To Cap It All. Kenny Sansom
blew back into his little face and he lit up like a Christmas tree. It was like a scene from a horror movie as he screamed in agony. Fortunately, a man was passing by and witnessed our stupidity. He turned into Action Man. He threw off his heavy sheepskin coat and wrapped it tightly around David’s burning face before getting him to casualty in record-breaking time.
There is no doubt about it: that man saved my brother’s life. Although David was in hospital for weeks and still bears the scars today, he is lucky to be alive.
I was 9 years old when I got into football. I was doing all sorts of crazy things and unwittingly building up skills that would one day ensure me worldwide success. One of my favourite pastimes was balancing on fences. The other kids would try in vain to copy me, but always wobbled and fell off after a few steps. But I could go round and round the fence surrounding our flats for miles and miles.
This was probably my first experience of showing off. It’s no good saying I wasn’t a show off. If playing football in front of the huge audiences the world over isn’t a form of showing off, I don’t know what is? But hey, that doesn’t make me a bad person – just a go-getter.
Back indoors, life was calmer. My four older siblings, Peter, Maureen, Mary and Midge (we never had a Mungo, and Midge was short for Margaret, and I can’t tell you the chaos when letters arrived for Miss M Sansom), and little David and I, had a brilliant home life. I was a Tarzan out of doors and I also resembled him at the dinner table. I really don’t know why this happened, but I always ate with my fingers. The knives and forks were laid at the table, but I never used them.
We ate chops and chips a lot. First I’d pick up the chops and munch on them, and then I’d demolish the chips. Why on earth would I want to spoil the experience by using a knife and fork? This habit began at an early age and went on all through my teenage years, and I never saw anything wrong in enjoying my food in this way.
But I clearly remember when my first tour with the England Youth Squad caused my mum a bad headache. She was far more worried about my eating habits than how well I played. She needed to be worried – I didn’t have a clue what to do with the knife and fork and so I picked up my meat just as I did indoors. It took a long time to drop the jungle way of eating, and I still like to chew on the odd bone.
I have always found eating a great pleasure. Our kitchen cupboards were always full of nuts, crisps, lemonade, cola and doughnuts – food that is scorned upon today. Hot crusty bread and dripping was another favourite. But I guess I was always active enough to work off the calories.
(By the time I was a teenager playing for the Crystal Palace youth team I was still munching on bread and dripping for breakfast, and devouring three pork chops before a match. I can’t imagine the players of today eating such ‘naughty’ food. Arsène Wenger would blow a fuse if he ever caught players such as Cesc Fàbregas eating beef dripping on toast, but it was my staple diet.)
My sisters attended Brockwell primary school in Tulse Hill and close by was Brockwell Park. There was a great big outdoor pool that I believe is still there today but not used as much as it was back in the sixties. One of the lifeguards was a character I’ve never forgotten. We nicknamed him ‘Dave the Whale’. He was this gentle giant who dived in the pool without making a splash and was the most elegant swimmer I’ve ever seen. I could watch him for ages as he glided through the water.
We kids spent endless hours swinging in trees and playing football in Brockwell Park. My finely tuned balancing skills ensured I never fell out of trees, but one day another incident occurred that could have put paid to my career. A boy called James threw a sliver of flint and it wedged in the artery behind my knee. Blood was squirting in great arcs from the back of my leg, and, if it hadn’t been for the quick action of passers-by, I would have been in real trouble, which would have been tragic, as by now football was well and truly in my blood.
Every day after school David and I would rush out onto the square of grass by our flats and meet up with our friends – playing footie until the sun went down. Having so many mates to kick the ball around with made me very happy.
I have been told by the other boys that they knew David and I had something special – that we were always a pace ahead and would always win the ball. They said they would always choose us to be on their side, as it meant defeating our opponents by a huge goal difference.
In the early days I was always in goal and, despite my size, I was quick enough to save most of the shots. David was probably a better player than I was at that time, and although he never became a top-class footballer, I’m certain he could have if he’d had the same luck as I had, because he really was a classy player.
By the time I was secondary-school age we were on the move again. Home was now a flat on the Brandon council estate, close to the Elephant and Castle, and not far from the local pie-and-mash shop. (I know, I know, I ate too many pies in the end, but that was to come much later.) My older siblings had by now found places of their own, so there were just David, Mum and I now – a solid little unit.
The two-mile journey to school, which was in Lambeth Walk, kept me on my toes. But I never walked on the pavement. Instead I balanced on fences again. Don’t ask me why I chose not to walk on the pavement like normal people, because I don’t know. Perhaps it was the challenge of not falling off. Or maybe I wanted to be different. Whatever. The reason is not important. The main thing was it gave me the most wonderful sense of balance that was to help to take me into the world of top-flight football.
There was this fantastic fish-and-chip shop up the Elephant. At lunchtime my mates and I rushed out for chips, free crackling and cola, before going back for afternoon lessons. Then at home time I’d hurry back so I could play football till the sun went down. I was never, ever still.
My best friends at Brandon became my very first teammates.
Joining me and my brother David was Johnnie ‘Awight’ Laws – the boy who’d flattened his face Tom and Jerry style. Then there was Tony Morris who was great at right-back – a really good footballer who might have gone far. Barry Fulbrook and Arthur Duncan joined us to complete our five-a-side team. I clearly remember our winning a five-a-side tournament, which fuelled my passion for winning.
All that swinging through trees and jumping over rooftops was starting to pay off, and my eye-to-foot coordination became finely tuned during these years. My reactions were getting sharper and sharper by the day, and by now I found I was moving in the right direction before being fully aware of which way I was going.
This was in the swinging sixties, when London, like the rest of the country, was living life to the full and ‘anything goes’ was the theme. For those of us too young to be enjoying ‘free sex’, we got our kicks by playing football, anywhere and everywhere. We were lucky. The grown-ups welcomed our free spirits and high jinx. Today there are miserable ‘No Ball Games Allowed’ signs everywhere – but for us that wonderful sense of freedom and wildness just went on and on.
Our natural curiosity was nourished and we learned from experience rather than being told what we could or couldn’t do. There are no lessons greater than falling down and having to get up again.
Next I played for a team called Spring Park Wolves. Our greatest moment was when we won the Dewar Trophy. The match was played in Shirley, near Croydon, and it was the most exciting experience of my very young football career.
By now I was as athletic as I was agile and capable of playing in any position, which was just as well, because our left-back, Terry Eames, got injured and there was no one waiting in the wings to step into his boots, so I got the job.
Being switched from goalie to left-back was the beginning of my journey to the top of my profession. My guardian angel must have been sitting on my shoulder, because I wasn’t growing at the same rate as the other boys and therefore goalkeeping was never going to be my forte. Being a Peter Shilton or Ray Clemence would have been impossible. So a lad called Terry Bruna became goalkeeper and I moved over to the position I was to make my own for many, many years.
We had raw talent and from Monday to Saturday were rarely away from the local