bland red and white of Manchester United. \u201cIt is horrible, though,\u201d said Dicky, after the two of us had inspected it thoroughly. \u201cNo true fan would ever wear it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnything else in there?\u201d I asked, pouring another cup of tea and lighting a Senior Service.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dicky rummaged again, this time opening his fist to reveal an unusual looking ring. It held no gem but rather what appeared to be a tiny cut square of Staffordshire blue brick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe woman was clearly mad,\u201d I said, getting up to head to the platform.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd yet she seemed so normal,\u201d replied Dicky quietly, refilling the pouch and taking it with him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His dry moment in the refreshment room was the last amusing thing Dicky Toolan said that journey. All the way to Piccadilly he was either moaning about Nelly, asking if he\u2019d ever find another one like her (you had to hope not, but knowing Dicky\u2019s luck you just knew he would) or staring forlornly out of the window with a pensive Senior Service. It was a huge relief when the train pulled into Manchester \u2013 particularly as it was now after opening time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dicky passed her a shilling, and then a shiny tanner. \u201cHave one yerself, bab\u201d, he said softly…<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Bull\u2019s Head was already lively, with a pianist in one corner and crackling conversation in the other, but there was room to stand at the bar, which would come in handy given the thirst Dicky\u2019s lovelorn mithering had given me. I shouted up the first round, but before I could find the right change Dicky was practically barging me out of the way. And at once I didn\u2019t blame him. There was an Irish lilt to the voice that invited you to listen, and having listened, to look. Straight dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, and framed a small nose and big green eyes. Dicky passed her a shilling, and then a shiny tanner. \u201cHave one yerself, bab\u201d, he said softly, and when she smiled back a single dimple showed to the left of her lips, which were as red as John Silcock\u2019s shirt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThanks, chuck,\u201d she said, before reaching for the spirit shelf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Their talk continued, with Dicky including me occasionally out of politeness. I felt in the way but didn\u2019t want to move too far away from the beer engine. The girl, whose name was Alice, lamented pleasantly the ennui of Ardwick while swooning to talk of Wolverhampton.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the arrival of his next pint, Dicky reached for his Senior Service. \u201cCould I try one of those?\u201d asked Alice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo, no: not these,\u201d replied Debonair Dicky, \u201cTry a Craven \u2018A\u2019: much better for your throat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou are a gentleman! What are you doing up here in boring old Manchester, then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If Whitmore Reans and Wednesfield had held her attention, talk of our travels the length and breadth of Britain with the Old Gold were clearly going to work in Dicky\u2019s favour, and so it proved. Though he laid it on a bit thick (even borrowing some of my stories about games he\u2019d missed due to moping around his mom\u2019s house about some local wench or other) she hung on every word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI quite like United, but just to read about. In the paper, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Normally contemptuous of what we called \u201cbreakfast table fans\u201d, Casanova Toolan today was a vivid advocate for reading, and the work the mass media carried out on behalf of the more casual supporter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWould you like to come along to the game today?\u201d he asked finally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019d love to, but I fear the excitement would be quite too much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNot at all. There will be refreshment in case you feel faint.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnyway I have to be up the market. My brothers will need their tea.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell, I have something for you,\u201d said Dicky, producing from his bag the tacky half-and-half rosette.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhere did you get this? It\u2019s beautiful,\u201d said Alice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was then that Gentleman Jack\u2019s Jolly Ramblers entered the pub, led by Cornelius Bacon in gaiters and trench coat, so I left Dicky to it to catch up. They were in fine fettle, having finally found Elijah Flynn, missing since the Bury game the previous season. Elijah had found work in a cotton mill in Ancoats and then stowed away on an export ship, missing the beginning of the season as a result. We gave detailed highlights to him (highlights was not, on reflection, le mot juste<\/em>) and he told us tales of mermaids, Caribbean maidens and India Pale Ale until it was time to head out to the game.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo?\u201d I said to Dicky. as we stepped out onto Piccadilly, \u201cAny news for me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNews?\u201d he said, retreiving his Senior Service from the inside pocket of his antiquated jacket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet\u2019s just get to the game, Gonby,\u201d he said, irritatedly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dicky\u2019s irritation would continue during and after the game, in which we once again failed to score and fell to a single goal by Joe Spence. September was ending, and a long, cold, hard winter awaited us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I saw the toccy brick ring once again, some weeks later, on the right hand of Nelly Bamford. By that time she was engaged to a tatter she\u2019d never marry from Bushbury Lane, and Dicky was down in the mouth about a shopgirl called Agnes Poulter.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Would Dicky Toolan ever find his princess? Would Wolves ever score again?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":518,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-517","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\/517","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=517"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/517\/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=517"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=517"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=517"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}