Hooptedoodle #420 - Whence the Pars?

 The other day I went out for lunch with my good friend Jack the Hat, and, inevitably, we got into our interminable old men's discussion about the history of football, who was the greatest player we ever saw, what was the exact team line-up for the Scottish Cup Final of 1975, and other varied and interesting stuff.

Well, it's maybe a bit specialised, but we get a lot of value out of it. One of our regular subtopics is the history of the Scottish teams. We got into the subject of club nicknames the other day. Let's not dwell too much on details, but we agreed that there is something particularly odd about the nickname of Dunfermline Athletic FC, who are known to their fans as "the Pars", and have been for a very long time.

Dunfermline are not one of the great teams of Scottish football, but they have been around for a very long time, and numerous generations of their supporters have doubtless gone to their graves with the club's badge engraved on their hearts, so they deserve to be treated with all due respect.

They are currently in the Scottish Championship, which is one level below the top league (The Scottish Premiership), and, though they have won the second-level league title numerous times, the only major trophies on record are two wins in the Scottish Cup, which they won in 1960-61 and again in 1967-68. They have had a good number of distinguished players, including internationals, but the most famous of these are individuals who went on to become successful managers in England, notably Owen Coyle, Sir Alex Ferguson and David Moyes.

 

The lads of Dunfermline Athletic posing with the Scottish Cup in 1961

 

Anyway, back to the point. Why the Pars? Well, there are a number of theories, some of them remarkably stupid, but the most likely is because of the club's playing strip. In the early days, Dunfermline played at various times in blue or maroon, but since 1909 they have worn black and white vertical stripes. The nickname is most likely to have come from the Parr, a juvenile form of the salmon (a very important fish in Scotland), which is similarly decked out in black and white stripes.

So there you have it - a piece of information which is unlikely to come in useful in your local pub's quiz night, but there is a wider context which I find interesting. Anyone got any more stories about the nicknames of sporting clubs, any sport, no matter how minor, never mind how disputed or convoluted the history of the name? I'm interested in this stuff, for reasons which have more to do with social history than sport, to be honest. I'm also horrified how little sense of the past modern sports fans have, but that's another issue.

All printable suggestions welcome!     

Hooptedoodle #397a - Hillsborough - unexpected postscript

 Well, well - some real news today.

With luck, this will be the last time I mention Hillsborough here. Within a couple of days of the mistrial decision in Salford last week (have a look at my earlier post if you wish), at the end of which the defence lawyers restated their argument that the prosecution was a witch-hunt, and that this finally laid to rest any suggestion of a cover-up, it is announced today that West Yorkshire Police and West Midlands Police had already agreed a settlement to families and survivors, admitting to the cover-up and the lax internal Police investigation which followed, following a civil action which was raised against them in 2015.

This was agreed during April, apparently, but was not announced until today, after the Salford trial ended (or didn't end, in this case). Copious apologies from the Police, and the damages are because of admitted concealment of the facts and misinformation.

OK - on the face of it, that seems very positive. Whether the money available makes any sense or not is not the immediate point, and also it is apparent that the victims' families have pursued this primarily in search of truth, not for financial gain, to protect the reputation and dignity of their lost loved ones, and to get someone to accept the blame for the tragedy in 1989. I guess this is something of a compromise - no-one will be personally blamed, but here's some money. It's probably as good as it was ever going to get.

I would be very interested to see the BBC wheel the three Salford defence lawyers out again, in view of the fact that the Police had already agreed to settle a month before the mistrial, at the close of which the lawyers were still muttering about a drunken riot, and strongly denying that there had ever been a cover-up. Well, it looks as though there was one, after all, and action is being taken. Embarrassing or what?

Mr Goldberg QC [in particular] - do you have anything to add? 

I wish for some peace and a little solace for those members of the families of the 96 who are still alive - many of them didn't get this far.

It may not be accessible outside the UK, but the new BBC story is here. I didn't make this stuff up.

Hooptedoodle #388 - Ian St John - another boyhood hero gone

 It has been expected for a while, since he has been very ill with cancer for some years, but I am saddened to learn that Ian St John - a real footballing hero from my formative years - has passed away at the age of 82. Ian was a native of Motherwell, in Scotland, and was one of the early acquisitions when Bill Shankly set about rebuilding Liverpool FC in the early 1960s. That team became very successful indeed - though most of their glories were after I'd left Liverpool and moved to Edinburgh!

St John was centre-forward in the team with which Shankly won the old Second Division, and which then went on to dominate the First Division in the years which followed. St John scored the winning goal in Liverpool's first ever FA Cup win, at Wembley in 1965, against Leeds United. 

There's plenty of scope at present for being upset by the demise of old footballers - they are currently going down like flies, of course, so I tend not to dwell on this steady topic of mortality, but Ian was a bit special, and I am - if not exactly choked up - then certainly a bit wistful this morning.

Back in the day, there was a local joke, which went as follows:

Teacher asks a class of Liverpool schoolkids, what do they think would happen if Jesus came back, to Liverpool, at the present time [1960s]? Correct answer was, "They'd have to move St John to inside right". Yes, it's very silly, but in its way it is an affectionate mark of the man's stature in the common culture. 

1965 - Back row: Ron Yeats, Gordon Milne (reserve), Willie Stevenson, Ian St John, Chris Lawler, Gerry Byrne. Front: Tommy Lawrence, Peter Thompson, Geoff Strong, Tommy Smith, Roger Hunt, Ian Callaghan. [Only Yeats, Milne, Stevenson, Lawler, Hunt and Callaghan are still alive, as at March 2021]

Hooptedoodle #334 - Local Research to Get One's Teeth Into

High-profile local advertising - Barker & Dobson advert on the Liverpool Overhead Railway, mid 1950s. B&D's factory was just a few miles up the hill, in Everton

I was born in Liverpool, as I keep mentioning here (possibly as some form of excuse?), and grew up supporting Liverpool Football Club. The other big club in the city, Everton, also has a long and proud tradition. Since as a kid I spent some years forbidden to travel to away matches, I often used to go with similarly paroled friends to Goodison Park, to watch Everton when Liverpool were playing in far off places.

Nowadays, in the age of hate and trolling, the Liverpool vs Everton thing can be as unpleasant as you might expect - families banned from intermarrying etc - but in my youth things were a bit less frenzied, and I grew up with a soft spot for Everton which I might be well advised to keep quiet about now.

Everton FC - 1909

Everton, as you may or may not know, have been known as "The Toffees" since what my dad's cousin Harold Shaw used to refer to as "time immoral". Like all such traditions that we absorb in early childhood, I never questioned it or wondered about its background.

A bit of cod [personal] history. There were an astonishing number of sweet factories in Liverpool. Now I think about it, this is obviously because, as the headquarters of Tate & Lyle, Liverpool was the place through which most of the cane sugar from the Caribbean arrived in Britain. If it hadn't been for post-war rationing, we'd all have had no teeth.

Another fact which has only dawned on me gradually is that many of the makers of sweets I was familiar with as a kid were Liverpool-based. This is not just because they were local firms who had a grip on the market - a number of them were nationally famous, and they just happened to have their factories in the city.

I got involved over the last couple of weeks in a pleasant exchange of email reminiscences about vintage sweets. I did a bit of gentle research to find out what happened to such-and-such a maker, and mostly I learned that the history of  the UK sweet industry is pretty alarming - a lot of hostile takeovers - and very complicated. I also learned something, at long last, about why Everton FC are the Toffees.

I've always been familiar with Everton Mints, which were a hard, black-and-white, humbug-like boiled sweet with a toffee centre, manufactured by Barker & Dobson, whose factory was in Everton. B&D, founded in 1834, were big and successful - they made chocolates and posh biscuits and all sorts - in fact their gift tins still change hands for decent prices in eBay. It's possible I always assumed that the football club's nickname had something to do with B&D.

B&D factory - Everton, 1960s

The height of sophistication - B&D ad from the 1920s - apparently the lovely lady has a weakness for "Viking" chocolates [made with raw fish?]. As the copy line states, "Nowadays it's Barker & Dobson's chocolate". Don't laugh, somebody probably got a bonus for that one.

...and, of course, since toffee was trendy, they would work to cater for the latest advances in home entertainment. Here we see a tin commemorating how Mr & Mrs Cavity and their children would sit around the steam radio, enjoying light entertainment and chewing ferociously. [A sub-plot of selection boxes of toffee was that I always finished up with the walnut toffee, or the mint one, both of which were grim.]

...and, as time passed, B&D were always there, at the cutting edge. Now we have the Gummy family enjoying TV, slurping away on toffees "and other specialities". Mr Gummy, as you see, smokes his pipe while eating toffee, which is pretty disgusting really.

Anyway, it didn't. A lady named Molly Bushell (1748-1818) started making toffee containing ginger on an open-air stove behind her cottage in Everton, sometime around 1770, and she became quite successful. At this time, Everton village was something of a tourist attraction, with splendid views of the river from the slopes of Everton Hill. As the business grew, Molly was helped by her daughter, and also by a cousin, Sarah Cooper. In later life, she appears to have fallen out with Mrs Cooper, who opened a rival shop in Browside (also Everton). Much later, the remaining interests of these cottage businesses were taken over by the firm of Noblett's, who from 1876 or so took over the manufacture and marketing of Everton Toffee. Everton FC came into being in 1878, and the sale of toffees at the games quickly became a tradition, vendors offering "Mother Noblett's Toffee" inside the ground.

Sarah Cooper's toffee shop in Browside - note Everton reserves training in the sloping field opposite

Mother Noblett's Toffee advert - Liverpool Echo

Noblett's Toffee Shop - they had a shop in London Rd, and this one at 30 Old Haymarket. According to my Gore's Directory for 1900, the shop to the left of "Leonard Noblett, confectioner" is (or had been) John & T Edwards, wholesale grocers; on the other corner of Albion Place is Lipton's, the famous tea importers and blenders. I would guess this photo must be approximately contemporary with the 1909 football team picture. Old Haymarket was pretty much laid waste to make room for the entrance to the new Mersey Road Tunnel, which was started in 1925.

Tavener-Routledge were another famous Liverpool sweet maker - their fruit drops were much loved. They too have disappeared. So - where did they go?

The other lot - Liverpool players Ian Callaghan, Phil Thompson, Terry McDermott and John Toshack check out the lollipops during a state visit to Taverner's factory in Edge Lane - 1970s

Very complicated - a succession of local dinosaurs ate each other until big national dinosaurs came on the scene and ate everybody in sight. Barker & Dobson at various times owned the rights to Vicks (cough sweets?) and Victory V lozenges (which were addictive, since the recipe contained chloroform - no, really - which had to be changed, of course). B&D were subsequently bought by a Blackpool firm named Tangerine (not another football reference?), and later the whole lot was bought out by Bassett's.

When I was at university, I shared digs for a while with a guy who was addicted to these things. He used to get through a pack in an evening, which made him a dangerous man to be near. He lived to become a chemistry professor, but frankly it's a wonder he never exploded.

You can still buy Everton Mints - these days they are branded as Bassett's, but I don't think this is quite the same Bassett's who used to make Liquorice Allsorts and jelly babies in my youth. Bassett's now is just one of a series of long-established brands acquired by the Cadbury group. They are most certainly not in Everton!

Only thing I don't understand now is that there seems to have been a brand of toffee called "Molly Bushell's" marketed in Australia in fairly recent times. If this is nonsense, and something I misunderstood, then apologies - it won't be the first time. 

Just a coincidence? Was Molly transported to Oz for damaging people's teeth? Any ideas?

Hooptedoodle #330 - The Anfield Iron

I'm not going to make a meal of this, I always find it very uncomfortable when there is scope for a "me too" tribute to former celebrities. So this is going to be a very simple "thank you" to a hero from my youth, a football player, no less, who in his prime was a central part of my lifelong club, my home-town team, in the years when, miraculously, unbelievably, they progressed from being the second best team in the city to become the undisputed top team in the country (a long time ago now!). Tommy Smith died today, peacefully, after a period of illness, aged 74.

Tommy Smith, Liverpool FC

Tommy was a local lad, a working class kid from an impoverished background, and his chief characteristic was that he was the toughest, dirtiest, most intimidating defender of his day. It was a personal misfortune of his that he was a contemporary of Norman Hunter of Leeds, who had a lot of the same qualities but was a superior footballer, so that poor old Tommy only ever got a single international cap for England.

No matter. He was a sporting hero from a bygone age. Nowadays, given the price of season tickets for the Premier League, fans are not really looking to see local kids playing for their team - they expect to see expensive Brazilians, Spaniards, Africans, Frenchmen, whatever. I suppose it's a bit like other expensive forms of entertainment; I confess that if I spent a lot of money to go to the opera, I'd be disappointed if the cast all came from the streets around my birthplace.

Tommy had serious injury problems toward the end of his career - latterly, he was often able to play only because he was stuffed full of cortisone injections, a practice which would probably have club management gaoled in these more enlightened times. As a result, he could hardly walk in his last few years.

Never mind - he will always be young for those who saw him in his pomp. He will always be the man who headed the goal which put Liverpool ahead in the final of the European Cup (Champions' League), in Rome in 1977, versus Moenchengladbach - the first year Liverpool won the competition.

Thanks, Tommy. Cheers, la.

Hooptedoodle #234 - Donkey Award - The Auld Firm

My mother has been having worsening problems with her mobility, and on Saturday I was obliged to call in an emergency doctor, who agreed with me that her difficulties with vertigo required some prompt investigation, and suggested that a visit to hospital would enable this to be checked out, and would also allow the Occupational Therapists to see if it might be possible to get her to walk with her zimmer frame with more confidence.

Accordingly, he arranged for her to be admitted to the Western General (in Edinburgh), and for an ambulance to collect her from home. Since it was about 10pm when he arranged this, we were led to expect the ambulance to arrive around midnight. We packed a bag for her, and waited for the ambulance.

And waited.

And waited. From about 3am we started getting calls from the ambulance control team, to apologise for the delay - apparently they were having an unexpectedly busy night, and, quite rightly, any 999 (emergency) calls received take priority. Such was the flood of 999 calls, in fact, that it was 7am before the ambulance came, by which time my Mum (who is 91), was not very well or happy at all.

Can't really complain - money is tight, we are lucky to have the services we do have, and the doctor and the ambulance crew were all marvellous. So what strange thing was going on in Central Scotland on Saturday night then? - was there an outbreak of Dengue Fever, or had an aeroplane crashed on a city centre? Was it the Great Fire of Bathgate? How could this be?

The answer, of course, is the Auld Firm game. You probably could not care less, but the two biggest rival soccer teams in Scotland are Celtic and Rangers, both based in Glasgow, and both drawing fans and support from all over the country. Since some financial difficulties (too complicated to explain here) resulted in Rangers' being demoted to the lowest division a while ago, there have been no league games between the two for some 4 years or so.

However, cream always rises to the top, as all sewage workers will testify, so Rangers very quickly won promotion through the lower leagues, back up to the Scottish Premier, and on Saturday the magnificent tradition of the Auld Firm match against Celtic was renewed. Terrific.

Well - to a point. Scottish football undoubtedly needs teams with the drawing power and wealth of the Glasgow giants (I nearly said cyclops twins), but the traditions of these clubs, I regret to say, also involve a history of religious and sectarian bigotry (and we are speaking here of Ulster history, rather than Scottish), and a century and more of mindless, drunken conflict. I am confident, I hasten to add, that a lot of very decent people take their kids to the big games in Glasgow, but they are not the ones you see or hear. The Auld Firm game is, mostly, as far as you can tell, about hatred, and about such topical themes as the Battle of the Boyne and Irish Republicanism.

Depressing. Saturday served to remind us of what the tradition really consists of. Not that it matters an awful lot, Celtic won 5-1, which probably turned up the heat a bit. My Mum's ambulance was delayed by the need to look after critically ill people - people who had suffered heart attacks, people who had been injured in accidents - no problem with any of that. But by far the majority of the unusually high demand was football fans, in the aftermath of the big match; guys who had alcohol poisoning, guys who had hurt themselves falling down in a drunken stupor and - most of all - guys who had spent the evening in a frenzy, kicking lumps out of each other.

Thank you, my friends. Thanks for everything. It is a pleasure to share a planet with you.

Hooptedoodle #144 - Mike Trebilcock's Big Day

This follows on from a conversation I had recently with another ageing football (soccer) fan, about the strange tale of Mike Trebilcock. It is a story which, if written for a schoolboy comic, would be dismissed as stupidly fanciful - preposterous.

A bit of personal background first: I was born in Liverpool, a city whose passion for the game is not unconnected to having had long periods of its history when there was little else to be cheerful about. Just as I began to take an interest in my team of choice, Liverpool FC, they had a disastrous season and slid into the old English Second Division, but their local neighbours, Everton FC, were promoted out of the Second Division that same year, and moved up into the First (which was equivalent to the current Premiership) – thus the two local rival teams managed to miss each other, and the absence of league matches between them was to continue for a further 9 years, until Liverpool finally gained promotion again.

The rest is, in a football sense, history, but I well remember the dark years of the interim when my school pals and I used to go to Anfield for Liverpool’s home matches in the Second Divn, yet happily visit Everton when LFC were playing away (my mum wouldn’t let me go to away games at that age). There was less venom attached to local rivalries in those days – I was (and remain) a devoted Liverpool fan, but Everton, because of the local connection, were my second favourite team, and I still retain a soft spot for them. They were also, indisputably, playing in a more glamorous league, against more fashionable competition and – since the club was largely financed by the Moores Family, owners of Littlewood’s football pools – there were some expensive, high profile players on show. Despite being a Liverpool disciple, I was always a secret admirer of Alex Young, the legendary Golden Vision, and of a number of other stars Everton bought in.

Back to Mr Trebilcock: After the two big Merseyside teams were both back in the top flight (as it used to be called), Everton had a particularly good run in the 1965-66 FA Cup, and reached the final at Wembley, where their opponents were another great Northern team of the day, Sheffield Wednesday.

Mike Trebilcock was a Cornishman, a forward, who made a considerable name for himself at Plymouth Argyle (in the 2nd Division), before being purchased (for £23,000) by Everton for the start of the 1965-66 season, when he was 20. He was injured during his debut game in the big time, and played very little football for the rest of the season – if I recall correctly, he played a few games for the reserves to get himself back to fitness. For the Cup Final, for reasons no-one has ever understood, Everton’s regular chief goalscorer, Fred Pickering, who was an England international and had, in fact, scored in every round of the Cup leading to the final, was dropped, and Everton fans were dumfounded, not to mention fretful, to learn that Trebilcock was playing in his place.

The game was a classic thriller – Wednesday went 2-0 up, then Trebilcock scored twice in 5 minutes (good goals, too) and eventually Temple scored a breakaway goal to win the game for Everton, 3-2.

Trebilcock remained at Everton for a further 2 years, but never managed to establish himself as a first team player – he played less than a dozen games in total, and eventually he moved on to Portsmouth, then Torquay, and he had a good, solid career as a pro at these lower levels. He played for a while in Australia before retirement – his big day at Wembley in 1966 was very much a one-off. He is still alive, and he is mostly famed now as the first black player to score in an FA Cup Final, but I always felt that if he was asked, “what is your outstanding memory of your footballing career?”, he would probably not have to think very long about it.

The teams, for anyone interested, were:

Everton: Gordon West; Tommy Wright, Ray Wilson; Jimmy Gabriel, Brian Labone (capt), Brian Harris; Alex Scott, Mike Trebilcock, Alex Young, Colin Harvey, Derek Temple

Sheffield Wed: Ron Springett; Wilf Smith, Don Megson; Peter Eustace, Sam Ellis, Gerry Young; Graham Pugh, John Fantham, Jim McCalliog, David Ford, John Quinn