Nelson v Atherton Colleries
Bradford Bulls v Halifax
Featherstone Rovers v Workington Town
Original plan was to head for Scotland and do a couple of games, the new railway to Tweedbank, and then the World Skimming Championships near Oban. However, on arrival at Warrington to pick up our hire car, it was found that paper driving licenses were no longer valid (or to quote the car hire bloke, “they are illegal”). So no car, and no chance of getting to Easdale, we got the train into Manchester and headed to the Microbar in the Arndale to take advantage of the adjacent cheese stall to concoct a plan B.
A game in the North West Counties at Nelson won over Huddersfield v Leeds in Superleague, so we headed off to Burnley via the recently re-opened Todmorden curve, a new bit of track for me.
We’d chosen this route as it deposited us at Burnley Manchester Road station on the South edge of town.
This was next to our hotel, which was massively fucked up. It started with some weird statues in the garden….
….continued via this sculpture on the stairs…
…..and was topped off by this sacrifice to childhood mortality.
Still, the views were good. Which Way Should I Jump?
We headed into town with a stop off at the first GBG tick, the Talbot, for a Cross Bay – Sunset Blonde from Morecambe.
The pub by the less-than-appropriately-named Burnley Central station did a good impression of our hotel.
Ever wonder what Siegfried has been up to since Roy had his face ripped off?
To keep in with the slightly sinister tones of the evening, there were five magpies at the end of the platform. No idea what that is in the song, but two of them were shagging like crazy.
Eventually our own bird to freedom arrived in the form of pacer 142 036. This is one of the 142/0 models identifiable by the offset from centre, front destination blind. The 142/1s also have 7 less strengthening ribs on their roofs.
On to the much more spectacular Nelson station, where we bid farewell to our fine chariot.
We headed through the backstreets to the ground. Turning a corner, we headed straight into a large intra-asian street fight that was going on amongst a large group of males of all ages. We feared the worst, but both sides parted and politely let us passed, before furiously carrying on the argument. Proper Mandela House stuff.
Nelson 3 v Atherton Colleries 4, North West Counties League, Premier Division
Nelson were in the Football league for a decade from 1921, but dropped out due to financial difficulties, and being shit. They moved from their much more developed Seedhill Ground in the early 1970s when a motorway was built through it.
Atherton Colleries were established in 1916 by miners looking to raise money for the war effort. They played in the Bolton, then the Lancashire Combination. By the 1970s, they were in the Cheshire County League, which became the North West Counties.
Arriving at the ground 20 minutes before kick off, a group of teenagers on BMXs had assembled on a grass bank overlooking the ground, like some Lancastrian re-make of ET.
Victoria Park is relatively undeveloped.
Down one side is a fine wooden stand
But down the other side is a row of terraced houses.
Though they did contribute to another old favourite, less-than-executive-boxes.
Nelson had started the season well and were third in the table. They scored two very early goals, and it stayed that way until half time, much to the chagrin of the Atherton supporters who were a right bunch of moaning bastards.
Atherton had most of the possession and got back into in the second half, making it 3-3 at which point Nelson went all out attack but ended up conceding five minutes from time. A very good game.
To avoid any remnants of the earlier fracas, we headed a different way home, which took us passed the old ground. Take it from me there is some wasteland behind the fence and a motorway on the right.
A bus move took us back to Burnley for the other two GBGs in town; the Bridge Bier Huis…
….and a stroll to the Rifle Volunteer.
Beers were missed both for noting and on Untappd so can’t report on them.
However, we were able to enjoy the holy grail of pub snacks, the Openshaws Ploughman’s Lunch. Never has a dairlea triangle, two crackers and some tiny pickled onions, been better marketed. A feast for a king.
As we headed back into town to get a taxi back to the hotel, out of an exceedingly rough looking club, emerged a sometime football/euro-cranking acquaintance who got me arrested in Belarus in February, accompanied by someone who could have been the mother of the woman in the station poster. He seemed surprised to see me. Not because we were hundreds of miles from home, but because he thought I’d come up for the Burnley v Reading place the next day, which until that moment, I was blissfully unaware of.
We headed our separate ways, surviving without being sacrificed to the occult in our demonic accommodation. Next day our chosen game was Bradford v Halifax, staying in the latter. Our train arrived rammed full of rugger buggers, off to Elland Road to watch the rah-rah. We dropped our bags at the hotel and then headed to Dirty Dicks, which whilst it sounds like a nightclub in Slough, is a cracking guide pub, which was cleared with an excellent local Small World – Summer Bank from Shelley, and a Caledonian - Surf Sup.
Next was the legendary Three Pigeons. This is now an Otley outlet but still has plenty of independents on. It had one of my all time favourites, Elland – White Prussian so that sorted me.
It was time to head back to the station where our train was late because of the rugby supporters.
However, the previously unnoticed adjacent chocolate factory gave us time for an enlightening, Wikipedia sourced quiz about After Eights. Points of interest:-
- They were created in 1962
- They were made in Castleford, but now Halifax
- And also in the Wandsbek district of Hamburg
- They take three days to make due to an enzyme incubating the mint
- Over one billion After Eight mints are made annually
- They are certified kosher by the Orthodox Union
Eventually our steed arrived, a Northern Rail 158 in Tour of Yorkshire livery.
Into Bradford and we jumped onto a bus to Odsal, which includes the fourth longest section of guided busway in the UK.
Time for the obligatory Tetley Cask in the Top House. They seem to have invented a proper entertainment mash-up for Tuesday nights.
Bradford Bulls 18 v Halifax 52
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Game was the last one in the Qualifiers. Except no team could change places, with Bradford destined for the ‘million pound’ play off game next week. I haven’t got the energy to explain how it works.
Odsal is my favourite current English large ground, sitting in a huge bowl.
It has huge banks of uncovered terracing on two sides.
With designated walkways you could get lost trying to navigate.
Since the demise of speedway, the corner turf has become permanent, as can be seen by the painted kerbs.
Though the profile hasn’t changed, which gives steep corners on all sides.
The former pit area has been replaced by a massive complex of executive boxes.
Whilst an advertising display from a local garage was crying out to be painted turquoise to give it that 1970s Stamford Bridge feel.
Everyone was expecting a home win, but after a close first half, Halifax walked it in the second with Bradford just trying not to get injured.
After the game, we headed back into town for the recent guide addition, Jacobs Beer House.
However, a pint of this…
…resulted in being given this, as it was too lively to get into one pint?
The Guide can take you to some exotic locations. Why else would I go to a strange city, and find myself walking down a road like this, complete with a snarling Alsatian trying to get under a gate on the left.
It took us to the Fighting Cock, which since our last visit had extended across the street to the security fenced beer garden on the left. But, the Timothy Taylor – Golden Best was as good as ever.
Next was another cross town stroll to Haigy’s, which was home to a lot of dejected Bradford City supporters who had just lost at home to Peterborough.
We headed back on the train to Halifax and to the Three Pigeons to see England lose. It was being shown on a TV in the pub to a precise audience of…………none. No one cared about it. I told you it was a great place.
Next day we headed for the station. It must be a sign that when you are technologically obsolete in Halifax, you are technologically obsolete anywhere.
Except Wakefield it seems, where the 1970s fashions are seemingly only just ending.
There was a new entry into my cherished gallery of Moody KFCs. Tasty Fried Chicken joining such stalwarts as Yorkshire Fried Chicken, Southern Fried Chicken and Quality Fried Chicken.
With the Red Shed not opening until 7pm, we headed to Fernandez Tap which had its usual mix of house brews and Ossett.
We then headed out to the Badlands of Featherstone. On the outskirts of Wakey, two absolute caners got on the bus, one immediately demanded every window needed to be open as he couldn’t breathe and there was then a stand off between him and the pensioners that immediately shut them. He then accosted a youth who was made to try and get his phone to work as he had downloaded a virus onto it. Finally, as we approached our stop, he was loudly asking “have you ever fucked a bird with a big hole? You have to bang it really hard. But it doesn’t hurt you, only their fanny”. I thought he was passing this advice onto his mate, but when we got up to get off the bus, his mate had passed out and the actual recipient of this junkie karma sutra, was in fact a horror struck pensioner in a flat cap.
Featherstone Rovers 52 v Workington Town 14
Game today was against Workington in the semi-final of the Championship Shield.
V 
Down the famous Post Office Lane with its much replaced sign.
Ground is now called the Big Fellas Stadium, which apparently is ‘Pontefracts Premier Nitespot’. A hotly contested title I’m sure.
Ground has recently been extended with the two stands at the far end. These were bought from the old Scarborough McCain Stadium and were rebuilt by the supporters.
I’d love to tell you lots about the game but I was knackered and my arse was in bits from rank scrambled egg that morning, so I wasn’t taking that much notice, only that Featherstone dominated and scored some easy tries. This was the only other picture I took as I was trying to work out where the ‘fucking drummer’ was.
We headed back to Wakefield but this time to Kirkgate to get a Grand Central train wind its way round most of Kirklees to get to Doncaster.
We were staying in the Market Square, in a pub which turned out to be a Wetherspoons but had just opened the hotel part and was immaculate.
Annoyingly, the Marketplace Alehouse and the Doncaster Brewery Tap were both shut so we headed up to the Salutation for a Two Roses – Mosaic.
Then the Corner Pin where annoyingly they had ‘as pretentious as it is expensive’ Bath Ales on, so onto the Little Plough for a Bradfield - Farmers Pale Ale. Full marks to them for their display for the local Scottish contingent for the Rugby World Cup. No point wasting money when you can recycle something from a different sport from 35 years ago.
After going back to the hotel, it was the usual thing of why is the one episode of This is England that I bother to watch, always the one with the rape and incest? So I had an early night which was just as well as I was woken up at 6am by beer barrels bouncing their way into the cellar under my room. After twenty minutes I gave up all hope of sleep so headed to the station and got the first train up country, which had a pleasant surprise of a full breakfast on board to accompany the mist of the Eastern lowlands passing at 125mph.
