I discovered it when I was about 10. Leamington had a football team! Nobody had told me. It was the end of the sixties. At school it was all Coventry City, Birmingham or Villa. Or the most popular team then, Man Utd who my older brother supported. I had picked Liverpool but was excited to be told there was a local team and you could actually go and see them play. Leamington were in the Midlands County League when I started watching, before going into the Southern League Division 1 North in 1971-72. My first match was a pre-season friendly.
It’s 2pm and I’m off on my own. Out of the door in Ranelagh Street, past Flavells, turn left into Brunswick Street, up past the Jet and Whittle, right into Tachbrook Street up the hill and then left onto Tachbrook Road, past Windmill Road, looking out nervously in case any of the toughs are out looking for trouble, and finally the first view of the floodlights of the old Windmill Ground. I’ve been told the floodlights have come from Man City but I’m not sure if that’s true. Outside the ground a wooden notice advertises the Next Match with space to slip the name of the opponents into the board . Today it reads Northwich Victoria.
I clank through the turnstiles. To my right the Tea Hut and as I walk past the smell of burgers, onions and hot drinks wafts over me. I walk on and then get my first glimpse of the dazzling green pitch caught in the August sunlight. The Yellow corner flags gently blowing. Of course, everyone has seen grass before, but nobody forgets their first view of a properly prepared football pitch. I stand and breathe it all in.
Ahead of me stretches the Home “Cow Shed” end, a covered terrace consisting of 4 lower steps, a level middle path and another 4 higher steps. There is a small brick wall at the front a few feet from the pitch. I wander along past the goal net and walk up the steps to the back brick wall. A covering of corrugated rusting iron provides the roof. Looking back towards the entrance I see the small side terrace by the corner flag and behind that is the Social Club, hidden behind the Main Stand.
Walking through the covered end and turning the corner into another small terrace which gives way into the large shale pebbly bank of the Cemetary side. A rusty corrugated structure provides cover for a few yards either side of the half-way line. The extra height provides a decent view here and you can see the headstones behind the graveyard wall. There would be plenty of times when the ball sailed into the cemetery followed by the wait for someone to jump over the wall and retrieve it.
Walking on and turning at the far corner flag and I enter the Windmill end. This is just a small track with only room for 3 or 4 people deep. A handful of spectators lean against the front white barriers within touching distance of the pitch. Behind this narrow strip there had been an actual windmill. The sails had long gone but I remember the structure still standing in the late 60’s before it was demolished.
In the far corner of the ground are the dressing rooms, a nondescript block. And then running along the side of the pitch is the Main Stand. The Main Stand is the only seating in the ground, with about 8 wooden benches under cover with the dugouts in front. I walk towards it but am turned back by a chap who wants more money. It costs extra to sit there but maybe I can sneak in once the chap gives up looking – this works for many a night game in the future.
I watch the match from the small terrace by the corner flag between the Cemetary stand and the Home End. I do remember the strong smell of freshly mown grass overpowered by the stench of liniment when the players came near. I could reach out and touch the sweating shirts of the players as they took throw ins in front of me. I love it.
At half-time I approach the refreshment hut and look at the tatty cardboard menu sign. Tea, Coffee, Bovril & Oxo, and a small queue at the little hatch. I can’t afford a Wagon Wheel but maybe I’ll try a drink of Oxo – why not? A small polystyrene cup with an Oxo cube plonked into it and then topped up with hot water. Nothing to stir it with so I wait for the cube to dissolve. A good use of sixpence (old money). Ugh – disgusting – it was always tea from then on. I would learn to appreciate those hot drinks on many a cold midweek night in the years to come though.
I have no idea about the score that day. I seem to remember a David Taylor playing for us. And a goalie called Davy Jones. Some kids shouted about him “going to his locker“. They might not have been as funny as they thought. I liked the yellow and black kit and I liked that you could walk around and stand where you wanted. I seem to remember the crowds were around 300 back then. I was hooked. The season started and I became a regular. I remember early league games with Frickley Collier (became Athletic in 76) and Stafford Rangers. Eventually I convinced some school friends to come along and they became hooked as well.
Soon we discovered that the players coach allowed supporters. I’m not sure what the arrangement was but I’m certain we didn’t pay. I would put the away support at about 10 in those days. We had lots of local trips to the likes of Rugby, Bromsgrove, Banbury & Redditch. But also some long away trips. I remember Merthyr Tydfil, leaving on a boxing day morning about 6 am, and King’s Lynn on the players coach. We had regular games with teams that went on to reach the football league – Kidderminster, Cheltenham, Burton Albion & Stevenage. Oh and I remember Barnet coming to the Windmill with a certain Jimmy Greaves up front. I can also remember running onto the pitch at the end of a game and patting Terry Hennessey, the ex Welsh international, on his bald head. It was horrible and sweaty but I only have myself to blame. About the time a certain Harry Redknapp played for us 3 times in 1976. Whatever happened to him?
The Windmill ground was such an exciting place for a 10 year old though. And a place to fall in love with the joy of going to live matches which has never left me. The best times were the FA Cup runs of the seventies. But that’s another story.
John Sinnott
April 2020 during lockdown
sinnwill@aol.com
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