Fleetwood U18s v Wrexham U18s, EFL Youth Alliance
Blackpool Scorpions v Pilkington Recs A, North West Rugby
League
Blackpool Wren Rovers v Hesketh Bank, West Lancashire League
AFC Blackpool v Runcorn Town, FA Vase
Provisional requirements for stewarding duties at both the
Todmorden beer festival and the Halifax Model Railway exhibition didn't
materialise, so an uninhibited day out. With the summer holidays mostly out the
way, it was finally safe to head out to Fylde and do a few games in the
Blackpool area.
As ever, the day started at sunny Sowerby Bridge so station,
with the 0733 Manchester Victoria service.
Today's Sowerby education.
The line parallels the recently re-opened Rochdale canal,
and signs appeared a few months ago advertising its proximity at convenient
stations. However, if there is one thing I have learned from station management
is never have the word 'canal' on a sign who's letters can easily be picked
off, as it will inevitably end up expressing some sort of buggery innuendo.
There has been various forms of creativity with 'Alight here for the Rochdale
canal', the most popular being some retro Ali G speak of 'Alight her for da
anal', which this one at Walsden is well on the way to.
I only headed a couple of stops up the line to Hebden
Bridge, with its wonderfully preserved station.
Though still under threat from the local skallies.
From Hebden, there is a direct service to Blackpool. This
does pass through Sowerby but doesn't stop. My Northern 158 arrives, with a
Leeds bound 153 in the background.
The line onward passes through some of the most famously
quaint and picturesque places in Britain. Burnley....
....Accrington.....
....and Blackburn.
Football grounds visible from the railway, the Tom Finney
Stadium.....
....and Vernon Carus sports ground (Penwortham Town).
Departing Preston, the question of ‘Where are Rocky bars
made?’ was finally answered. Wesham is the home of childhood obesity.
My destination was Poulton-Le-Fylde.
This was formerly the junction for the Fleetwood branch. It
lost its passenger service in the 1970s, but oil traffic continued to Burn Naze
until the 1990s and the branch is still not officially closed, hence the rails
and junction are still intact, the Blackpool line being on the left and the
Fleetwood branch on the right.
My onward bus went from right outside the twee railway
station.
A 15 minute connection gave the chance for a bacon sandwich
and I received my first new £5 note.
This was immediately spent on a bus and tram day ticket, as
I headed on the number 2 to Knott End.
We crossed the lower reaches of the Wyre estuary.
Football grounds that can be seen from a Blackpool
Corporation Transport Dennis Trident - Wyre Villa.
As we reached Knott End and headed for the promenade, I had
purloined the front seats.
The bus terminates at what is advertised as the ferry
interchange.
Although home of the coastguard…..
…..the tidal nature of the estuary means when it is out, you
have to walk down a slipway, three quarters of the way across the river, in
order to find deep enough for the ferry to land.
The walk down gives a lovely view of Morecambe bay, lovely
that is if you are a fan of Heysham Nuclear Power Station or laid up coastal
cargo vessels.
The alternative view is down the Wyre, to Burn Naze chemical
works. In the foreground, is fleetwood ferry terminal. I've used it once as a
foot passenger on the freight service from Belfast. My abiding memory is that
it was all inclusive for meals. We boarded at 2300, where a massive eat all you
can hot buffet was taken. The alarm then went off at 0400 for the self-service
cooked breakfast, as everyone had to be off the ferry by 0500. No wonder the
only lorry drivers who haven't died of a coronary by their mid-fifties, are the
ones who have already been locked up for human trafficking.
Exactly on the hour, the very odd ferry that operates the
route, roared into life from the Fleetwood landing point.
The Wyre Rose's strangeness comes from the fact that it is
almost perfectly square. It was purpose built in 2005, and was the first vessel
on the route to give the passengers covered accomodation.
It is operated by Wyre Marine Services who are basically the
local sea dredging company who seem to get favourable licenses in return for
operating this basket case of a service.
Less than two minutes after departing, we were at the
Fleetwood landing stage.
And a warm welcome into the Rotterdam of North Fylde.
Me next move was on the bus down to Burn Naze for my first
game of the day. The ferry interchange here is much more convenient than across
the water.
We followed the tram down through the suburbs of Fleetwood.
Unexpected places to see Against Modern Football stickers –
the high level flag of Agnew Road bus stop.
These seem like a friendly local company. I’m sure Blackpool
are proud of them.
I was heading for the Fleetwood Town training ground at
Proudfoot Farm, and alighted the bus on the main road.
The ground was situated behind a housing estate. Training
grounds at this level are never that great, a couple of weeks back at Oldham
being a good example. First impressions weren't great, I'm not sure this is
what I’d expect an ‘International Sport and Leisure Complex’ to be.
Nor did the entrance give much away, being a board in
between some terraced housing, with as much promotion for an on-site bistro as
the football.
However, entering the complex made it clear the opulence
that Fleetwood enjoyed. There was a large new changing room and clubhouse
building in the centre. In front of this were two pristine full size pitches.
At the back were a number of 3G pitches, which were awash
with children being led away from games that had just ended. The most common
piece of advice they were being given was "ignore what such and such's dad
says". One mum was more critical, telling her son "I'd have been
better in goal than Jake was today".
Fleetwood U18s 2 v Wrexham U18s 0, EFL Youth Alliance
V
Strangely, the U18s game was being played on seemingly the
worst pitch in the complex.
Spectators were confined to a roped off quarter of one
touchline.
The game carried on pretty uneventfully. The only thing of
interest was that the referees respect campaign seems to have died a death a
death already as the Wrexham defence seemed to get away with telling the ref to
Fuck Off every time he made a decision.
One of the parents on the sideline, seemed to be obsessed
with his son chipping the keeper from the halfway line as his permanent
instruction was 'look where the keeper is' every time he got the ball, then a
'good work Ollie' as his offspring hoofed the ball forward into the keepers
welcoming arms.
The Youth Team transport barometer saw Fleetwood with a
down-to-earth but brand new, Ford Transit.
I lasted until half time, then headed back to the bus stop.
The bus took me back up to the tram line. The route took me past a large
holiday camp, where the bus was inundated with Scottish families with screaming
kids, stag and hen parties (including the compulsory LEGEND so beautifully
detailed last week) who were already well on it, and pensioners complaining
about Scottish families and stag and hen parties. At the time I couldn't
imagine more challenging travel companions. How that was about to change.
I alighted at the tram interchange at Broadwater.
The Blackpool tram was the last remaining of the old
fashioned corporation tramways. New ones since reopened in Manchester, Croydon,
Sheffield, Nottingham and Birmingham, but these were all new builds. Blackpool
had survived with historic trams, mainly for its tourist attraction ability.
However, four years ago the network was rebuilt and a fleet of brand new trams
was acquired, to make it a modern tramway. Thankfully, many examples of the
historic trams were kept, and on special days through the year, these operate
up to Fleetwood. Today was such an operating day and just as we arrived, a 1934
Balloon tram was departing.
I decided to go after it on a conventional tram. However,
departing the stop, I looked around and found it was packed with perhaps the
most repulsive passengers possible; MK Dons followers. They were off to
Fleetwood and almost immediately I as accosted by one, who wanted to know which
stop to get off for the ground and if therefore I was going to the football.
For some reason, he took my response of 'Yes, but not to watch you thieving
cunts' as a sign of hostility. He enquired as to what my problem was, and I
gave him the full tirade about how they had stolen Wimbledon's league status.
He seemed genuinely taken aback as though he hadn't encountered any challenge
before. His response was that Wimbledon 'brought it on themselves and were
going bust anyway'. This time I went full tirade, that Winkleman only got
interested in football as he needed a team to pay for the stadium which was
then going to get him planning permission for the huge retail development
around it. That there was absolutely no way of knowing what would have happened
if they had gone bust, and even if they did, their place should have gone to a
team that had gone through the proper channels of promotion from non league and
the conference, not just bought by a spiv. This had attracted quite some
attention from others of them on the tram, but what struck me was that it was
clear that most of them had no idea how their team came into being, and that
they aren't used to getting any stick about it. As we came up to their stop and
they were getting out he wished we a good day, but I noticed he was accompanied
by a disabled son. However, I decided to stay loyal to my feelings by wishing
back to him that his team get stuffed, they go bust and someone buys them
and moves them to the other end of the country. I was glad I didn't try and
preserve the feelings of the disabled kid as the little bastard turned round
and gave me the wanker sign as we pulled away.
I carried on to Fisherman’s Walk, where a connection was
made with the next heritage service, a rather disappointing centenary class of
1985.
This took us back passed Fleetwood’s ground. I’d been here
in 1997 when the original Fleetwood FC had gone bust and the current club were
just starting as Fleetwood Wanderers. Then it was known as the Highbury stadium
and the team still wore the red shirts with white sleeves. Remind you of
anyone? The place was an absolute fucking tip, not even properly enclosed. I
imagine it has changed a bit now.
Carrying on out of Fleetwood, you pass a massive long
industrial plant. It looks like a car assembly line. However, it is only when
you get to the end you find that it is actual the world headquarters of
Fisherman’s Friends, the horrific throat sweets made of Dettol. The reason such
a large factory is needed is that 95% of the produce is sold abroad. Africa
especially where it seems most of the continent lives on a diet of Fisherman’s
Friends and Nigerian Guinness.
This took me on to Bispham where I jumped off to get
Coronation 660, the next heritage tram behind. However, I was meant to be meeting
up with Mad Dai as he was at his brothers in Liverpool for the Weekend. I'd
told him to text me when he left Lime Street, as I would have an hour to plan
to meet him at Blackpool North. Dai had computed this to 'call me when you are
eating an ice cream at the top of Blackpool Tower', which meant I had to jump
on the next normal tram into town.
All was going well until we reached Cliffs, and we were told
that the tram was staying there for a while due to 'an incident at Glynn
Square'. The Conductor clarified the delay as 'could be 5 minutes, could be 5
hours', so I headed onto the bus, which was decked out in a Madame Tussards
livery. Down the promenade, with the illuminations not illuminated. Doctor Who
seems to be this years theme, which is strange as I don't think there are many
Virgins in Blackpool.
Passing Glynn Square, the delays all became clear as a 1960
twin car from the heritage trams was merrily being dampened down by the fire
brigade, having apparently caught fire.
With the centre now in gridlock, I jumped off the bus and
walked the last mile or so into the centre, meeting Dai under the tower.
On the promenade was some sort of Iron Man competition,
which involved steroid addicts pulling Blackpool buses from through the ages.
Having brought the network to a halt, the heritage trams
were on the naughty step and were dumped unceremoniously at various loops on
the route. Here another 1934 Balloon car sits at the tower.
The centre of Blackpool is great if you want to see fat
blokes in Motherwell tops stagger around to the Venga Boys. I don’t, so after
some quick cheesy chips, we jumped on the next bus out of town, with a 1901
Marton Box finally allowed out to play.
Unfortunately, the first bus didn’t equate to the right bus,
as we got on an 11 instead of a 17. So instead of being dropped off outside the
rugby ground with half an hour to spare, instead we ended up having to walk for
45 minutes across most of southern Blackpool, before we eventually came across
the required playing fields. However, an issue arose in that we could see the
game but couldn’t get to it.
Infront of us was a palisade fenced Sunday League ground.
Dai went storming off down the adjacent playing fields, with
the surface almost being as bumpy as last week at St Ives.
Further on and for some reason the football pitches were
marked out in blue due to them being adjacent to the main runway of Blackpool
airport.
Blackpool Scorpions 30 v Pilkington Recs A 64, North West
Rugby League, Division 2.
V 
Eventually, we found the entrance to the ground. Are there
many sports nameboards that are attached to WW2 pill boxes?
Hiking down the approach lane and we got a sporadic view of
the game through the trees.
Into the car park and some particularly fancy transport for
a step 10 side (which would be about step 40 in football).
The ground is pretty much just a playing field, but with a
large social club and sports centre.
The adjacent airport became quite big for holiday flights,
but it was incurring massive losses, so was shut down by the owners, Balfour
Beatty. It has since re-opened for minor use, mainly for executive flights to
the Isle of Man. No doubt a huge upsurge will be seen with the Cornish heading
there for the exciting new cup competition I am hearing about. A few
helicopters popped in and out during the game.
Blackpool did have a professional rugby league team,
Blackpool Borough, who started in the early 1950s and carried on through a
number of financial calamities and rebirths, before being based in most places
in Lancashire in the 1980s (Wigan, Chorley, Altricham) before returning to
Blackpool and going bust in the mid 1990s. Blackpool Panthers, based in Lythm,
joined the Championship in 2005 but they too had gone under by 2010, it being
easier to list the financial and ownership rules that they hadn’t transgressed.
I know nothing about Blackpool Scorpions.
Pilkington Recs are the team from the Pilkington Glass works
in St Helens. They were formed in 1949 and have always had a strong presence in
amateur rugby league, the first team playing in the conference. This side, the
A team, had already won the league and after an initial surge by Blackpool,
soon pegged the score back and then went on to win at a canter.
Dai was extremely proud of some suede winklepickers he had
acquired in town. What happened to his original footwear was never disclosed.
Dai is like a magnet for balls out of play at any event.
This is complicated by him being exceptionally uncoordinated, so his return
usually goes further away from play than it was already. Here he strikes a pose
as the ball sails over the awaiting players head.
As the rugby was so one sided, I headed off for some
football. Immediately adjacent to the rugby ground are no less than four non
league grounds. The unnamed Sunday side mentioned previously, then from left,
AFC Blackpool, Blackpool Wren Rovers, Squires Gate.
I headed for Wren Rovers, as their West Lancs League status
meant the game was kicking off earlier, though the signage was a bit bed
dominated, and not too forthcoming in the small area the football had.
Immediately next door was this, but with no game until next
week.
The grounds completely back on to each other, as can be seen
by the sets of floodlights here.
Squires Gate were formed in 1948 and played in the Blackpool
League until joining the West Lancs in 1961, where they stayed for thirty years
until joining the North West Counties where they are currently in the Premier
Division.
However, my chosen game was next door (notice the no dogs
writing at the entrance).
Blackpool Wren Rovers 1 v Hesketh Bank 0, West Lancashire
League, Premier Division.
The home side started as Wren Rovers in the 1930s. They
moved up to the Lancashire Combination, and then joined the North West Counties
in 1982. However, they dropped back to the West Lancs League in 1998. During
that time they had been Blackpool Rovers, but changed to the current name in
1998.
Hesketh Bank are from near Southport and played in that
league from their formation in the 1920s, until 1987 when they joined the West
Lancs league.
The ground reminded me of Abingdon Towns in that almost all
of the perimeter has cover….
….but without any terracing…..
….and some of the cover missing.
On the far side cover, it appears someone bought some old
cinema seats in the 1940s, but has never got round to installing them.
The dugouts were tiny little things, looking more like
gunning placements.
Though they did look marvellous in corrugated alloy.
A section of the cover was closed due to the rather cryptic
‘gas main below’.
The cover was also home to the agricultural clutter. Firstly
a well wrapped mower…..
….then something far more tortious looking. Health and
safety going as far as putting down a cone to protect it.
Dai had stayed on to watch the end of the rugby, but sure
enough, just as a ball went out of play, who appeared to retrieve it. This
perpleced me as Dai wasn’t in the ground a few seconds earlier, but had
suddenly appeared mid terrace.
Dai was adament he had come in the main entrance, so I made
him show me. Sure enough, as only Dai can do, he had wandered through a pub car
park some way from the main entrance, and had wandered through a decrepit
gateway…..
…..which led to some Nania like entrance hidden behind one
touchline.
Anyway, to the game.
Some people kicked a ball around and the ones in red scored.
End of report.
Of note was the keepers top which had a subscript to a
departed secretary at the bottom.
The Squires Gate main stand, visible over the wall.
You remember I mentioned the no dogs warnings, well this
continued on in the ground.
Both dugouts
The main cover was slightly more ameniable.
We headed off, using the secret entrance, though even that
was no dogs.
Next on the list was across the road to AFC Blackpool.
AFC Blackpool 0 v Runcorn Town 1, FA Vase - Second
Qualifying Round.
AFC Blackpool were originally Blackpool Mechanics, and were
the engineering team for Blackpool Corporation Transport, who run the buses and
trams in the town. They were formed in 1947 and progressed through the Fylde
and District, West Lancs and into the Lancashire Combination until it became
the North West Counties in 1982, where they have been ever since, but nearly
always at the wrong end of the second tier. In 2008 they merged with a local
junior side and changed their name to AFC Blackpool. However, their association
with the transport company lives on, even making use of its pay booths.
Runcorn Town started life as a local team in the Sunday
league in the 1960s. They went on to play in the Warrington and district, and
then the West Cheshire league. The demise of the once Conference winning
Runcorn FC, saw them take on the challenge of becoming the towns biggest club
with Runcorn Linnets. They changed their name to Runcorn Town in 2005 and
joined the North West Counties in 2010.
The programme cover appeared to have a Luftwaffe
reconnaissance picture on the cover.
Blackpool Mechanics had taken over Blackpool Boroughs rugby
ground when they moved out in the 1980s. This had a substantial main stand
although also had a speedway track around the perimeter. I visited it once when
there wasn’t a game on. They lost the lease on the ground in the 1990s and
since then have moved to Jepson way, named after Bury’s infamous night club
murdering forward. Probably.
It is a tidy little ground, with a seated stand on the far
touchline.
Opposite is a cover infront of the changing rooms. This
isn’t attached to the front of someone’s house as the picture suggests.
Behind each goal…..
…is covered terracing.
However, the occupants couldn’t be more different. AFC
Blackpool have picked up some disillusioned Blackpool FC fans who had a number
of banners and a drum at one end.
They were very vocal, but this was slightly limited to
singing “we’re fucking shit” or if Runcorn missed a chance “you’re fucking
shit”.
At the other end was a group of pensioners who had a
wonderful selection of armchairs, and a nestle of tables from which they served
their own refreshments. They didn’t swap ends at half time.
Runcorn are a league above Blackpool, and missed a load of
first half chances, with the home keeper in good form.
At half time it became clear where the money in the club had
been spent (they don’t pay their players), with a plethora of signage….
….and a very tidy bar.
The mower looked like an absolute beast. Covered and
everything.
Not so professional was the lino, in his going out trainers.
Runcorn continued to miss a load of chances.
Before eventually scoring.
The @keepers_towel on display looked like a pair of pants
but was actually an old shirt.
By now the home support had decided that the Runcorn number
11 was ‘fucking shit’ so were singing about him. The home defence and the ref
joined in as they kicked him and ignored his pleas in turn.
We had to move from our touchline position as a pack of
swarming starlings were formation shitting over us.
With the subs being sent in all directions to retrieve lost
balls, the game ended.
We headed through the car park. Which team is this and is it
normal to have car stickers on the drivers side front windscreen?
You can see where the real money is in non-league in the
area.
We jumped back on the right bus this time.
As we were so far south, it was quicker to head for St
Annes.
We headed for the station.
Where Dai was obsessed that this picture looked like 1980s
Danish cricketer Ole Mortensen, which I didn’t agree with.
Our 142 arrived in from Blackpool South.
With Dai spending the journey relaying the playing career of
Ole Mortensen, I decided I wouldn’t wait with him at Preston, instead carrying
on to Blackburn. The train heads onward to Colne, with the Thwaites brewery on
the left.
I picked up my onward service here.
Retracing my steps to Hebden Bridge.
