The Real Deal - Wembley Manuscript - Chapters 11-20

The Real Deal - Wembley Manuscript.

Chapters 11-20

www.kentishfootball.co.uk EXCLUSIVELY revealed Tommy Sampson's FA Vase winning story two years ago, and here you can relive Deal Town's FA Vase winning campaign in 2000.

Chapters 11-20

Chapter 11

To say that watching Newcastle that next Saturday was a farcical experience is an understatement. Keith and I set off to watch them play at Atherton Collieries. On our way we stopped off to look at the ground where we would be playing our first leg the following Sunday.
The tie had been moved to Sunday on the advice of the Staffordshire Police, who felt Stoke City being at home a mile up the road would cause manning problems.

We found Newcastle’s huge ground with what looked like a banked cycle track encircling it.

We familiarised ourselves with the surroundings although we couldn’t get onto the pitch because there were players milling around waiting for their coach to take them to Atherton Collieries, our destination as well .......or so we thought.

Keith and I made tracks. We had a further fifty miles to complete and with plenty of time to spare stopped for lunch. Fed and watered we arrived in Atherton twenty five minutes from kick off.

My first impression of the ground was that if you blew it up you couldn’t have done twenty quid’s worth of damage!!!!!! Strangely there were no programmes, which when you are “scouting” is vital.

When the two teams ran out there was no tannoy announcement regarding teams either. So there we were watching this dreadfully poor game with no information looking at each other puzzled at how a team or even a league like this could get to the F.A. Vase semi-finals.

The suspicion deepened when we both realised at the same time that whilst the referee was “kosher” the officials running the lines were being supplied by the clubs. I sent Keith to find out what was going on and he returned breathless five minutes later to tell me were watching Newcastle Town’s RESERVES !!!!! “What the f...... hell are we doing here watching their poxy reserves? I bellowed. Within seconds we were in the car driving out of the ground. It was fifty odd miles back to Newcastle-under-Lyme and it was 3.25pm.

We picked our way through the traffic towards the motorway. Once on the M6 we worked out we could quite possibly get back to Newcastle for the last ten minutes. So there we were speeding back down the motorway to a ground we had visited three hours previously. I swore Keith to secrecy. “No-one must ever know we cocked it up” I said.

“The only way we ever admit to this is if we get to Wembley and win, then we’ll laugh about it but if we lose to Newcastle it’s an episode that will never be spoken of.” Keith agreed. We had formed a secret society of two and we would take the secret to our graves if necessary.

We drove into the car park at Newcastle’s ground and rushed through the open gate and up the banking to hear the referee blow his final whistle. What would we do now, we didn’t even know the score!! We decided to front it out and went into the bar, introducing ourselves at the “people from Deal”.

We plied the locals with ale and they responded by telling us all about the game and that a 1-0 defeat meant very little “as so -and-so didn’t play”, “those three standing at the bar were rented and we’ll have another player back from suspension?”

One hour later we left for home with all the information we needed, it was almost as if we had seen the game.

Keith returned to the north west the following Tuesday to watch Newcastle play at Atherton Laburnum Rovers. I think that is where all the confusion occurred. The names of their opponents all sounded similar so it all got lost in the he interpretation, but no harm was done and we knew as much as we needed to.

Chapter 12

While we were travelling up to Staffordshire the other semi-final was being played. Chippenham had surprised the bookies the previous weekend by going up to the north east and turning over Bedlington in their own back yard. They now had to get past Vauxhall Motors to reach Wembley.

A 0-0 draw away from home meant it was all to play for at Hardenhurst Park the following Saturday. I was extremely envious of both managers because they had survived the first leg without two many disasters and their fate had now come down to one ninety minute tie; winner takes all.

My feat was that one bad day for us and it would leave us with too much to do in front of our own supporters. The previous year Taunton had gone down 3-0 at home in their first leg to better rivals Tiverton leaving them no real chance in the second. Above all else I wanted just to have a chance at the Charles Sports ground next Sunday.

I had an hour by hour itinerary typed out for the players and because of the importance of the game I expected everybody to follow it. When we arrived at our destination, the Moat House Hotel in Stoke, it was about 6pm.

Dinner was at 8pm and getting off the coach I reminded everyone that we would be eating together and to meet in reception for 7.30pm. Adjacent to our hotel was a small leisure park with Cinema’s restaurants and a bowling alley!!!!!

“Don’t even think about it” I said as someone mentioned visiting the “entertainment”. I never imagined for one minute that, with a massive game like tomorrow’s only a 20 hours away players would want to go bowling. I was wrong!!!! David Monteith and Paul Ribbens, my wing backs, were like two peas in a pod.

They lived close together in Gravesend and had been vital to me over the past three or four seasons terrorising Kent League sides with their pace and ability. In their defence they never for one minute thought what they were doing was wrong.

If they had heard my remark getting off the coach such was their respect for my leadership they would not have gone against my instructions.

Gathering in reception at around 7.30pm for dinner I was chatting away when in waltzed “Monty” and “Ribbo” boasting about their expertise in the lanes because they had spent the last hour bowling. I heard the commotion and thought they were trying to wind me up. I refused to believe that they had ignored the itinerary until the look on their faces gave away their guilt.

I was absolutely furious and it was only because of the regard I had for them that I didn’t kick them out of the hotel there and then.

Captain Terry Martin smoothed the way for both of them and the culprits’ own apologetic rhetoric calmed my anger. “Don’t come anywhere near me for the rest of the night” I barked at the sheepish pair. “God forbid you f.... up tomorrow” was my parting shot across their already weakening bows.

The rest of the evening saw everybody mingling in and around the bar areas, watching the television or playing cards.

The alcohol ban I had instigated wasn’t going down very well and Captain Terry Martin came to me as a representative of the players but I refused to relent and the lemonade and orange squash flowed freely.

The following day we left for our destination, barely minutes away, giving ourselves plenty of time to “acclimatise” to the new surroundings and also to establish the fitness of Roly Graham and Phil Turner.

Newcastle Town were what I call a pure footballing side always trying to pass the ball and rarely knocking it hopefully long so our job on the day was to knock them out of their stride and attempt to impose our style on them.

Our way of playing was always to hit the target man, in our case Steve Lovell and get the midfield players and wing-backs beyond their defenders.

So two different philosophies were sent into battle on a cold Sunday afternoon in the “Potteries”.

For a Vase semi-final it was strangely subdued. They weren’t the best supported team in their league and despite the prize of a day at Wembley only 811 turned up to watch.

With this enormous tarmac banking around the ground the crowd looked a long way away which suited us because it is easy to get involved in the crowd’s favour if they are right on top of you.

Two huge throw-ins from Paul Ribbens (who only hours before had thrown a different kind of ball) had helped us open up a 2-0 lead. The first an own goal and the second shortly before half time fell to Steve Best, who gleefully nodded home. 2-0 away from home at half time was everything we could have wished for.

My reaction to the referee’s whistle to signal the break was to punch downwards into thin air saying passionately “YYessss”!!!!

Martin Smith, Newcastle’s assistant manager (manager Ray Walker was playing) saw me do this and immediately followed me up the concrete slope to the dressing room mouthing obscenities at me. He was obviously shaken by our performance and rattled by my obvious show of supremacy. I deliberately ignored him because there was far too much football to be played to get too personal.

I avoided my opponent’s gaze during the second half but he got involved with Jon Warden when I introduced him into the game for Steve Lovell after an hour.

At the final whistle our 2-0 lead was still intact and I walked forward on to the pitch trying to ensure players did not over celebrate because we still had the home leg to come. Turning back I offered my hand to the bulging-eyed assistant manager of our opponents.

“Good luck, see you next week”, I exclaimed without any trace of smugness.

“F... off” was the reply.

“We’ll see you next week and you won’t be smiling then” he raged.

“No problem” I said “but at least shake hands, today’s over” I responded meekly.

A tirade of more abuse came my way so I decided to beat a hasty retreat to the dressing room dragging Jon Warden with me who had taken offence at Smith’s attitude when he came on as sub.

The celebration was muted because the job was only half done but the sense of pride from everyone in our dressing room was overwhelming and we all knew our destiny was in our own hands.

Chapter 13

Amazingly the Kent League Management Committee insisted we play a midweek game between the two legs. Canterbury City away would not have caused us too many problems under normal circumstances but I was adamant that no player involved in Sunday’s win at Newcastle would play in the league fixture.

We won 2-1 against the league’s basement team and I was grateful to see Phil Turner and Paul Roberts come through unscathed.

During the week the Charles Sports Ground was being transformed from its normally Spartan facility to an arena in which the gladiators would have been proud to perform. Two massive 500 seater stands behind the dugouts were erected.

A 100 seater hospitality stand for all the dignitaries went up alongside the bar and an imposing hospitality marquee carpeted and heated also rose from what was the car park. The nearby Royal Cinque Ports Golf greensmen were in every day preparing the pitch to a standard which had never been seen before.

That week was the most humbling week of my footballing life.

Roy had organised for staff to work round-the-clock ensuring tickets would be sold and all eventualities met.

Annette Bryant, our commercial manager, Billie Smith, Roy’s wife, Graham Johns, club vice chairman, the Fox girls, Dave Dadd, myself and a few willing volunteers were all given various duties to perform to ensure the Sunday would run smoothly.

All week a steady stream of people filed in and out of the Club’s Portakabin facility to purchase tickets for the game.

I use the word ‘humble’ because the wonderful stories of people whose mothers, fathers, uncles , aunts and various friends had been involved over many years with Deal Town and who were all behind this team I had given them.

I constantly had to remind people who saw the second leg as a foregone conclusion that football had a nasty habit of turning on you if you took it for granted.

That said I found it hard myself to stay focused on Sunday because it was so easy to allow yourself thoughts of Wembley.

The television people were all over us now and were going to do a live outside broadcast from our ground on Sunday. which only added to the excitement.

Press, radio, the whole thing was taking on ‘Match of the Day’ proportions and yet I couldn’t help thinking more “Match of a lifetime”.

The last thing I did on Friday afternoon was to sit on the very top row of one of the portable stands and look out over the scene.

My wife had died in 1994 and my mum in 1998, both from cancer. I took out the photograph I always carry, showing the pair of them flanking me at an end-of-season dinner. I asked them both to look out for me on Sunday, not to help me win, just be there regardless of what was to happen. I wiped away a tear, got in my car and drove home.

I popped in the ground on Saturday morning for a couple of hours and went off to watch Herne Bay play in the afternoon with my assistant manager, Keith Lissenden.

The kick-off on Sunday was 2 O’clock. The gates opened at 12.30pm and, as the police had given us a capacity of 2,500, there was a rush for the last 400 tickets.

The stewarding arrangements were organised by officials from Dover Athletic Football Club and you couldn’t walk 10 yards without an orange bib catching your eye.

During the warm-up the players were getting applauded all around and the tingle I felt I am sure was shared by everybody in the ground.

I saw my brother Tony and his wife Karen. It only confirmed the importance of the game because Tony hadn’t been to watch football since Sir Alf Ramsey was just plain Alf.

The previous day Chippenham had won through to the final by beating Vauxhall Motors with a Mark Cutler goal in extra time.

I already had personal experience of Mark, who had terrorised my defenders in a fourth round Vase tie whilst playing for Taunton against Herne Bay two years before.

I tried to contact Tommy Saunders on Saturday night but not surprisingly couldn’t get through. I was again full of envy that his dream had been realised while I still had to suffer another agonising afternoon before I could join him.

So at 1.50pm on that Sunday my players walked out behind the officials and shoulder-to-shoulder with our Staffordshire opponents to play for perhaps the most coveted prize in any non-league players’ career, an appearance at the most famous stadium in the world.

With the Charles Sports ground packed to its 2,500-capacity the game kicked-off and within moments I realised that the photograph of my late mother and wife was still in my briefcase, which I had left on the other side of the ground.

I realised I couldn’t just wander around and collect it so I asked Ricky Bennett, who was injured and not in the named sixteen, to go and retrieve it.

Armed with he combination for the case Ricky fought his way through the crowd. Nearly five minutes later he returned minus the photograph saying the instructions I’d given him had not been clear enough. Furnished once again with the details written on a piece of paper he set off again to complete what seemed to him a pointless mission.

Good friends Martin Farnie and Graham Hill, who had been quite close to both my mum and Carole, had in their possession a photograph each which I gave them and asked them to carry with them over the course of the two semi-final legs.

I was struggling to watch the early minutes of the game because strange as it may seem to others the missing photograph had unsettled me.

I was annoyed that having got the photo ready to place in my blazer pocket I had allowed myself to be distracted and left it in the hospitality office area.

Ricky finally arrived back puffing and blowing having fought his way through the six deep crowd twice. Taking it from him I looked at it quickly and slipped it into my blazer breast inside pocket. Able now to give my full concentration to the game after nearly ten minutes I sat back and watched as Steve Best broke through into the penalty area.

That “Besty” was on his left foot meant that the quality of his delivery left a lot to be desired. Pulling his cross behind our oncoming forwards meant a comfortable clearance for the lanky Newcastle town defender.........and then amazingly the ball was whistling into the Newcastle Town top left hand corner for the most bizarre of goals.

The attempted clearance had struck Roly Graham flush on the knee and flown like a rocket past everyone and into the net.

The ground erupted, Roly danced around the corner flag, once, before disappearing under a sea of black and white shirts. We had established a three-goal cushion with 79 minutes football to play.

After an animated minute of finger pointing, clapping and bellowing to my players I sat back into the dug-out to take stock and Jon Warden leaned over to me and said with a huge grin on his face “Your names on this, we’re going to Wembley”.

I reached into my breast pocket and gazed momentarily at two images beaming at me from the photograph.

I still believe that they had heard me as I sat alone at the top of the temporary seating on that Friday and were certainly going to take care of me on this, the most important afternoon of my career.

Chapter 14

The huge crowd had watched almost politely as we finished the first half with our three-goal cushion still intact. The first half had been played in bright sunshine but menacing, black rain clouds now hovered overhead and it was an uncertainty that a good old-fashioned drenching was to be had by all as the day went on.

As we cowered in the dug-out against the elements it had become obvious what the script would be in the second half. Newcastle were going to launch everything at us. If they could score three times they would force extra-time.

Was I really the only person in the ground who thought this a possibility? As a manager you always tend to think the worst!!

The second half was played in an eerie light. Gone was the bright March sunshine to be replaced by a wintry backcloth of rain, black clouds and wind. Ten minutes into the second period Newcastle struck to reduce the arrears. Thirty five minutes to go and the initiative gone. Possession is nine tenths of the law and the leads we had we were going to protect.

The pattern of the game was set with our opponents building up attack after attack and my black and white hoop-shirted heroes repelling each one. Warden replaced Lovell, in a well-rehearsed tactic, and we now had about twenty five to go. Despite their pressure we sporadically broke away and created dangerous situations.

A goal for us at any time would finish it and make Wembley a reality. We now had everyone in and around the bench area.

All the subs, plus Martin Buglione, who I had recently signed but was not eligible and Bennett who had made the first-half journey around the ground for my photograph. All of us inside the technical area willing the guys on the pitch to make every tackle, every header, every pass. It was important I remained as calm as possible and not get caught up in the drama of it all.

Colin Ford and Keith Lissenden, my staff were past masters at divorcing themselves from the action. Keith was his usual implacable self, sat down with his legs crossed with Colin, alongside me exchanging news and issuing instructions. With ten minutes left we replaced goalscorer Roly Graham with Phil Turner.

The tension was now becoming unbearable as Craig Tucker in goal caught a succession of high balls that were being launched into our box. We moved into stoppage time and still I refused to relax, still I made myself believe they could score two and force extra time. One last corner flew narrowly over our crossbar and it was then I finally believed that the job was done.

My instinct told me that our referee Mr Cable was going to blow for full time as soon as Craig had taken the goal kick.

The shrill elongated blast from the whistle pierced the air and I sat back on the hard wooden bench and started to sob. Steve Lovell picked me up form my seat and cuddled me.

“You deserve it, You deserve it” he said half shaking me, half holding me up. I walked forward slowly on to the pitch straight into Phil Turner’s bear hug listening to him shout in my ear over and over.

“Brilliant, Brilliant, Brilliant”.

Mike Green, from BBC Radio Kent, thrust his microphone under my nose and I proceeded to babble and blub on the air.

I wanted to get to Roy, my chairman, the man who had made it all possible with his finance and visions for the Club. He was conducting his own radio interview when I caught up with him and we instinctively threw our arms round each other. People were all around now backslapping, cheering.

Chants of “Wemberlee Wemberlee” rang around the ground.

I was also trying to find Ray Walker, their manager, but couldn’t place him in the throng when I suddenly came upon Martin Smith his “oppo”. Shaking his hand I had hoped that the animosity from the previous weeks game would be forgotten.

I was sadly mistaken because as he shook my hand he said “You won’t win it, you’re not good enough”. The words shook me up and I returned form my dream like state to retort.

“Well, we won’t be seeing you at Wembley then” was my sarcastic reply.

To his credit Martin and I talked briefly after the game and while we didn’t actually kiss and make up, we certainly cleared the air.

Roy addressed the crowd, thanking them and then I did the same thing. Two thousand people and here I was with a microphone in my hand “It doesn’t get better than this” I thought to myself.

The celebrations were ecstatic. Jamie Kempster had introduced Spandau Ballet’s classic song “Gold” to the players’ repertoire earlier in the run and the guys sang it with great enthusiasm.

Terry Martin the captain was his usual, level-headed self. He told me that he hadn’t felt any nerves before the game because of his unshakeable belief that we couldn’t get beat. I thought how out of character it was for a man who always played with logic and commonsense to have such blinkered optimism when normally pessimism is the order of the day.

The post-match festivities were joyous. I flitted from the bar where all the supporters were to the hospitality tent and back for a couple of hours.

Not only had we made an impression on everybody with our football but our professionalism and organisation as a football club went down fantastically well with all the visiting dignitaries. To that end Roy Smith should be congratulated.

His vision of how things should be and his financial input enabled everyone to take a cue from his lead. The team of people involved in the running of this incredible day will always be able to look back upon it with immense pride.

That said, we were all about to embark on something totally different.

The five weeks before the Vase final would stretch everyone to the limit and for a club as small as ours were heading into uncharted waters.

Chapter 15

We had nine league games left to play, a two-legged league cup semi-final, the Kent Senior Trophy final and the Vase - all in the space of thirty eight days.

I had to prioritise and therefore decided to go with my strongest selection for the next four league games, which if we won, would see the title sewn up.

The two-legged league cup semi-final against a very weak Faversham Town team would be an opportunity to mix and match while Kent Senior Trophy Final against a strong Chatham Town side would allow me to play those still fighting to get into the Wembley side.

As well as dealing with all the football matters, we also had to cope with the administrative demands that Wembley would make.

To this end Roy employed Annette Bryant on a full-time basis to liaise with Wembley, sort out over ticketing arrangements and sponsorships as well as auditing the finances.

Roy, his wife Billie, Dave Dadd and I would all be full-time employees with varying responsibilities ranging from transport and accommodation for the players, ticket sales, coach requirements for supporters and merchandising plus a million other contingencies.

The Club was manned around the clock from 8.30am to 9.30pm and with vice-chairman Graham Johns, the Fox girls, Lynne and Donna as well as various committee members all agreeing on a rota to cover evening hours.

Over the next twenty days we played six games, winning through to the League Cup Final against V.C.D. Athletic after defeating Faversham Town but more importantly securing the club’s first league championship with four straight wins.

Now that the championship had been wrapped up I promised the players they would be chosen only as and when needed, therefore, reducing the risk of injury and allowing everyone to fully enjoy the build-up.

Ten days after our semi-final victory over Newcastle, Roy Smith, Lyn Fox, Dave Dadd, Annette Bryant and I drove to Wembley for a meeting to discuss ticketing arrangements.

They were due to meet Wembley officials as well as our Chippenham counterpart. It was a particularly cold and inhospitable April day as we pulled into the Wembley car park right underneath the fabled twin towers. We made our way to the reception area and were given our I.D. tags before being shown to a waiting area.

It was there we met the officials of Chippenham Town. I obviously sought out my managerial adversary Tommy Saunders. We had spoken on the phone a few times and seen each other at a couple of Vase draws but this was the real thing.

Within minutes Tom and I were whisked away by Tim Curren, the press officer for Ptarnigan, the company responsible for all the Football Association’s publicity requirements.

We were taken around the concourse immediately below the terracing to the far end of the ground opposite the tunnel. It was at this point that Tim produced the trophy itself. I had seen it while attending draws around the country but had always refused to touch it.

At that moment Tim thrust the Vase into my hands and walked me and Tommy up the last few stairs to the point where we had a magnificent view of the stadium itself.

The last time I had been to Wembley Stadium was in the early seventies to watch Bobby Charlton ply his 100th International against a George Best inspired Northern Ireland. Here I was now with the ‘holy grail’ of trophies for teams at our level in my hands and behind me the most famous football backdrop in the world.

The next few minutes of banter set the mood, I believe, for what was to come in the weeks building up to the final.

Tommy was a great one for the definitive statement (saying what was on his mind). “I can name your side now” he said knowing whereas “the next time my team play together will be at Wembley”.

All the time I found myself either nodding in agreement or shaking my head in apparent disbelief, trying to give nothing away while at the same time appearing to be co-operative.

I do remember taking an instant liking to this ebullient 28 year old from the West of England and felt that whatever happened between our two teams we would probably enjoy each other’s company.

In the meeting sat around a huge table we were given all the advice and support we needed regarding ticketing, merchandising, sponsorship and the like.

Once the meeting closed both parties were given the guided tour and walking back round the concrete corridor in the main body of the Stadium you could not help but sense the history of the place.

The chill wind didn’t really matter as we followed our guides.

Liz Coley was F.A’s administrator dealing with the Vase, Trophy and F.A. Cup.

I was walking along with her, chatting away trying to act all nonchalant about this almost surreal situation. Liz had completed “the tour” many times before and was recounting tales about clubs and officials who had, like me, been “blown away” by the sheer magnitude of the experience.

You could feel the curve of the corridor taking you around and down to a staircase which ended in the famous Wembley tunnel.

Looking around the dressing rooms like a wide eyed kid gave me the shivers: I though if this is how I feel three weeks before the big game what state will I be in on the day?

Daddio, Roy, Graham and Lynn were chattering away with everybody else as baths, showers, benches were inspected in fine detail.

I wish I had a pound for everytime I heard :
“Bobby Moore sat there”
“Puskas showered there”
“Pele used that bath”
“Ramsey won the World Cup there”

Can you imagine it? Ramsey, Nicholson, Busby, Shankly, Ferguson and now ....Tommy Sampson.

Having inspected the dressing room we were ushered back out and led up a slight incline towards the mouth of the tunnel.

The first thing you see is the canopy surrounding the Stadium. Then the scoreboard. A few steps more and the terracing comes into view with the words WEMBLEY picked out in different coloured seating.

As the tunnel levels out the frame of the goal nearest comes into view and then you step out into the open air. It’s a struggle to take it all in - the Royal Box, the vastness of the arena and the lush green surface.

I suddenly felt very small, very unimportant in the presence of this wonderful, awesome and yet gracious old lady who had deigned to allow my Deal Town team to grace her with our presence in a few weeks time. The group was about fifteen strong as we snaked around towards the Royal Box area.

“Daddio”, Tommy Saunders, Colin Bush (Chippenham assistant manager) and myself paid particular attention to the “dug out”.

“Dug out” is hardly an appropriate description. There are three rows of five seats tiered to allow each five seats a view above those in front.

The front row, which I would be seated in, provided the view of all and yet I wasn’t at all bothered because the implication of sitting in that seat was obvious.

Up the steps into the Royal Box was the final part of our tour. Looking out over the scene form the he best view in the place was again overwhelming. Cameras were clicking all around me. Groups posed together shaking hands. With the pitch in the background was the standard shot.

One last long look around and we were finally shown back into the bar area where we chatted away before saying our good-byes and making our way home. On the way we discussed the various responsibilities we would all have to take on.

When Roy dropped me off at the Tollgate Services on the A2 I was exhausted.

I was coming to realise that the actual day of the final would be not only physically demanding but mentally so as well.

Chapter 16

Winning through to the League Cup Final had caused a real headache for everyone except me. The original date of April 29th had been moved mid-season to May 6th, the day of the Vase final. With us now participating in the Wembley showpiece I felt that bringing it forward was not an option.

I had promised my players that the last time we would all play together would be the Kent Senior Trophy Final on April 22nd. Even then I left a couple of players out to allow for injuries.

The Kent League management committee then decreed that the League Cup Final would be played on April 29th, one week before Wembley.

I spoke to our league cup opponents’ manager, V.C.D Athletic Martin Ford on numerous occasions but he was playing a dead hand by saying that he would comply with whatever the management committee decided.

We discussed it in the club at committee level and there was a feeling we should send our youth or reserve team to fulfill the fixture.

I was adamant along with Daddio and others that we did not want to send a weakened team to the cup final because I did not want the record books to show a heavy defeat in years to come.

I also felt that if we sent a shadow side it was letting the Kent League management committee off the hook.

They actually had a wonderful opportunity. They could gamble on us winning the Vase and stage their cup final a few days later in front of maybe 2-3000 people.

The obvious date would have been the week after Wembley (May 13th) but that was the day of the Kent League Dinner and in their wisdom it was felt the two events couldn’t be staged on the same day.

How easy would it have been for them to have had a 1.00pm kick-off with hopefully the Vase winners parading the trophy and them playing for the league’s own domestic cup in front of any enormous crowd?

The evening would then have been a celebration, marking the fact that a team from the Bass Brewers Kent League had a representative in the country’s showpiece final.

The decision was eventually taken at a committee meeting to withdraw from the final. I was saddened but felt there was no other option.

The League’s decision to promote Faversham Town - who we had defeated in the semi-final - to play V.C.D Athletic. at Margate’s Hartsdown Park was rewarded with a crowd of about 100, and gate receipts of about £2000. The game itself was one-sided and one that no-one (save a few die-hard V.C.D. supporters) will every remember.

To add insult to injury, Deal Town were fined a paltry sum later that summer for not fulfilling the League Cup Final fixture.

I have been asked many times since about some of those decisions and I explain that for any non-league player a chance of playing at Wembley is a rare bird indeed and I had promised all of my players they would not be put at risk.

The day we beat Thamesmead Town was the cut off point for me and the duty I had towards my players came before anything else.

I remember ringing Jim Ward at Ramsgate to tell him I would be sending a complete reserve side to them on the following Bank Holiday Monday. His response was perfectly understandable. He criticised my decision but I had to stay true to my instincts in protecting my players.

I would never have forgiven myself if Terry Martin, Roly Graham or Paul Ribbens, lads that had given me their loyalty and unwavering support for many seasons, had suffered a minor knock preventing them from playing at Wembley just because I had succumbed to outside pressure.

I have though, always kept an article that appeared in the Ramsgate programme that day attributed to a committee member. It was a vicious attack on me and my club prompted by jealousy and envy and Ramsgate should be ashamed of ever allowing the article to go to press.

The tickets for Wembley were delivered by special courier and the job of auditing each night fell to Annette Bryant. We took five thousand at first and on the first day sold nearly five hundred as people clamoured to secure their place. As the days went on the flood slowly dropped to a steady trickle, somedays a hundred plus, others less.

Postal applications were handled by the chairman’s wife, Billie, whilst I was negotiating travel arrangements with coach companies. All in all, for a small club like ours, the system put in place was going well.

The League’s sponsors, Bass Brewers were very slow in coming forward with any help at all. With the prospect of one of the League’s clubs in a national final, I was hoping they might offer some financial help either in cash, or for equipment, especially as Bass had not enjoyed a particularly happy sponsorship with the league up till now.

This was their first year as sponsors and promises of footballs to every clubs’ first team and reserves had not been met. I had, in fact, brokered the deal for Bass Brewers after their representative, Pete Williamson, phoned me asking for help. The season was already a few weeks in and the footballs still had not been distributed.

To be honest Williamson didn’t have a clue about football and certainly had no idea about obtaining equipment. I immediately approached a supplier in Maidstone, called 3D Sports and negotiated a deal for nearly 500 footballs over three years and arranged for them to be delivered in batches of 150. I also organised payment details. Even though the footballs were ordered and delivered they still weren’t finding their way to the clubs. Bass Brewers general non-appearance around the country and apparent disdain for the league was a disgrace.

The league had previously been sponsored by Winstonlead Cables, a company run by Bill and Vera Roberts before they sold it on to their son and daughter-in-law, Tim and Penny. Bill and Vera were marvelous ambassadors, taking in a Kent League game almost every week. Their sponsorship had lasted thirteen years and had been one of the longest running in the country.

That the league should have a team finally going to Wembley in the year after Winstonlead had given up its sponsorship was a real disappointment for me and almost everyone concerned.

Williamson, the rep for Bass Brewers, had also promised to pay for twenty five warm-up tops before our fifth round win at Met Police. I paid £400 out of my own pocket to get the tops and was still waiting for re-imbursement in the days leading up to the final.

Williamson also verbally promised the Club between three and five thousand towards our Wembley preparations but that all fell through after Roy Smith told them he could not guarantee them the beer contract and the redevelopment of the oates ground went ahead.

As you can imagine the conversation was short and sweet when they phoned and I left it that Williamson could expect to see me in the small claims court for my £400.00.

On a more positive note local businesses were donating money all the time and with hotel expenses alone costing the earth the club were eternally grateful.

Bobbie Adamson held the franchise in Deal for the car dealer Skoda. Now, Robbie enjoyed a long association with the club, having played for them in previous years. He was now the club’s shirt sponsor and had worked tirelessly to get Skoda U.K. involved. Their help was to prove invaluable as they finally agreed to inject £5,000 into the Club kitty to help ease the growing financial burden.

We were now about two weeks away from Wembley and had to face Chatham Town in the Kent Senior Trophy final at Sitingbourne. I left Steve Lovell, Jason Ash and Craig Tucker out of the side that day. Tommy Saunders was sending his “scout” to watch us so it was nice that we turned it on. A 5-1 victory over one of the best sides in the league was just the ticket. A blistering second-half hat-trick from Phil Turner stated his case for a place in the final.

“Marshy” had scored in the first half and early in the second a typical Roly Graham effort doubled our lead. Roly’s goal was his hundredth since singing for me back in November 1995 for Herne Bay. When the final whistle went I asked Terry Martin to let Steve Best accept the trophy on behalf of the club and the usual celebrations took place both on the pitch and in the dressing rooms.

That was virtually it now. The league was won, the Kent Senior Trophy also and with our reserves winning their division the club had virtually “cleared the board”.

The only disappointment was not being able to defend the League Cup against V.C.D. Athletic the following week. The Vase final was now the only item left on this season’s agenda and everybody was tingling with excitement at the prospect.

Not long after we beat Met Police in the fifth round Colin Ford, my first team coach and long-time friend, hit on the idea that if we got to Wembley we would all have tattoo’s done on our backsides. At the time everybody said “yeah great idea” not really thinking of the consequences. Now that we had made it to the final it seemed obligatory to have them done.

Colin was now in charge of the tattoo’s and designed a small graphic that included the twin towers and the words “Vase 2000”. Eight of us met one evening in Welling just opposite Welling United’s Park View ground to have the deed done. Those lads that couldn’t make it were going to arrange to have them done elsewhere.

Such was the interest now in everything we were doing the T.V. cameras were present to film. The Sun newspaper sent a photographer and the local radio station wanted a live interview during the tattooing session.

I personally view the subject of tattoo’s with great distaste but being part of this group it would have been impossible to back out. One by one we presented to (................) our tattoos the upper part of our thighs for him to mark us for life. Squeals of delight from the onlooking players turned to howls of trepidation as their turn came.

In turn, up stepped Roly Graham, Phil Turner, Jamie Turner, Barry Lakin, Paul Ribbens, Marc Seager, Jason Ash, Colin F and myself to suffer the tattooists; handiwork.

The press coverage in the Sun newspaper that weekend was terrific and even now everywhere I go people ask “did you get a tattoo?” and I am only too proud to answer yes and in some cases I have been known to drop my trousers and show them the evidence.

Chapter 17

Ticket sales were running at about 100-odd a day now and we were all speculating about the size of support we could expect at Wembley. Chippenham’s sales were going great guns according to press reports and it was looking like we would be outnumbered about 2 to 1.

Meridian Television were now well into their stride with constant references to the game on their evening news programmes. Iain McBride, Meridian TV’s sports presenter, was instrumental in the coverage of Deal Town. They were going to follow Steve Lovell, Marc Seager and Steve Marshall for a day as well as do a feature on the club on a match day.

The excitement of all this attention was great for the players but was only adding to the tension for me personally. Annette Bryant was doing a terrific job in obtaining sponsorship for the Club. I can remember waiting nervously on a phone call from an organisatoin called Robinia, I contacted chairman Roy Smith had passed on to Annette.

Roy had sold his business earlier that year and had been involved in nursing and caring for the mentally ill and providing accommodation. Robinia were in the same line of work and were considering a large sponsorship that would see the players “suited and booted” for the day.

Diplomatic phone calls, messages left for the appropriate people were Annette’s only weapons. Negotiations were also taking place which would see us displaying the Robinia logo and a message on our jackets which obviously we agreed to readily. The phone call confirming Robinia’s financial commitment finally came through in the penultimate week.

We all breathed a collective sigh of relief because, with them, the players appearance on the day had hung in the balance. Once we had received confirmation I set about ringing clothing retailers for advice and help.

After getting short shrift from some of the large clothing stores, I finally got a positive response from NEXT at the Bluewater Shopping Centre, near Dartford. I visited the store to go over details and haggle on price. We needed 27 suits and shirts and their staff were incredibly helpful. A particular suit was recommended and all that was needed was a ‘fitting’ for all 27 players on the same day.

Putting all the players in the same place on the same day to choose their suits was going to prove almost impossible until NEXT came up with the idea to open one hour earlier on a Sunday morning. This enabled all the players and their wives, girlfriends and mums to attend and advise on how their loved ones looked.

There were certain defining moments in the run-up to the final that made it feel special and this day was definitely one of those. Meeting in an empty car park at Bluewater and having security open the doors to a deserted shopping centre was ...... well different.

Each player took his suit, tried it on and either gave it to one of the shop assistants for approval or for an alteration.

The decision to go with black shirts was made by a small band of players. Paul Ribben, I think was the ringleader and so, after about ninety minutes, and with the general public now filling the store the players finally started to disperse suitably attired for their big day.

The last time we all got together to play football was at home to Beckenham Town on Tuesday in the week before Wembley. I had arranged for a presentation ceremony to take place before the game with members of the Kent League Committee performing the honours.

Local schoolchildren in Deal Town kit formed a guard of honour as the players were introduced one by one to loud applause.

Robinian and David Saunders from a local Solicitors, Saunders Kemp, were there to present cheques to the Club and the carnival atmosphere in the air both before and during the game gave an unreal feel to the night’s proceedings.

We won 2-0 and it was exciting to know that our next game would be at Wembley Stadium.

During the last three weeks frantic negotiations had been taking place regarding the lease on the Charles Sports ground. Chairman, Roy Smith, had this idea for an all purpose 500 seater stand facility with adjoining artificial surface. His dream was to involve the community in the football club. The idea of schools and local organisations using the sports and meeting room facilities as well as the social side being developed was all part of his plans ever since he had involved himself in the club four years earlier.

He’d wanted to make Deal Town the focal point of the community, not just for the football but for all other activities. His favourite quote in hundreds of conversations with me was that the football was “3/10ths of the pie”.

I frequently asked him where did he want the football to go and his answer was always the same “as far as it can whilst it remained self-financing” The idea was that the stand facility would be built on the far side where it would replace the old wooden and now completely dilapidated structure. It would also finance the running of any football team that played there in the future.

So in fact whatever standard of football could be afforded budgetary then that is where we would aim. To this end Roy had got his planning permission through and in the summer of 1999 had spent thousands of pounds moving the pitch some 30 metres to make way for the new structure. Deal District Council had swapped with the trustees of the Charles Sports ground an area of land so that the Council could negotiate freely with the football club conditions of the lease.

I know Roy was hugely disappointed he, after months of fine tuning the negotiations, the “head of terms” came through for the offer on a 25-year lease.

The restrictions placed upon the lease agreement were so restrictive and so negative that it didn’t take the thousands of pounds worth of legal advice he had at his disposal to realise the Local Council’s offer was in fact a “poison chalice”.

I knew then in that last few days before the final that the great hopes Roy Smith had for Deal Town and the community were almost certainly not going to materialise. To this end and with my two-year contract running out only a couple of days before Wembley, I realised that my future may have to be somewhere else.

Roy had been very honest with me all the way through. The sky was the limit if everything went through but my contract would only be re-negotiated if a concrete offer acceptable to him was made regarding the lease. The “acceptable offer” never came.

The Saturday before Wembley and whilst the League Cup was being played at Margate between our scheduled opponents V.C.D, and a hastily thrown together Faversham Town team we were all at Boughton Golf Course, near Faversham for a day’s golf.

The competitive edge that had helped get us to Wembley was prevalent as the more serious golfers like “Fordy”, Roy Smith, “Daddio”, Simon Bryant, “Luvvers” and myself were making serious attempts to win the day whilst the non-golfers like “Seags”, Jamie, “Rooney” Turner and “Ribbo” proceeded to do some turf arranging on the fairways. It was though, a great day and Roy Smith came out the victor.

I can’t remember anyone on the day asking how the League Cup went, the only thing on their minds now was Wembley.

Chapter 18

Our last training session was on the Tuesday night at fellow Kent Leaguers Lordswood Football Club where we had trained before our sixth round and semi-final victories. Their management duo of Barry Zilwood and Alan Broad were only too pleased to help us in any way they could. I can’t stress the importance of those sessions and Lordswood will always have my sincerest best wishes for the help they provided.

The BBC were going to film bits of the session and in general all we were there to do was go through all our little disciplines. Things like corners and free kicks were important to me and you only had to remember the manner in which we won our away leg at Newcastle to realise that. Paul Ribbens’ throw-ins that day were prodigious and so unsettling for our opponents.

Except for the goalkeeper I knew my side for Saturday but offered to clues during the session as I put different players in positions than they would take up at Wembley. I was even reluctant to finish with the traditional eight-a-side game. I only relented to the players’ demands on condition that it was a non-contact game.

These small-sided games can get really “lively” and with only four days to go I was trying to protect them from themselves. During the week’s build-up the local press had interviewed Ernie Morgan.

Ernie was the last non-league manager in Kent to take a team to Wembley when, in 1974, his Dartford side lost 2-1 to Morecombe in the F.A. Trophy final. I knew Ernie very well and indeed had played three games for him on loan at Tonbridge in the late 70’s. Ernie enjoys legendary status at Dartford for his exploits in that 1973-74 season.

The Darts also won the League title that season and his presence at our training session that night made me feel very proud that my team were on the verge of achieving something similar. Ernie wasn’t enjoying the best of health and although I had invited him to Wembley as my guest he wasn’t able to attend.

He did, however, recount various stories of their 1974 build-up mistakes he felt he made and tips on what to say, how to behave, etc. I do remember one thing very clearly as we sat in Lordswood’s changing room that night preparing for training.

I had introduced him to the players making them understand in whose presence they were sitting. He said to them in a thick Northern dialect that could cut through coal. “The worst feeling in the world is sitting in a losing dressing room at Wembley”

He went on : “All that crap about enjoying the day and the occasion means sod all if you get beat”

The point had been made!

I personally had got caught up in that “occasion” thing just after our semi-final wind but Ernie’s words rang truer than ever and I was now in the state of mind that to win was everything.

Ernie’s visit that night was another of the defining moments in the build-up and as I shook Ernie’s hand on the way to take training I felt very humble and privileged to be following in his footsteps.

After training we all assembled in the bar. I had with me all the players’ equipment and was going to hand it out that night. Tracksuits, T-shirts, dress shirts, socks and the itinerary for the week-end.

I had prepared for each player a personal folder containing their name and photograph and all their movements from now until the following Tuesday were documented for them.

Not only did we have the Vase final we also had an outstanding League fixture at Cray Wanderers on Monday and a Civic Reception in Deal on Tuesday.

I was trying not to allow myself thoughts of losing at Wembley, going to Cray on Monday in a depressed state and only a few people turning up at a Civic Reception for the “losing” finalists.

I am sure everyone had their dark moments and the thoughts of that scenario was mine. When all the kit and paperwork had been passed on we had a quick beer and made our way knowing that everything had been talked through, practiced and detailed.

The next time we would meet would be on Friday morning at Dartford. I now had two days of golf in front of me.

I had been involved along with all the committee and associated people for nearly four weeks and just felt I needed a couple of days away from the ground to allow myself to think. I played golf with my brother Tony on the Wednesday and Thursday of that last week and being in his company for that period just took the edge off of all the tension I had been feeling.

On the Wednesday I had visited the crematorium where my late wife Carole was cremated. It was the sixth anniversary of her death and I took great comfort from sitting in the grounds of Falconwood’s beautiful gardens deriving a much-needed perspective to all that was going on.
Chapter 19

Stepping out into the Wembley tunnel at 2.46pm you could plainly hear the announcer whipping the crowd up into a frenzy.

“The World’s most famous stadium”

“The last ever F.A. Carlsberg Vase Final”

"The Venue of Legends”

The tannoy blasted all this out through speakers and the 20,083 fans were about ready to welcome their heroes.

Called to the end of the tunnel by the F.A. official I shook Tommy Saunders’ hand once more and holding the hand of our mascot for the day, Roy Smith’s young daughter Laura, I was instructed to start walking.

The tannoy blared out once again:

“Please welcome Chippenham Town and Deal Town”

Within seconds I emerged from the end of the canopy out into the open air.

Two things hit me straight away: The stifling heat and the noise. There was a virtual wall of sound.

I immediately waved to my right where all the Deal supporters had been allocated. Laura was transfixed for a few moments until I squeezed her hand and said quietly “wave”. She immediately let go of my hand and started waving for all she was worth. I knew this was going to be a special moment and I was determined to soak it all up.

Stepping onto the turf we made our way to the halfway line where my team lined up to the right of the Royal Box. The waving and cheering went on with all of us on the pitch trying to look for familiar faces. Terry Martin was first to be presented to the Guest of Honour, Mr Tony Vaughan, Head of Branch at Carlsberg.

I was very proud of Terry and even in this cauldron of heat and noise his demeanour and eloquence as he introduced his players shone through.

Once they had left us to cross over to repeat the procedure with our opponents, Terry and I stood together. What we said I can’t remember but the feeling of pride and achievement was overwhelming.

Finally, the National Anthem was sung with a patriotic fervour by players and fans alike as if we were all going off to war to defend our country.

When at last the formalities were over, I wished every player good luck and made my way to the seated area about 20 yards from the touchline.

I immediately exchanged my jacket, shirt and tie for a T-shirt which had been supplied for the players by local radio station “Neptune”.

It was so hot that towels were being supplied to avoid necks getting sunburnt for those of us sitting down. The view for our position was really quite poor. Not only was it 20 or so years away for the touchline, there was so much noise and activity to deal with it was very difficult to concentrate on the game.

We had started well, forcing a couple of corners and throw-ins. Paul Ribbens has a huge long throw as Newcastle Town had found out to their cost in the semi’s. Paul was under instructions to launch his first throw as far as he could into the box. The psychological side of football plays a big part and getting a throw-in launched into the box would have a real unsettling effect on our opponents.

When Paul got his chance about four minutes in the adrenaline must have been pumping because he threw it fast, flatter and further than he had ever done and their keeper Ian Jones had to claim it off of Steve Marshall’s head right under the crossbar.

Eight minutes into the game and with us having virtually camped in Chippenham’s half we suffered a massive blow in the form of an injury to David Monteith.

Chasing back across the halfway line he attempted a tackle and got his studs caught in the tightly knit turf and went down holding his knee.

Now “Monty” had been plagued by knee problems and had courageously fought back twice after operations. So when he collapsed holding his knee we feared the worst. “Daddio” went on to treat him and very gingerly David got to his feet. We all breathed a collective sigh of relief as it appeared he would be able to carry on as normal.

Sadly it was a false hope. Within a couple of minutes David collapsed again after trying to kick the ball. The sad sight of him being carried off on a stretcher stretched everyone’s emotions. I went to him as he laid on a stretcher in the tunnel underneath the Royal Box.

Mulent, his wife, had come down from her seat and when I reached them the tears were flowing as Dave knew his Wembley dream and possibly his career was over. I tried to remain calm because we still had three quarters of the game to go and a substitution had to be organised.

It was Fordy who grabbed me and told me that there was nothing I could do for David and to get back to the bench.

“Monty” had always been a special player to me and as I left him there on a stretcher I had to wipe the tears from my own eyes and get a grip on the reality of re-organising my team.

Paul Roberts it was who got an early chance of realising his Wembley dream, but even now “Robbo” will tell you whilst grateful for his chance the circumstances of his participation had dealt a cruel blow to one of the team’s most popular players.

The remainder of that half saw us on the backfoot and at half time we could easily have been a couple of goals down as our re-organisation left us vulnerable.

In the dressing room at half-time I told the players that “Monty” was in the stadium hospital and they should remember that if the heat and tiredness looked like it was going to take its toll they should all think of where David was and that he would give everything just to be out there feeling as tired as them.

The heat was as fierce as ever as I took my seat for the second half.

Within about 10 minutes I replaced Steve Lovell with Phil Turner. Lovell had run himself into the ground and three months short of his 40th birthday received the most wonderful reception from both sets of supporters. With twenty minutes to go I threw Jon Warden for Jason Ash.

On the face of it people probably thought replacing a forward for a defender was very brave of me. In reality Jason Ash - who has a very fair complexion - was suffering dreadfully in the heat and Jon was very experienced. He sat in midfield for me during the last quarter of the game.

As the game reached its final stages it was patently obvious we were lasting better than our opponents. However, the prospect of extra time was looming and both sides were struggling in the heat.

We’d forced a couple of corners late on and were definitely in the ascendancy but a goal looked unlikely.

Then, after 86 minutes, we won a corner on the far side and Roly trotted over to the take it.

The next ninety seconds were without doubt the most definitive moments in all our footballing lives. Roly’s corner was struck well but was confidently claimed by keeper Ian Jones. Allowing everyone to clear the penalty area Jones threw the ball left handed to his full-back Shane Andrews. Andrews proceeded to jog unchallenged to and across the halfway line looking for a pass.

I was still screaming at Steve Best to close him down when Andrews prodded the ball forward to Steve Tweddle, Chippenham’s very dangerous central striker.

Tweddle attempted to flick the ball inside but only proceeded to gift possession to Jamie Kempster.

It would have been so easy for Jamie to have just lumped the ball forward considering how long there was left in the game but thankfully he steadied himself and rolled the ball forward to Steve Marshall on the halfway line.

Marshall’s great asset is his pace and for almost the first time in the game had the opportunity to run at Chippenham’s defenders.

Lee Burns, the inspirational Chippenham captain, made a desperate attempt to win the ball but Marshall side-stepped him and headed for the corner of the penalty area.

With Steve bearing down on goal the Chippenham defenders tried to struggle across but it was all in vain.

As Steve crossed the 18 yard line he looked up and there he saw Phil Turner and, coming in from a bit deeper, was Roly Graham, who only sixty second before had been on that side of the pitch taking a corner.

From where I sat it looked like we had a spare man over and all it needed was a quality ball in to set up a chance of sorts.

In that second after looking up Marshall clipped a teasing ball into the path of the oncoming Graham. To me it looked like Roly had time to control the ball and measure his shot at goal, but Roly had decided i