more memories

More ramblings from a disjointed memory

Some memories are vague only, others very clear probably depending on how much beer was consumed around the time. I do not remember much about how I met my first girlfriend at college, except that it was at a disco. However I do remember that as the halls of residence did not permit overnight guests we needed to get a lift to her place in Clifton. Who had a car and was sober? It was midnight and Alan Sopp was non too pleased at being roused from a dream of scoring in the cup final but acquiesced to the young lady's request for transport. So we sped away to her flat in Alan's British Racing Green M.G. Midget. Our affair was as brief as it was intense and eventually burned itself out, but having had the taste of romance I was captivated and entered upon a series of short but interesting relationships of which I shall say no more, to protect those involved. Life at Matthias was never, well almost never, dull. Every week I played football at least twice. The standard was remarkable for such a small college, almost everyone of the team had played at a good level or had a trial for some league club. Alan Sopp had been with Chelsea until his lung collapsed, Kev Kibbey with Dorchester Town, Mike Hawkes in goal for Minehead to name but three. I used to travel with Alan whenever possible, mainly because we could arrive at the ground in style but also because Alan continually gave a commentary about what was happening, " Matthias stars Sopp and George arrive to rapturous applause from the fans but have no time for autographs, these boys have come here to do a job", sort of thing. In my first year there were several third years playing their final season, John Shakesby all bustle and bluster, Bill Corrigan long legged and elegant and Don Sharland who seemed to me to be a giant of a man. Happy days. Eating at college was usually a life enhancing experience. I have particularly fond memories of Martha and Wilf who together ran the catering. I remember Martha as a fairly large dark-eyed lady who was of Spanish origin, the lads learned how to get into her good books which guaranteed them seconds if they were available. Kibbey shamelessly flirted with Martha whilst the rest of the lads took the rewards. Wilf, if I trust my memory, was a small man with a little moustache. They seemed ill matched as a couple but kept a tight ship. They were assisted at one point by a youth called Charlie Summers, (see Sports Lags for a photo), who hailed from Newcastle and everybody called Geordie, (no surprise there then). Geordie was a rough diamond if ever there was one who would have been more at home in the army catering corps than at St. Matthias and yet he was assimilated as an honorary lad and got involved in many of the activities nefarious and otherwise. Whilst I can recall that the food was pretty good what I cannot recall is what sort of meals were dished up, anyway they ensured none of us starved to death. One of the more stupid things we got up to was the so called 'Soap in the Sink'. This was a sport played in the gents whenever two or more lads were around. It involved trying to get a bar of soap into the sink, (hence the name), using ones feet only. Games lasted for anything from two to ten minutes with much laughter and cheering. Eventually it came to an end when the long suffering cleaners complained. 'Bare arse against the....' was a sport played usually after closing time and predominantly, though not exclusively, by the rugby team. One of them, usually Geoff Dawes would bellow, 'bare arse against the night porter', or, 'bare arse against the cricket pavilion', and they would all hare off at high speed lowering their trousers and underwear as they ran. When the unfortunate object was located the winner was the first person to touch his bare buttocks to it, not that this stopped all the others also placing their back sides on it. I clearly remember the appalled look on Gerry the groundsman's face as twelve large hairy buttocks descended on him. Another 'lads' gag involved the use of the communal dustbins. Several of us would gather together on the third floor of Bishop Monk and empty one of the bins. We then filled it to the brim with water and dragged it along the corridor to the window that overlooked the doorway two stories below. When a likely victim was spotted the bin was lifted up to the open window and held in a ready to pour position. The effect of being hit by a solid mass of water from this height was quite overwhelming and, to our eyes at the time, extremely funny. I can remember one poor lad who, on walking into the hall of residence carrying an armful of books and paper, became instantaneously drenched by eight gallons of cold water hitting him with the force of a small bus. What became of the papers and the books I don't know but I think that particular soaking was so traumatic that we gave up and found some another pastime. One such pastime involved using our master key to quietly open someone's room in the dead of night and silently wheel in the spin drier. The cable was left trailing under the door, which was then relocked. The final act in this prank was to plug the drier in and run like hell. The victim would awaken to the racket of the spin drier banging around his room and have no way of turning it off until he had unlocked the door. Happy days!! During my first year several of us went to watch Bristol Rovers at nearby Eastville. I can remember the ground as if it was yesterday, a greyhound track ran around the outside and there were flowerbeds behind the goals at each end. One night we went to watch Scunthorpe who had Kevin Keegan playing for them. During the warm up Ray Clemence, who played in goal for them, collided with a post and took no further part. We used to stand at one end on a terrace that had a sheer drop at the back of about twelve feet, and quite regularly people would fall off. At one game we had decided to sample the cornish pasties that were on sale, this was an error as they had no meat in them, only fatty bits of gristle. Mosty of us threw them in the bin in disgust but one lad decided to throw his at a policeman. Being half time the aforementioned constable had taken his helmet off and was having a cup of tea while chatting to one of the ground staff. The pastie sailed towards him but was poorly aimed and came to earth in his helmet. One can only imagine the mirth of a couple of hundred fans as he put his helmet back on.