To Cap It All. Kenny Sansom
all about playing football and the afternoon was spent in front of the television watching The Big Match, which started at two o’clock and coincided with a roast dinner. Then afterwards at least fourteen of us would congregate on the green and have the time of our lives.
Every spare minute of every day was spent with a ball balancing on the end of my foot. And, despite my terrible diet, I was as fit as a fiddle. I guess chips just worked for me.
DOING THE LAMBETH WALK
I went to an all-boys school called Beaufoy Secondary School, which was situated in the Lambeth Walk, south London, and it was during my time here that I won my first England schoolboys’ cap. The Chelsea legend John Hollins presented me with it in a big elaborate ceremony in the main hall we used for assembly. John gave a great big speech to all the boys about sport and education. He told us that football was great, but that our schoolwork must come first. Later, when we were alone, he whispered to me, ‘Just do what you want, Kenny. If it’s football that’s in your blood, then go for it.’ I willingly took his advice.
Our sports teacher was Mr Bond. My name is Bond – James Bond. Oh, he was so smooth and fit. He was also excellent at his job. I can’t say he actually produced top-class athletes, but he was enthusiastic and encouraging, which was good enough.
When I was playing football for England schoolboys while at Beaufoy, there was another pupil playing basketball for the country. Mr Bond nurtured any boy who demonstrated talent, so I guess that, as well as being a smoothie, he was also a great motivator. Later I was to be managed by another smoothie, George ‘Stroller’ Graham, but that was way down the line.
This was the late sixties in London and there were lots of black lads living in our area. Attitudes to racism, which had been born out of ignorance more than anything else, were rapidly changing. My parents had been raised in the heart of postwar London at a time when close-knit communities resented what they perceived to be an intrusion in their ‘manor’, but I’m glad to say this was never an issue for us. A generation down the line made a big difference. Later on I was to become great pals with Viv Anderson (the first black player to represent England) and Vince Hillier (my big buddy at Crystal Palace), so, even if I had taken any of these small-minded prejudices on board, it would have been wiped out when I met these true gentlemen.
I was in Tudor House, and there is no way on earth you could describe our housemaster as smooth. He was a big black man who stood for no nonsense whatsoever. If you misbehaved you got the slipper and there was no escaping it. I’d like to say I was smart enough never to get caught, but I was driven by fear more than by brains. Having some old boy whack me over the backside with anything at all filled me with terror.
At least my fear made me sharp and my little legs run faster than the wind. I’m a bit embarrassed to confess that sometimes I would get a mate of mine to carry out a prank on my behalf. I’d think up something wicked and then pass the dirty deed on. I’d feel guilty for a while, but then my sense of humour, which was always waiting in the wings, used to click in and, even though I say it myself, we would all end up roaring with laughter.
Some of the boys may have had a sore arse, but not Sansom. My arse stayed a slipper-free zone. I’m talking about daft stuff here – never anything serious. School meant sport, lessons and hopping the wag – normal schooling for most of us.
One of my best mates, Tony Morris, lived in a flat not too far from our school and his parents were out at work all day, so naturally it was his home we invaded on a regular basis. We’d sit there chatting about football and girls while scoffing choc-ices and lollies out of his freezer.
I wasn’t a rough, tough, kid – far from it. I only ever had one fight, and that was a reaction to catching some rotten kid banging my brother David’s head on the ground. I didn’t have a violent bone in my body, and still haven’t, but I saw red that day. David and I, like most brothers, often argued, but if outsiders threatened us we would defend our own.
Defending has always been a bit of a theme in my life. I find it quite ironic that I could defend for my country for almost a decade, but that I often found myself too afraid to defend those close to me. Take Elaine, my childhood sweetheart and wife of 27 years, for example…
The day my mother went into labour with me dawned a fine autumn day. I had a home birth and Bill Sansom’s wife, Auntie Margaret, who was known to the whole neighbourhood on the Old Kent Road as Maggie, helped ease my tiny body into the world. Listening to stories of my birth and all my siblings running around the house reads like a Martina Cole novel, and I never tire of listening to the nostalgia my big sister Maureen likes to tell.
My cousin Elaine has also told me the whole story about the kettle boiling in the kitchen, endless cups of tea poured for the anxiously waiting family and friends, and my mum as calm as you like. When my healthy lungs were filled with enough London air, I yelled the place down, which made everyone very happy. Cousin Elaine was the first to enter my life. Soon there would be another Elaine.
THE TWO E’S
First, as we’ve seen, there were Rose Louise and Rose Louise – just to confuse everyone. Then, when I was a young teenager, my cousin Elaine introduced me to another Elaine – who was to become my Elaine. They were such good friends that everyone referred to them as ‘The two E’s’.
Both Elaines were lookers. They just had it – they had that special magic you can’t put your finger on and identify with clarity. It’s a feeling – an instinct – and all you know for sure is you can’t walk away from it. I suppose you could say she was a ‘bloke magnet’, but she never bothered with anyone but yours truly.
I was shorter than most of the boys, so it was very handy that my gal was 5 foot nothing. My cousin wasn’t any taller, either – so I guess we were all short arses together. Nice arses, though – theirs, that is. (Mine was a good arse as well, until it became a bit lardy and the boys on the terraces began to sing, ‘He’s fat, he’s round, he bounces on the ground – Kenny Sansom!’)
They were fabulous dancers and would spend hours indoors practising and perfecting their routines so they could wow the crowds at local discos – and wow them they did. While the girls were strutting their stuff on the dance floor, I was strutting around the football clubs and pitches of every corner of London – everywhere south of Watford. I was loving my life. I was doing what I was born to do and had all the support in the world.
Terry Venables used to have this nickname for me. He called me Miguel and said it was because every time I left training I’d say, ‘I’m off to see “me gal” now’. And Elaine was my gal, right from the very first day I set eyes on her pretty blue eyes. It took a little while until we announced we were girlfriend and boyfriend, but when it happened it came as no surprise to anyone.
We’d first met at a local youth club when I was 10 and she was a whole 9 months older than I was. But it was later, when we were both holidaying on Canvey Island at a caravan park that was practically the Sansoms’ second home, that we became an item.
I remember the day I knew I loved Elaine. She was sitting on a horse, patting his head and smiling at me. Her horse wouldn’t budge, so I told her squeeze her legs tight to the horse, and then nudge him (well, kick, really, but that sounds awful) and then he’d move on. Off she went with a jolt and a shriek, leaving me standing there smitten.
My brother David fancied her as well and he actually asked her out first, but she turned him down. I thought this left the coast clear for me, but I was wrong. She was seeing someone else, so I had to wait a while longer before she would say yes. Some years later, she would walk down the aisle and say ‘I do’ – but for now it was a case of courting and getting to know