Horse Shit

Yate Town v Cinderford Town

In the last century, I used to manage a group of stations that included Yate. This was in times immediately post privatisation when franchises had a thousand and one auditors. For stations, this involved a bollocking for any unauthorised script above the size of a credit card. At Yate, the local football team had took it upon themselves to pin up posters advertising games around the station. Whilst the perspec etchings of ‘Filton Hypa Crew’ were not big enough to be considered graffiti, these posters were. I therefore contacted the club, saying they could have one of the poster boards, as long as they stopped pinning up these A4 posters. No response, and the posting continued. So I offered to print the posters in DR size and put them up on their behalf; still no response. Eventually I offered to sponsor them and put up permanent signage, wasting many an afternoon designing ‘up the bluebells’ signage when I should have been off costing my delay minutes. Stiull no response and their posters continues, eventually leading to some harsh doings involving solicitors letters and responses through the local press.

Anyway, we have history. So today I would finally visit them again.

Plan was train to the original Parkway for buses to the guide pubs at Frampton Cotterill and Mayshill, a pleasant wander across green fields to the GBG at Iron Acton, and the bus on to Yate, for the game and a wander back to the station for the train back.

All well at the start. Rising Sun is the GWB tap but not particularly pleasant. Ticked with a Maiden Voyage and then a Butcombe Blonde at the Globe.

Bus on to the New Inn and at the door for the 1730 opening for a Twisted Oak – Spun Gold.

Then the hike. It started as expected, green and rolling land.

Then the common theme of the day.

Horse Shit.

Everywhere.

I’d already negotiated a few massive piles before taking an interest. Piles of it.

  
In the road…..

…in the fields….

  
….on the paths.

  
Eventually the culprits were found, chewing on a mix of Japanese knotweed and timber bridge support.

So the bucolic delights could continue.
Pylons.

  
Unobtrusive babbling brooks.

But hold on, what’s this?

  
Yes, a bit of cranking action…

  
…only to be disappointed that this was the Yate to Tytherington quarry line, out of use for many a year. Not required as cleared with the Severnsider railtour in 2011. Also taking in the delights of Hinkley point nuclear power station transhipment point and Westerleigh waste transfer station.

  
Moving on, I had now entered joy riders alley with various evidence of burnt out cars

But eventually I reached Iron Acton, where the pathways cater for anorexics…

  
…and dwarves, neither of which particular describe me.

  
Lamb Inn was the next Guide tick.

Amidst some particularly spurious claims...

...a Cotswold Spring, Stunner and Aviator was had, along with a charcuterie board.

  
Whilst waiting for the onward bus, the local cycling club turned up and proved they could be just as inconsiderate cunts in parking their cars as they could riding their bikes. Meant the bus couldn’t get through. This meant I had no option but to undertake……

…..the B Road grass verge walk of shame. Normally only undertaken by topless simpletons clutching cider, this is one of Britains great institutions.

It gave me the opportunity to aquaint myself with the local produce.

But also saw the horse shit return. And how it returned. On the grass verge…

  
…on driveways…

  
…and on the footpath.

Eventually the entrance to the ground was reach, marked by a pile of horse shit.

  
And some more, just for good measure.

  
Sign confirmed game was on, and more horse shit in the background.

  
Welcome to Lodge Road.

A quite healthy queue to get in, surprisingly the crowd was announced at only 212.

Yate Town 0 v Cinderford Town 1, Evostik Southern Football League Division One South and West

Yate were established in 1906 as Yate Rovers, becoming Yate YMCA in 1946, and then Yate Town in 1969.  They were founder members of the Gloucestershire County League in 1968, moving to the Hellenic League in 1983.  They won the Hellenic League title in two successive seasons, 1987–88 and 1988–89, securing promotion to the Southern League, though they did have a minor blip back in the Hellenic in 2000. 

Cinderford were formed in 1922 with the aim of playing in every league in Southern Britain.  They joined the Gloucestershire Northern Senior League, before moving to the Bristol Charity League, and then the Western League.  Post war it was on to the Warwickshire Combination in 1963,  the West Midlands (Regional) League in 1965, in 1969 the Gloucestershire County League.  In 1974 they joined the Midland Combination, back to the Gloucestershire County League by 1983, then in 1990 the Hellenic League, and finally in 1994, the Southern League.

Ground is relatively unchanged from my last visit here with Didcot in the then Federation Brewery Hellenic League in the late eighties.

Though it is now surrounded by those trees you see on neighbours from hell programmes.

It was all Cinderford in the first half. Photography an issue as one side was into the sun, but the other side usually involved the <misogynist> half decent female lino </misogynist> which made it a bit pervy.

Cinderford Were top of the League courtesy of a 6-0 opening day thrashing of this seasons basket club Bashley. A bit harsh on Winchester who scored seven on the opening day but are only second!
Anyway, Cinderford scored with this header.

Got stared at by a dog for a long time, so went and drank lots of Stowford Press instead.

The dug outs are not the usual kop out of being on the other side from the main stand, instead they have a perspex back. This means you can watch the game through the dug out. It’s a revelation. I can follow the game whilst learning that defenders need to make themselves ‘go big’.

No more score, so headed for the station. The first warning of the shit machines…

  
…and a curious lane under the railway….

  
…took me back to the station for the only HST of the day from Yate, what was formerly the empty stock off the 1745 Pad – Cheltenham now runs in service back to Bristol so stops at all these shacks.

Tomorrow I am able to combine a home visit to a member of staff with a ruptured bowel, with a Western League game. Ying and Yang.