British Army v London Chargers
Ascot United Reserves v Eversley & California Reserves
Well, my final sober weekend after 18 months off the shant. A meeting back in Swindon on Friday took me back to old haunts for the Saturday, and the chance for a southern challenge cup tie, with a convenient early kick off meaning churches league football beforehand, and some non-league after. Well, that was the plan anyway.
The first game was going to be on my childhood home turf of the Burghfield nuclear bomb factory sports ground to see Brookside Saint Laurence, until I noticed that I was looking at the wrong weeks fixtures. Instead, it was the ever hopefull task of actually seeing a game played on the lower pitches at Scours Lane.
This entailed a morning train from Swindon to the newly electrified Didcot Parkway, my South Wales originating HST rammed full of ever so amusing and great company rugby supporters.
The electrified services are meant to carry on up to Oxford, but a combination of Network Rails absolute inability to manage projects, combined with Oxford City Council playing silly buggers about letting them rebuild the station, means what were previously through London-Oxford services, now terminate at Didcot, where a little diesel shuttle takes people the remaining few miles. Here the shuttle arrives on the back platform, with the electric waiting to whisk people onwards. To add to the scene, the power station, the steam railway centre, and on the very far right, a Voyager going round the avoiding line.
There were a fair gathering of train cranks at the end of the platform. I hadn't realised that class 387 EMUs had such a following.
But it was this they's come to see, on a London-Worcester autismex. It was due to arrive at 0930, but was a couple of minutes late and with our train due off at 0932, all those who were stood at the end of the platform, got a great shot of the side of our train departing, instead of the kettle arriving.
We carried on down the Thames Valley, where the new overhead wires are causing a controversy. When the East Coast Main Line, it was done with lightweight centenary that falls apart in a light breeze, so the stuff here is built to withstand a nuclear winter. However, robustness comes with very sturdy stanchions, which the locals don't seem to view as things of beauty. So there are various local pressure groups wanting them all to be ripped down, or painted green, or replaced with sails, or other such bat shit mad nimbyism.
Still, at least the new footbridges aren't towering great monstrosities clad in dour grey metal sheeting.
I headed off at Tilehurst.
Admiring the lovely unhindered view across to the adjacent river Thames.
I wandered down the main road towards Reading. Grass verge discarded paraphernalia was a number of miniature scales. Now who in West Reading would own such an item, and why would they feel the need to suddenly dispose of them very abruptly from a moving car? The mind boggles.
Through Portman Road industrial estate, and half of the Beatles have set up a company that gives no clue as to what it actually does? Well, apparently 'delivering performance' is the obvious strapline for a back street timber merchants.
It was under the railway and a return to Scours Lane. Reading Town's identity is still present, but Highmoor Ibis have finally got round to adding their own in a more prominant location.
Sub-tenants and fellow Hellenic side Woodley United have also made their presence be known.
I can imagine the ideas pitch by the badge designers:-
- Club "We are looking at something that reflects the areas proud background of forestry and aircraft manufacturing"
- Design Agency "Well, how about a subutteo ball resting on a medical drawing of a pair of male scrotum?"
And I'm pretty sure 'Gaudium Joci Causa' is a Brazillian test driver for Williams F1.
All this mocking back fired on me as for the third time this season, there was no fucking football at this fucking fuckfest of a fucking sports ground.
The reason for my ire was that due to engineering works at the Old Oak depot in London, the Great Western Railway night sleeper train was instead being stabled at the adjacent Reading train care depot, normally only home to the suburban DMUs or new EMUs. I'd made a few calls to former colleagues, and they had pulled it right up to the headshunt overlooking the ground, for a chabce of a once in a lifetime photo opportunity. Accept I hadn't taken into account the Ibis 'postpone them all, for the lord will know his own' approach to pitch inspections.
So I watched a few trains passing chained up goal posts.
Good job they are chained up, as no one would notice they were missing until the one week in September when games are actually played here. The new order as a class 387 passes.
So I made my way out, passing a very prophetic sign.
Rather than go back to Tilehurst station, I instead decided to take in the new offering on the 17, which is the flagship route of Reading buses. These are brand new Alexander Dennis Enviro400 City-bodied Scania biogas double-deckers. Basically a usable version of the Boris cunt bus.
Of note was the info on the bus stop, with the football buses being listed as 'getting off only', despite this being in the direction of going to the stadium. It's as though they think you don't want to see 36 consecutive passes between central defenders, and then losing by the odd goal to a team four places below you.
Others seemed to agree.
When Northern were refurbishing their class 158s, they put a customer survey out as to what people wanted. All anyone wanted was charging points and coat hooks. All northern did was put in horrifically bright lights and then not couple them properly.
Anyway, these buses not only had USB chargers, they had had coat hooks. But not just any coat hooks...
...retractable ones. What a time to be alive.
I headed for the station and the Southern bays. Though fortunately for a North Downs service, not a Twickenham bound Waterloo services, full off people suddenly remembering they are Welsh.
On the train I bumped into a bloke I went on the Reading pre-season tour to Sweden with 19 years ago. On the final evening on the way back from a draw with Djurgården IF, we got caught up in knife fight between some hells angels and some local farmers, who were on their way back from a muscle car festival. The following weekend I went on a Northern League ground hopping tour and shared a dormitory at Bishop Auckland college with a load of middle aged border line sexual predators. I'm not sure on which occasion I felt most worried about preserving my own life.
I alighted at Ash where it was a man of steel zero minute connection onto a South West Trains service, which went from the opposite platform, but is accessed by a level crossing so you have to wait for the train to arrive before you can then cross over and head for it. I made it just.
This was taken one shack across to Aldershot.
Aldershot is a military town so is full of squaddies. Oh, and James Wade. As a youngster, Aldershot were considered Reading's local rivals so there was always a big following here, and then it was great fun being chased around the town by seventeen year old Northerners on weekend leave from their role as a kitchen porter in the NAFFI, but under the illusion that they were actually Andy McNab. I'm not aware of ever being chased by James Wade.
This is the Recreation Ground, home of Aldershot, and undisputed champion of shittiest ground in the football league in the 1980s. Although I don't ever remember it having yellow sun umbrellas and bunting.
Nor their being posters for Chelsea games.
They were away at Dagenham today. Next week they entertain Macclesfield, so for once, Aldershot will be the less financially distressed of the two teams.
I was making my way out of the centre, through the military area of the town, which now just seems to be new housing under construction, and road sweepers. A lot of road sweepers.
A half hour walk took me to the Aldershot Milatary stadium. This is a very ornate sports ground, with a large old stand.
Except it was also a very empty stand. I was resigned to another postponement, but did enquire with a passing soldier as to if the rugby had been cancelled. "I don't know, have you tried the rugby ground" came the somewhat logical retort.
You'd think they would be clearer about which stadium the army play rugby at?
I mean, just a hint on where the military stadium in Aldershot might be, that hosts rugby for the army.
Ok, there may have been a few clues, but how was I to know if that isn't just rugby union?
Alright, I get the idea.
British Army 24 v London Chargers 16, Ladbrokes Rugby League Challenge Cup - Round 2
The officer classes in the army had prevented any official participation in armed forces rugby league, with union being enforced. Post war, a trial was allowed, but it saw a makeshift squadron rugby league side trounce a very established and well funded army union side, and hence the northern upstarts were quashed for another fifty years. Come 1993 and relations had thawed enough for league to be allowed as an intra-squadron sevens tournament. The next year saw Rugby League become a recognised sport for the armed forces, with the Navy and RAF also forming sides. Since then they have had various tours, as well as competing in championships with organisations such as prison service representative sides. Since 1999, the army have been invited to compete in the Challenge Cup. The team are usually a mix of Northerners, with the odd Polynesian also represented.
London rugby league is a myriad of defunct and merged teams, playing in defunct and merged leagues. London Charges have tenuous links back to Brent-Ealing, a 1960s club who were taken over by Aussie ex-pat side London Colonials in the 1990s, and becoming West London Sharks, a feeder side to London Broncos. They had progresses through the London league, South Conference to the Southern Premier, winning it in 2008. 2013 saw them merge with perennial whipping boys, Merton based South London Storm, to become the South West London Chargers. A couple of seasons later, and dominated by Aussie ex-pats, they have become one of the top teams in south eastern rugby league, vying with Hammersmith for the London league. I've seen them and their constituent clubs on numerous occasions. A particular highlight being South London Storm managed versus Aberavon Fighting Irish, the only time I have seen a rugby game finish 0-0.
More recently, a 500 seat cantilever stand has been built.
The teams emerged.
And off we went.
Or at least the army did, scoring a try almost immediately.
The biggest difference between amateur rugby and super league is the absolute gulf in the standard of kicking. I don't think I've seen a try converted before the fourth round of the challenge cup. So with little wind to contend with, here was the big opportunity.
Which was missed.
The army broke again, with the out of shot winger having this big gap to run at.
Except he was unceremoniously deposited into touch.
However, a team mate soon added to the score.
Inevitably, his other team mate didn't.
My first sport-transport crossover of the day turned out not to be the planned football-trains, but instead rugby league-buses, with Stagecoach's ten minute frequency Aldershot to Camberley root passing the ground and producing a string of Scania double deckers.
A rain shower meant refuge was sought in the main stand, and the Chargers pulled back a try.
And then another in quick succession. I'll let you decide whether they were kicked.
Half time and with honours even, a chance to read up on the first round efforts that got the teams here. The army had beaten ARLA conference premier league side Milford Marlins, whilst London Chargers had beaten fellow Londoners Hammersmith Hills Hoist, perhaps the only sporting team to be named after, and have featured on their badge, an antipodean washing line.
Into the second half.
And an early score for London.
But what about the kick?
Well, what do you think?
There was then a bit of a tussle, with the army guys trying to look disciplined enough not to be starting anything, but quite happy to put an end to it.
The visiting Aussies deciding they had made their point, just as one of them was being suspended in mid-air by a six foot Polynesian.
The army seemed unaffected, running in a try but for some reason the half-back sliding in on his back.
Eventually grounding the ball.
The ref agreed.
This made it 20-14, and the close action meant I could take in what the players actually say when they are in a huddle waiting for the opponents to kick.
Well, what I learned was that 'cunt' sounds a lot less aggressive in Australian. Also, that they were far more confident in their kicking ability than I had witnessed, stating that the 14-20 deficit could be clawed back with one try.
The eighth conversion of the day missed.
So what else was going on? Well, someone walked past with a saddled up wolf.
Another kick was missed.
And the army scored another try.
This was right under the posts, so could the unthinkable happen?
Yes! Finally, a conversion. The first of the season after 19 attempts in two games. The ref obviously was in shock, and called a halt to the game, it finishing 26-14 and the Army go marching on. A very enjoyable game and a good opportunity for some watchable rugby in the south.
I made my way outside to take advantage of the bus service I had been viewing from the game.
Noticing that this one had old school, non-retractable coat hooks. My new specialist subject.
I was off at Frimley station, a nondescript surrey commuter town. I'd only ever been before to attend the BDO darts, which is held at the nearby Lakeside Country Club. The same venue also brought about one of the most unsettling nights of my life, when I was on a gap year before university, working at a roof tile factory, and for reasons I cannot fathom, I joined the sports and social club on a trip to 'An Even With Gary Bushell'. Rather horrifically, this consisted of him reading out excerts from his newspaper column and then some exceedingly rank strippers. If this scenario couldn't be thought of as being any worse, well instead of being with the blokes from the production line, instead I was on a table with the elderly lady from the payroll office. I spent most of the time having to explain double entendres and then look exceedingly sheepish as a mass walkout erupted from my compatriots, as the dancing girls came on.
Today's visit was less traumatic. A visit to the vending machine saw me able to find out what a meerkats natural colour and flavour was.
The line through Frimley is the most pointless in the South East, as it is one of the few that doesn't go to London, or even anywhere remotely important come to think of it, instead just meandering between Aldershot and Bracknell through such metropolis as Ash Vale and Bagshot. But being the south east, it gets a half hourly service with an eight coach train.
I headed through to Ascot.
Where it was a walk up to the town centre race course.
Where this absolute feast of enjoyment was on offer. Alright, golf can be a bit shit, but all the others, yes please.
The football offering were these, with a rather grand main stand in the background.
The railway offering were these. Miniature railways are an expensive and time consuming hobby, so the usual participants are wealthy pensioners who have been able to take early retirement. This means Surrey is festooned with such railways.
I was finally able to get some impromptu @nonleague_train action, viewing the warm up of my next game from the return loop of the railway.
And so to the final sporting action of the day.
Ascot United Reserves 2 v 1, Suburban League - Central DivisEversley & California Reservesion
Ascot United were founded in 1965. They added to the the club with a large boys section, and by 1980, this was the sole focus with the senior side disbanding. In 1992, the men's team was restarted in the Reading League and by 2001 they had progressed the Senior Division winning it in 2006, which saw promotion to the Hellenic League. A fourth and second place in division 1 east resulted in promotion to the Premier Division, where they have remained since, with the last four seasons seeing three top three finishes.
The original Eversley side were founded in 1910, playing in the Aldershot Senior, and then the Surrey County League. In 2008, they were inaugural winners of the not at all confusingly named Surrey Elite Intermediate Football League, which led to promotion to the Combined Counties League (ie the one time Surrey Senior League). However, a first season runners up position saw promotion thwarted as the ground did not meet grading standards. So in 2012 they merged with the youth side California, so named as their ground is on the old California Poppies speedway track, who were named after an adjacent holiday camp. The site is now a very opulent football complex, which means the merged club can now progress up the leagues. Apparently, Eversley means 'Wild Boar Clearing', hence the clip art silhouette on the badge.
Ascot originally played at Sunninghill, south east of the town. In the 1960s they moved to the current site, which at the time was a coach park for the race course.
Facilities are all down the near touchline. An Atcost is in situ, once again showing that if you get a reasonable scenic setting, they don't look too bad. Adjacent to it is the club house and changing rooms. These are the third or possibly fourth incarnation of them in the twenty years I've been visiting the ground. They sure like rebuilding them.
They also like signs, especially ones telling you not to climb over fences. In order to find a reason to have more fences to put more signs on, there are a number of other pitches around the site. At the bottom are some kids pitches.
Whilst adjacent to the entrance is the second full sized pitch.
The teams made there way into proceedings through a very natty picket gate in bright club colours.
The home side were playing downhill and dominated the early proceedings. With me parallel to the six yard box they very obligingly attacked down the wing infront of me...
...and from a surprisingly accurate cross, a equally surprisingly accurate header rattled in the top corner.
The opposite end of the ground is immediately adjacent to the starting straight.
The reverse view looking back on the racecourses new stand, which is half the size of the moon but can only accommodate about four people as it has so much hospitality in it.
Here is a map showing the racecourse and the football pitch location.
Back to the game and more Ascot chances.
More Ascot signage, this time the luxury of padded advertising hoardings.
They don't seem that creative in naming local companies.
Though they certainly seem creative in making up reasons for yet more signage.
Ascot got another.
There was double @keepers_towels in attendance, this one from the visiting keeper.
Whilst the home custodian is obviously someone who doesn't do his own washing as he had a pristine white bath towel led in the mud.
As I get older and watch more football, I am increasingly gifted in being able to create a completely different outcome to what the reported score was. Last week at Connonley, I reckon I saw at least fifteen goals, but it was reported as 7-0, and in this game, I am certain I saw Ascot score at least four.
However, the final whistle went and not only was the score showing as Ascot having only scored two, at some point Eversley had scored. I prefer my version of events. But nevertheless, an enjoyable game in an ever lovely location and always a well run set up.
A wander the back way out of the ground saw the mother load of groundsman's clutter.
It was back to the trains and rather reflecting the locality, the station garage was a McLaren dealership.
Although this might look like your standard two platform station set up, the train on the right is actually in the Aldershot bay. My train is arriving on the Reading bound platform with the Waterloo equivalent on the left, behind the fence. The reason for the set up is that the Waterloo track used to also give access to the middle island platform, so that when race special trains arrived with old slam door stock, they could be loaded and unloaded very quickly as passengers could access the train from both sides. And you thought a photo investigation of modern day bus coat hooks was boring?
Traction was a first ride in a class 458/5. These are the original four car class 458/0 units, but rebuilt and with a coach out of the ex-Gatwick express class 460 units inserted to make them five car sets. And you thought platforming arrangements at home counties race-course railway stations was boring?
I headed into Reading, where a new IET train, named after Paddington Bear was waiting to to me westwards. Which would be fine if the relieving driver had been taught how to drive them, but he hadn't, so the train terminated.
Instead, we all piled onto a trusty old HST, int he back ground a Paddington bound one with the leading power car re-painted in the retro British Rail blue and grey livery.
As a postscript, the next morning I returned to Reading to visit my parents. This time a miracle had happened, and passing Scours Lane, and a game was actually being played. However, the sleeper locos had returned to their normal position adjacent to the UFC shed, well out of view of the football. Oh well, only another forty years until the next opportunity.
No comments:
Post a Comment