A TRIP TO NEW ELTHAM - DOWN MEMORY LANE

Recalled By Packie Hughes.

Now that was something else, near to the equivalent of spending a Sunday doing your penance climbing CroaghPatrick. Games at New Eltham in the Fifties and Sixties were an arduous ordeal from a St Brendan's perspective, in so far as the journey there, so ordained, more so if the occasion happened to be Autumnal season when you would get the occasional cold, wet windy day. 

St Brendan's, then largely based in Hayes, Middlesex, West Ealing and Acton areas, the trip would entail catching the 'bus', not a coach - they didn't have them in those days - at around 9.30am the first 'pick up point' being 'The Bunch of Grapes' public house in Hayes. Indeed, 9.30am was an unearthly hour if you happened to have spent the previous night in the company of host Pat Sherry in the 'White Hart' and perhaps having consumed maybe one too many. The head would not be too good and the mouth slightly parched. A few of the boys would endeavour to catch the eye of a barman in the 'Grapes' with a view to procuring a 'curer'. Sometimes they did.

First lot of players and supporters loaded, including Jim Regan with his kit bags and inexhaustible supply of drinks and fruit - he never ran out of apples - the bus would saunter away from the 'Grapes' down the Uxbridge Road via Southall and West Ealing, picking up Paddy Corscadden on his way out of the Snooker Hall having spent the night there - hustling.

And so it was, Mossie Langan, the Gormley brothers from Granard, Sean Kennedy would be emerging from a then popular watering hole, 'The Prince Arthur' in West Ealing. Next stop the Town Hall, Acton, where the Kenny and Keenan brothers, Dennis O'Connell, Pat Moran, Riordan and a few joyriders would get on board. Last stop was 'The Askew Arms'. A few pickups there, and an opportunity to partake in the friendly hospitality of the landlord in allowing half the bus to relieve themselves. Everybody at reasonable ease, the bus would continue on its journey via Hammersmith over Putney Bridge through Clapham Common and on towards Dulwich and New Cross.

At this stage the driver would be checking the radiator water level, having observed a steam seepage around his feet, but good man that he was, always prepared with his ten gallon drum of water which he kept on board for emergencies of this nature. So onwards to New Eltham.

At this juncture Jim Regan would have begun collecting the 'fare', starting at the rear, working his way meticulously to the front. The fare was then a half a crown (two shillings and sixpence in old money). Nowadays twelve and a half pence or, in booze terms, about a pint and a half - big bucks!! Even at that rate there would be a few 'two bobs' dropped in the cap but crafty Jim knew there would be dodgers that would try this stunt and in no uncertain manner would let them know of their misdemeanour - 'Ye won't cod me' he'd say.

Arrival at the 'Avery Hill' venue would be approximately two and a half hours after departure. With the boots over the shoulder (and Danny Dillon - the Gateman - sorted) a furious stampede in the direction of the canteen would take place. Light refreshments would be availed of, perhaps a sandwich or a bowl of soup, not too much in case it upset the match plan, just enough, no more.

The St Brendan's club in the Sixties were playing in the Junior Competitions for most of the decade. Nevertheless, this was as big a league as any, or so it seemed. 

'Togging' out for a game was in itself a hazardous experience. There were ten or twelve 'huts', i.e. dressing rooms, which were designed to hold about ten players, so it became a bit chaotic when you had twenty or so occupying the 'hut'. The windows rarely had glass in them due to vandalism. The wind and rain would occasionally blow through, perhaps a blessing in disguise as there was not quite the extensive range of deodorants available in those days. The wind helped. Even the hut facilities were in excess of my Emyvale days as this 'togging out' was normally by the hedge.

During the togging out period, the selectors would have gone into a 'huddle' to pick the team, out of earshot of the 'hut'. Often the task would take anything up to half an hour. The team would be announced and the relevant jerseys given out, a brief tactical talk from the captain was usually something like 'go out there lads and kick the shite out of them'.

Mossie Langan and Dennis O'Connell's last final preparation before merging from the 'hut' was to have a 'swig' from Mick McGovern's half bottle of whiskey which he always carried in the inside pocket of his topcoat. Fortified, it was all systems go.

Just as it is today, the emphasis always focused on the championship. The league was important only if you were involved in the closing stages. Sometimes it was about winning, more often just the sheer joy of playing was the reward. Win or lose, game or competition, there was always next year if you didn't. 

Game over and back to the 'hut' to change. No ensuite showers, indeed, the showers were a twenty five yard walk from the 'huts' at the back of the canteen. This showering soon got your hackles up as often they would be stone cold. The word modesty was not in the dictionary as steaming bodies returned to the ‘hut’. By which time, perhaps getting towards dusk and the ‘hut’ bereft of light, often a man got into the wrong shirt or trousers.

Back then to the canteen where that good Kerrymen, Michael Walsh, later to become Life President of the Association here in London, provided further refreshments and enough food to sustain one to breakfast time, as through experiences lived, food would not be on the menu for many for the rest of the day, as we shall see. Old friends met, banter and goodbyes to the next time and its time to board the bus for the return journey.

By which time the driver would have had a sleep, got the bus tidied up, refilled the radiator again or perhaps added a few quarts of oil. All set and it’s back the way we came. Jim Regan’s generosity knew no bounds. Bags of apples and oranges he distributed to all, at the same time taking up a small ‘collection’ for the driver. 

Incidentally  the players all had to pay the admission charge to the games at New Eltham but this would be partially refunded on the day to the club. Jim on the round home might have a few sandwiches left (that’s if Enda Garvey had not already got them from his bag). If he liked you, you got one.

During the course of the homeward journey an accordion and, on occasions an old squeeze box, would emerge and get a good rattling. Of course, the sing song would follow which was quite enjoyable but on a musical scale of one to ten, somewhere between two and three.

Dave McCarthy, a Corkconian, was the pick of the voices and needless to say excelled later on in the evening after a few pints in ‘The Railway’ in Acton which was the first unloading point. All the Acton boys relaxed after the game in ‘The Railway’ enjoying the music provided by the establishment. The game that took place that day would be replayed over and over with Dennis O’Connell blaming everyone but himself for losing the game. Mind you, there was none better than Pat Moran to put him in his place.

The Hayes based players terminated at ‘The Grapes’, finalising a hectic, long day with a few pints before closing time there. Christy Mulhall, Jim Regan, Enda Garvey, Patsy Corcoran, Oliver Treanor, Steve Leahy, Tommie Gaffney – to mention a few would recall the events of the day in jovial banter.

Going back over these nostalgic memories, the whole Regan family were a very vivid presence on those trips as usually most, if not all the family would attend the games. Be it New Eltham, Balham, Edmonton, Brookside Road or Dagenham, they were there. Not just for a vocal contribution, but as already mentioned, in providing first aid, drinks etc or whatever was needed. Jim was the kit man then. Always spotlessly clean, he’s still kitman fify years later but alas with St Claret’s GFC.

I can well imagine that some of the present day panel will one day recall events of some forty years ago, like the trip to exotic Dubai, recalling the transportation of Aidan McLernon on the shopping trolley and the ensuing consequences.

Of going to play Jersey Irish in the 2004 Championship in Jersey with the episode of Paddy Corscadden, inebriated, trying to milk cow statues!!

Of playing in the shadow of the British Army base in Crossmaglen and the many trips up and down Britain and indeed, frequent visits to Ireland. Hopefully, the game will continue to be played with passion, for it’s as strong as ever, in days to come.

Packie Hughes – November 2005

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