Charlton Athletic - 1975-80

I was rummaging through the loft this morning looking for some baby bits (not long now), when I came across the box that contains my programmes and memorabilia from my first days following the Addicks. Baby bits quickly forgotten, the memories came flooding back......

I should explain that my Dad was a devout follower of the West London Blues (Charlie Cooke was responsible), so I was hauled off to Stamford Bridge once a fortnight so he could indulge himself. Chelsea then, were my team until the mid-70's when I first began to go to my local club. My parents had divorced by then so I was seeing far less of Chelsea and I was beginning to enjoy football at the Valley better than Stamford Bridge.

Along with 24,000+ others I was at the promotion game from the old Third Division in 1975. Derek Hales scored twice to wrap up a 3-1 win and everyone went home happy. I began to go to games at the Valley more frequently in 75-76 and 76-77, and finally bought my first season ticket in 77-78. Like many others at this time, I used to move around the ground to watch the game dependent on the weather and which way Charlton were kicking. The East Terrace was a great vantage point but the Covered End was warmer, dryer and a much livelier place to watch the game.

You couldn't go a game at that time without hearing the words "sleeping giants." The East Terrace seemed full of old men who were living in the past and the conversation was invariably the same every week wherever you stood. "Bartram," "Leary," "Sailor Brown" and many others were often spoken of with nostalgia and affection. They could all remember the terrace being so full that children would be passed down to the front over the heads of the packed crowd. Not something that was easy to imagine when the crowd was 10,000 and you couldn't touch the person nearest to you without taking a step or two. Looking back on it, 1957 seemed a lifetime away and I was always struck by how strong the memories of First Division football were. That of course was 20 years ago at the time and I am now recalling events 30 years ago today!

We had the proud boast of the largest ground in England - 66,000 - although in truth the place was a mess; completely inadequate toliet facilities for men and nothing to speak of for women. The mens urinals were open-air and basic concrete boxes. On busy match-days desperate men urinated against the concrete slatted walls which ran around the perimeter of the ground. Facilities for food and drink were not much better. Most people brought there own drinks and sandwiches if anything. Peanut sellers roamed the East Terrace providing the most basic of Percy Dalton snacks. The bar at the back of the Covered End was at least under the cover of the stand but it was pretty basic. Crates of bottle beer were wheeled around on match-days and the choices were limited; pale ale, light ale or brown ale. Lager was still strictly for women and I don't recall ever seeing any in the Covered End bar.

The club was still family owned by the Jewish Gliksten family and an anti-semetic under-current was never far from the surface. The hard-core Valley faithful blamed the Glikstens for profiteering over the years and massive lack of investment. It was hard to ignore the facts of this argument and any poor home showing or bad spell of results would result in an impromptu demonstration behind the West Stand of "Gliksten Out!"

Policing was a basic affair. My soon-to-be step-father was based at Westcombe Park nick and attended most matches on duty. The numbers of officers at any game was based on a view of the crowd per thousand and police numbers were paltry compared to those deployed in the last 10-20 years. Very often there would be six of them to manage the Covered End and these in the days of "taking" when visting supporters would try and occupy the home end en masse if they had the numbers and thought they could do so without too much serious opposition. He would tell me that they would get between rival "boot-boys" who were closing in for a showdown and then decide who they would whack when the fighting started. They couldn't afford to arrest anyone because it would have taken a couple of them out and they needed all the hands they could get to try and restore order. The visit of Cardiff City for the opener in 75-76 was the first time I saw this and I watched my step-father fighting with a handful of colleagues to contain the Welsh horde. I still dislike Cardiff to this day!

Football Clubs didn't see themselves as businesses in those days. "Marketing" and "merchandising" were still American words which had not made the mainstream and anyone uttering them was to be instantly distrusted. The Supporters Club hut (it was a wooden shed c 15 x 12 feet) sold boxes of old programmes, one enamel lapel badge (a white shield with a red circle and sword) and a selection of red and white bar or silk scarves. The wearing of more than one scarve marked you out as a fanatic and the sight of boot-boys with scarves around the neck, hanging from the wrists and belt were common-place. Doctor Martens were almost compulsory for the under 25's and the Donkey Jacket was the coat of choice. How hard were we?

Our support was obviously much smaller at the time and we had just come through 20 years of mediocrity. The promotion season from Division 3 apart, the rest of the 70's were uninspiring and my first few seasons prepared me well for any future disappointments (this season included). The numbers travelling to away games was also proportionately much smaller and you quickly got to know all of the regulars by face. I couldn't afford train travel at the time, so it was the coach for me. The club ran Valiant Travel or you could go with Lewis Coaches. Valiant Travel was run by Bill Treadgold and there were lots of rules and regulations to deter young herberts like me. Lewis's had far fewer rules and were often a bit cheaper. For the most part there would only be one coach from each or maybe two from Valiant Travel and one from Lewis's. Lewis's number one coach was driven by "Eddie, " a middle-aged lifetime coach-driver (his son is a regular today) and the passenger list hardly varied. Betty Hutchins and Joyce were always there. They helped collect fares, ensured everyone was back on board and sold club tickets etc. Sandra Chamberlain was also a regular as was John Rock. Betty still attends games as does her Daughter and I was delighted to bump into Sandra earlier this season on her way in. There was also always an elderley lady and her equally elderly son who seemed to be at every game I went to until the mid-eighties - "mun n son" as we used to refer to them.

Once you arrived at an away ground the other familiar faces soon appeared. Kevin and Tony Hopkins went everywhere as did Steve Hopkins (no relation). "Bulldog" was always there as was Donald Moore (carrier bag of programmes always in hand) and "Spanker" who we were always assured was Donald's brother. Spanker was always ready for a fight whereas Donald would be in the home club shop looking for missing Charlton programmes - they looked nothing like brothers either! The Martin's from Welling were stalwarts (still are I believe) but they travelled by car for the most part and would always overtake the coach at speed shortly after we had left town. There were many others I came to know in the early 80's who were probably attending these games too but I don't remember them readily from that time.

On the pitch we were pretty good at home but dreadful away from the Valley. We could expect two wins away from home and one of these would normally be a London derby. We were often beaten 4 or 5-0 away, and the 7-1 drubbing at Luton, 6-1 reverse at Preston and 5-1 at Blackpool (yes I know) live long in my memory. When we got going at home we could be unstoppable and the 4-0 win over Chelsea and the 4-1 thumping of Spurs were brilliant. I remember the 6-2 demolition of Southampton on a Friday night and the roller-coaster 4-3 win over high-flying Brighton, also a night-game. Night-games had a special atmosphere under the glow of the lights in the Covered End and it seems as if we always left the ground happy.

Maybe when the next Bank Holiday is rained-off, I'll get the boxes from the 80's out of the loft!