The Topper was an unfunny broadsheet version of the Beano or Dandy and had been my weekly comic since I could remember. Moving on to senior school meant that I could choose a new one and I went with the Victor. 

Now here was an all action lads comic, which featured Alf Tupper as a down and out northern athlete who ate fish and chips, lived on an old mattress under a railway arch, but The Tough of the Track always found his best when running against those southern softies. There was also an aristocrat footballer by the name of Gorgeous Gus, who had his own butler who delivered his boots to him on match days on a silver platter; he had all kinds of mechanical devices to feed him footballs, which he volleyed into the back of the net.

The front and back pages were always covered with cartoons of our men overrunning German or Japanese machine gun nests; sinking the axis fleet or our fighter planes downing the Luffwafte. 

I would catch Dad reading my Victor and he would always say “it was now’t like that” and then he would launch into his stories of his time as signalman on the bridge of the Destroyer HMS Blankney on convoy duty to Malta or Russia. He would tell of arriving in Murmansk and the people who only had a ration of black bread cheering as they docked. I looked at my spam fritters for tea and was grateful.

My first visit to Turf Moor came shortly after my 11^th birthday and came courtesy of my elder brother who was an Everton supporter. 11th January 1964 and Burnley v Everton; we gathered on a cold lunch time outside the Rothery Radio shop in St.Helens to board the Eavesway coach that was taking the Everton supporters to Burnley. 

On arriving I paid out my 4d to get my programme and we watched the game together. Everton won 3-2, but I had at last got see the likes of Blacklaw, Angus, Elder, Talbut, Miller, Lochhead, Harris and Connelly in action. The coach journey home was filled with singing Toffees; but I wasn’t down, I had at last got to Turf Moor and I was sure it wasn’t going to be my last visit.

Senior school was daunting and so were the teachers, each one carried a reputation and Art Teacher Mr.Tickle was pretty handy with the cane. Anyone falling foul of him had the option of which cane he would hit you with! It was either the mummy one (long and whispy) or the dady one (short and fat). I can tell you both hurt!

We had a decent cricket team at school and John Lyon who lived just up the road from me also played in the school team; John went on to play for Lancashire and took over the wicketkeeping gloves from Farouk Engineer. Our sportsmaster was “Spudder Woods” who played scrum half at rugby union and wicketkeeper at cricket for St.Helens.  

Our school was bang in the middle of St.Helens Town Centre, which meant we had to walk everywhere to get to sports facilities; however our cricket practice took place in our school playground with a rubber compound ball and wickets on hinges.

Spudder would come tearing in and bowl at pace at us; the ball would hit the edge of the uneven paving stones on the ground and fly all over the place. It was like facing the West Indies and it certainly toughened us up for the school matches.

One such game was against Grange Park and as opening bat I was never a prolific run scorer; more a hanger around usually out 5 or 6. Me and my opening partner Kenny Stevens were up against Hignet who was a fast bowler who played for Lancashire Schoolboys.

I took the 1^st over from him and was hit all over the body. Next over and Kenny is facing another bowler; 4 balls and still no run on the board; 5^th ball Kenny edges one and I call for the run; off sets Kenny like a hare, passes me and shouts “two”; I turned around and had to motor to make my ground, a clean throw would have seen me out!

Last ball of the over and Kenny straight bats it, no run and while I glared at him, he smiled back!

Next over Hignet came roaring in at me and caught me high on the left thigh, bat went down, sod this for a game of soldiers I thought and next ball he bowled middle and off; I played middle and leg and out went my off stump! I returned Kennys smile and nodded my head toward the now vacant crease, as if to suggest that he might like to spend some time there.

I know bullying is a problem these days and it is a serious one too, at my school the solution was very different back in the mid 60s. I was only ever really bullied once at school and that resulted in me getting involved in a playground fight with a lad called John Ashton.

Spudder called for us both to stay behind after school the following day and he took us to the gym, put boxing gloves on us both and our 4 x 3 minute boxing match took place. Early in the 2^nd round my Fredie Mills trained right jab caught him smack on the nose and blood gushed out, the boxing match, along with the bullying was ended.

Football at home was played out in the street and our badly planned Council Estate (Planners phew!) had built a brick built bus shelter, but the roads were not wide enough for buses to get down, so the shelter being the size of goal frames was perfect for us, with a grass verge in front. We played “3 pops in” and would climb on top to escape the local hard teenagers that terrorised us, “watch out” someone would shout, “heres Johnny Mather with Gypsy”. Gypsy was a huge ferocious Alsatian and we would lie still on top of the concrete bus shelter roof and hope they didn’t spot us!

By the 1966 season Ralph Coates, Willie Irvine, Willie Morgan, Brian O’Neil, Sammy Todd, Dave Merrington and Fred Smith were making regular appearances in the claret and blue. There was the battle of Naples; the disappointment of the home game against Eintract Frankfurt; the loss of Willie Irvine with a broken leg. 1967 would see plenty of player movement.

I still have that treasured programme from that first game against Everton in 1964, it was of the few to survive Dads bonfire of grief, some years later following Mums death, you can burn possessions, but some memories you have to try and keep alive.

Next time up, how I paid for my school trip to Switzerland and Colin Waldron (yes the real one) signs for Burnley.

See you next time for more From The Edge