Between the Sticks. Alan Hodgkinson
and Liverpool looking like favourites for relegation. For all that there was a buzz around Bramall Lane for the simple reason the club was due to unveil their floodlights. Floodlights were nothing new. Many top continental grounds boasted lights, but in 1954 very few English clubs had floodlights, even Wembley and Hampden Park didn’t have them, so Sheffield United was considered one of the most forward thinking and go-ahead clubs in British football, and the unveiling of their floodlights was an auspicious occasion that would afford the club national publicity. (An experimental game under lights had taken place at Bramall Lane once before, way back in 1878, with lamps erected on wooden towers powered by Siemens dynamos, but thereafter the notion of playing matches under lights had literally receded into the shadows.)
To celebrate this new addition to the pitch, the club had arranged a floodlit friendly against Clyde. Today a Premiership club would never arrange a friendly against Clyde because it would not be a money spinner and also, with all due respect, because Clyde would not be a big attraction to Premiership supporters. Clyde are, after all, a club whose record club transfer paid dates back over forty years to 1966 to the £14,000 paid to Sunderland for Harry Hood.
In 1954 it was different. Clyde was a top-four team in Scotland. They boasted current Scottish internationals and one of the most memorably named of all footballers: Harry Haddock.
In the days of fledgeling television, fans could only read about teams such as Clyde, so they held a certain mystique for English supporters. Anglo-Scottish rivalry was still intense, with both the respective Football Associations misguidedly believing British football was still the best in the world. As such, a meeting of teams from either side of the border was a very attractive fixture, one sure to draw in a good crowd, especially on a novelty occasion such as an inaugural floodlit game.
To my delight and astonishment, Reg Freeman informed me that my form had been such for the reserves he was going to give me an outing with the first team, in the game against Clyde. I was both excited and elated. Friendly it might be, but I was determined to grasp this opportunity to show everyone I was capable of playing in the first team.
When I returned home I couldn’t wait to tell my parents and Brenda my good news. My dad, as I have said, was never a keen follower of football. I reckon he had only attended but two football matches in his life, but when he heard I was to play for the first team against Clyde told me he ‘wouldn’t miss it for the world’. What’s more, until he passed away, Dad would attend just about every future game I would play for United – and England.
The date was 6 April 1954. Bramall Lane was packed to the rafters for the visit of Clyde. Half an hour before kick-off, in a ceremony performed by local dignitaries and United chairman, Blakeo Yates, the massed ranks of United supporters cooed and ah’d as if watching a grand display of fireworks as our brand new floodlights flickered into full illumination.
Even in 1954, Bramall Lane had rich history to it. In 1883 it was the venue for England’s first home international match outside London (versus Scotland), albeit Sheffield United as a club was not formed until six years later. The main grandstand was the work of the renowned architect Archibald Leach, its main feature being, on the roof of the John Street stand, a mock-Tudor gable which contained the press box. Ten bombs had hit Bramall Lane during the Second World War which destroyed most of the John Street stand, the Kop, and left a forty-foot deep crater in the centre of the pitch. It was to take several years for the club to make good the damage. A new double roof had been erected over the Kop in 1948 and the inaugural floodlit game against Clyde also marked the opening of the new John Street stand with, alas, the old gable stripped down to a flat-roofed press box. Bramall Lane, however, was still a three-sided ground, with the cricket pavilion on the far side separated from the football pitch by the cricket wicket and outfield. Rather than relishing the unusual layout of their home ground, the majority of United supporters disliked the open fourth side to the ground, which I could understand: even on such an auspicious occasion with a capacity crowd present, the open far side seemed to be a drain on the fervent atmosphere.
I wasn’t overawed by the crowd, in fact, I was later to realise the bigger the occasion the better I liked it. As I changed next to my teammates I was riddled with nerves but, once I crossed that white line, my concentration was total and my nervousness dissipated. For a friendly it was a keenly contested game. There was, after all, Anglo-Scottish pride at stake. The game ended 1–1 and I readily recall the Clyde goal being scored by their international winger, Tommy Ring. Little did I know then, Tommy was to come back and haunt me, albeit for a short time, on the occasion of another auspicious debut in my football career.
I felt pleased with my performance, though I was more relieved than anything at the fact I had not made any telling errors. Reg Freeman appeared pleased too, though in keeping with the man, he didn’t say as much. When I entered the home team changing room at the end of the game, he simply patted me on the back.
Sheffield United’s star player was Jimmy Hagan, an immensely talented inside-forward of considerable artistry whose talent deserved far more than the meagre reward of one official cap for England. Jimmy, like so many of his generation, had had his football career sacrificed to the war. He was the inspirational leader of the team, a man who always thought deeply about the game. Knowing Reg Freeman was not one to offer praise to players, never mind lavish it, Jimmy came up to me and complimented me on my performance. Such a compliment from a player of Jimmy’s stature made me feel ten feet tall.
‘You did well, Alan, son,’ Jimmy informed me. ‘The boss thinks so too, but you’ll find out what he is like. Getting words of praise out of him is like knitting with sawdust.’
In light of Jimmy’s kind words I couldn’t wait for the following Friday when Reg Freeman pinned up the various teams for the games on Saturday. When he did so, my heart flopped. Ted Burgin, the regular first-team goalkeeper, was reinstated for the game at home to Preston North End. I was back with the reserves at Newcastle United.
I saw out the remaining five matches of the season with the reserves, but wasn’t too disheartened. In my first season at Sheffield United I had established myself as the regular reserve team goalkeeper and had enjoyed a brief flirtation with the first team, albeit for a friendly.
I couldn’t believe that my whole attitude to my football had changed so much and so irrevocably in a little over a year. From not thinking I was good enough to sign for Sheffield United, I now believed my development, application and attitude were such that I was good enough to claim the number one jersey. I could see light at the end of the tunnel and I knew, in my heart of hearts, that it wasn’t a train coming.
‘Follow your spirit, and, upon this charge, cry, ‘God for Harry! England and St George.’
Henry V
To keep myself reasonably fit, I spent most of the summer of 1954 playing cricket for Thurcroft Main in the Bassetlaw League. Somewhat appropriately, given I was a goalkeeper, I kept wicket for Thurcroft, whilst my batting was good enough to see me in the higher order. When pre-season training began with Sheffield United I felt in pretty good shape, confident, should my personal game continue to improve, I would be knocking on the door for the first-team jersey.
As things turned out, 1954–55 had an inauspicious start for yours truly. On the opening day of the season I found myself keeping goal for the reserves at Newcastle United. Sheffield United fielded several youngsters in the team of which, of course, I was one. Newcastle, on the other hand, named a strong team, too strong for us. We found ourselves overrun from the word go. Try as we did, we proved incapable of mounting anything but sporadic attacks. We were totally outplayed and the Newcastle reserves ran out easy winners 4–0. For all I had conceded four goals I felt I had given a very good account of myself. In addition to executing a string of saves, I managed to save a second-half penalty from Alan Monkhouse, who had recently been signed by Newcastle from Millwall for the princely sum of £11,000.
One of the first things reserve team players do when entering the dressing room at the end of a game