Hungerford Strike

Hungerford Town v Slough Town

For some reason Hungerford are playing there home games on a Monday this season. Bullpit Lane is not a required ground, but hey, the alternative was Kingstonian or Wealdstone.

As a bit of variety, the outward journey was done on the bus. There is a direct service from Swindon to Hungerford, which seems to kill off operators, the last being Weavaways who through in the keys in the Autumn, so it was a chance to find out who the new operator was.

There is a 1755 from the bus station and at the allotted time, this thing rolled up. On trying to buy a ticket, I was relieved to find that I wouldn't be spending 70 minutes on a re-liveried sunshine variety bus as it was actually the Lambourn service, identifiable by the half horsey, half rural smack head clientele.

Instead, a Thamesdown Dennis Dart SFD with Plaxton Pointer bodywork rolled up, which seemed overkill for the six passengers travelling on this peak working.

There is a main road between Swindon and Hungerford, on which are located the major settlements. The route planners have taken great care and attention to make sure the bus avoids both the main road, and any hamlet with more than four houses. So instead, it takes over an hour to do a fifteen mile journey, through the middle of no-where. Here are some highlights of views from the bus.

The magic roundabout at Swindon

 

The Great Western Hospital

Junction 15 of the M4

Swindon Towns former training ground at Foxhill

Dusk over Swindon.

The emergency access to Membury Services (westbound).

A thatched bus shelter.

The Ramsbury Brewery tap.

All too soon we were arriving into Hungerford, with exactly the same six passengers who left Swindon. The jaunt through the villages being wholly unnecessary.

There were a couple of Guide Pubs to be had. Firstly the not required John O Gaunt, but for a very much required Wild Weather Ales - The Science of Selling Yourself Short. This is the first of their beers I've tracked down. Hungerford is slightly obsessed with John O Gaunt, who was the Belgian born Duke of Lancaster, but owned most of the town in the early Middle Ages. Now the major local landowner is the father of X-factor ear botherer Will Young. How times change.

Wild Weather brew in an industrial estate on the outskirts of the village I grew up in (although they kid themselves its Silchester, the Roman glory hunters).

 

Next move was down the canal....

....to the required Hungerford Club for a horrific choice of Pride or Doombar. The bar was full of fat people with tennis rackets and thin people with snooker cues.

By now it was time to head for the game, under the railway bridge which had been lined out in full Great Western Railway Brunswick green.

Anyone who's anyone in the town has a glass case under the bridge.

Although the town is very established, developing from its location on both the A4 and Kennet and Avon canal, Hungerford is sadly most well known for the massacre that took place there in the late 1980s. The shootings took place on the housing estate that surrounds the ground and proved that if you are going to burn your house down and then go Columbine, make sure they only surviving photo of you isn't one of you looking vacant in a camouflage sun hat, or the world will judge you as a rabid simpleton.

Soon the floodlights were spied....

....as was the slightly unusual road name that the ground is situated on.

After parting with a slightly surprising tenner for entrance and two pound for a programme, we were in.

Hungerford Town 1 v Slough Town 0, Evo-Stik Southern League, Premier Division

Hungerford have always dithered around the Hellenic league and lower reaches of the Isthmian, but then in 2009, they won the Former, moving up to the Southern league, and a subsequent promotion has found them in the premier league, contesting the promotion places.

Slough Town were always a strong team in the Isthmian, and then had a prolonged spell in the Conference in the 1990s. However, they have never done well with grounds, being nomadic since losing their Wexham Park home in 2003. They currently play at Beaconsfield despite their old ground still being available. I have no sympathy for them as I went there with Reading for an FA cup game in 1991, being 3-1 with five minutes of injury time gone, then the Reading fans pushing over the pitch side wall, and Slough scoring two in the added on time. After the game, the large car park was an absolute war zone, with the police eventually giving up on separating the two sides, and eventually it turned into a five way Anchorman style battle as the stewards and a particularly hand couple of St Johns Ambulance joined in.

My main memory of the ground is its ferocious slope, not quite up to Chard standards but a match for Clitheroe.

The ground has always had quite substantial seated stands on each touch line.

 These have been joined by a covered terrace behind the goal. This seemed to be occupied by some sort of youth firm, who were sat on the terracing devouring family packs of Ringos and large cans of energy drinks.

The stand behind the dug outs used to have wonderful seats that had been liberated from an old cinema, and were deeply cushioned and wonderful in the summer, though liable to be frozen solid in winter. At some point these have now been replaced by standard red plastic efforts.

I have always thought that someone at Arena UK Ltd must have pictures of every non league chairman in the UK, fucking a donkey. There can be no other explanation why so many clubs purchase their soulless, identikit, impossible to see the game from because they are so shallow, pre-fab stands. The sight of this one tonight has now convinced me that is the case. There is more than enough covered seating and standing at the ground, yet this is dumped in the corner, completely unused. These are truly the scourge of modern football.

As long time readers will know, one of my top rated non league sights is a fenced off area, as it means wholly uncharacteristic attention to health and safety, or security. Sadly, whilst the menacing looking threshing machines were outside the mysterious area, tarpaulins covered the source of danger/money tree.

Even more uncharacteristically for non league, am element of tidying up had taken place at the ground, with the first ever sight of a skip at a ground. It is normal to leave any unwanted material to rot or rust away wherever it has been discarded. At best it is all heaped together awaiting a never-to-happen bonfire.

This random chair being a great example

Now 130 years.

The clubhouse beckoned with its UV lighting, but only had Worthingtons on tap, so I forewent.

Similarly, at £4.50 for a burger, I did not take advantage of the 'Crusaders Tea Bar'. The game was Crusaders v Rebels, probably the only game I can think of between two Limited edition Cortinas.

Despite looking like two warehouse workers, Hungerford are managed by ex-Reading youth team player Bobby Wilkinson. I can never remember whether it is him or Derek Simpson who - on second thoughts, potentially criminal/libellous story removed -.

Slough had a decent away following, the most notable being this gent who as well as being the absolute spit of Father Jack, was wearing full water proofs, then over the top had a conference era shirt, size medium at the most, which meant he was shuffling around clad in an acrylic basque.

For the first time in an age, I managed to capture a goal on camera, as Hungerford took the lead from a first half corner. Hungerford’s most noteable alumni is Charlie Austin, who was born and raised in the Town, and played for Town after he had been released by Reading for being an arsey little shit not tall enough.

Slough had a few chances, and by the end Hungerford were hanging on, but the game finished 1-0.

I headed down to the station, stopping off at the adjacent Fullers pub for an HSB.

At the station, it was clear that someone at the local council had gone down the tried and tested route of making up a spurious region, and then claiming you are at the heart of it. Could anyone actually tell where the North Wessex Downs are?

And so my bird to freedom arrived in the form of 165106, which whisked me back to Reading, via every station in the Kennet Valley, for the last train of the day (plenty more rail replacement buses) back to Swindon.