Football throughout its history has thrown up players who are talked of as greats, legends, even icons. I suppose that as impressionable youngsters, we take to players who become our favourites, and no amount of criticism would ever sway the way that we think about them. The impressions that we have of those players when we are so young never alter and we always look back on the careers of those players with a great fondness and affection. I was certainly no different. The views and affections that we have for those players are then passed on down through the years to our children, grand children, and even great grandchildren.
As a youngster I had my favourites – two of them to be honest. My second favourite you might be surprised to hear, played for Manchester City and he was Bert Trautmann, the big blonde German goalkeeper. Bert was a young man when he was first captured by the Russians in late 1944, but he escaped and was fortunate to be recaptured by the British who brought him to England and to a POW camp just outside St. Helens. Initially, when playing football he was a half back, but in a game at the camp when they were short of a goalkeeper, he volunteered and took to the task like a natural. After the War ended he stayed in the St Helens area and joined the St Helens Town club, quickly becoming the first choice ‘keeper. It was in a friendly match between St. Helens and Manchester City that he again took the eye and City signed him not too long after that game. The legendary Frank Swift was coming to the end of his career and Trautmann was the ideal replacement. The City fans did not take to him at first and he faced a lot of prejudice. This was mainly due to his nationality and the fact that the Second World War had not been over for that long. However, he kept at it and eventually won them over with the strength of his performances. The very first time that I ever saw him play was on September 25 1954, at Maine Road, in the very first derby game that I ever attended. United lost that game by 3-2, and I recall that the difference between the two teams that day was one Bert Trautmann. He had such great presence and was a commanding figure in his area. Fearless and brave, and terrific at coming out for crosses which he sometimes took with great effect with one hand, he was probably the first goalkeeper to start off counter attacks by quickly throwing the ball out to his full backs or wingers. As a budding goalkeeper myself, even at such an early age, it was Trautmann that I tried to model myself upon. I never got tired of wataching him, even in derby games against United when he so often frustrated the United teams.
However, my firm favourite was a young man who indeed is an icon, a legend, an all time great, and one who, for those of us that had the privilege of seeing him play, will never ever be forgotten. Three dates will always be imprinted in my mind and in my heart until the day that I draw my last breath; 6th February 1958, 1st October 1936, and 21st February 1958. The first date is obviously the one that commemorates the saddest and blackest day in my Club’s history. The other two commemorate the birth and the passing of my hero and you all know that it is Duncan Edwards. In today’s modern game, eulogies like, “legend”, “great”, “maestro”, “world class”, are bandied about all too frequently on players, whom in my honest opinion, come nowhere near to the class that was “big Dunc”. It’s difficult for younger people today, who never had the chance of seeing him play, to accept that there was once a player who was the “perfect player”, who had “everything”. We who did see him play however, were so lucky to watch a boy who was a man before his time, a player who had so much love for the game of football that he would get as much joy out of playing in a kick about game with kids in the street, as he did in turning out for his country at Wembley in front of 100, 000 spectators.
It was this love of the game, his youthful exuberance out on the pitch, and his so modest personality, that endeared him to so many people - not only at Manchester United, but throughout the whole of British football. He was revered by the fans, his team mates, and his opponents alike. His impact on British football for one so young was astonishing and what he achieved in his short life time bears this out. The testimonials from his contemporaries of his era about just how good he was, bear witness to his abilities as a player; to his temperament, to his technique, and to him as a person. Never in the public eye for the wrong reasons, never one to court publicity or blow his own trumpet; off the field he was just a shy, retiring type of young person. No airs or graces, no ideas of grandeur, just a young man with his feet firmly planted on the ground. He received his fair share of criticism in the press but it never bothered him. He used to tell reporters; “you’ve got your job to do, and I have mine – that’s fair enough by me.”
It’s said by people today that he never fulfilled his potential. I don’t buy into that line of thought at all. Fate decreed that his career would be cut short, and that was cruel as it robbed British, indeed World football of probably the greatest all round footballer that the game has seen. But he was without doubt in my opinion the finished article. 177 games for United with 21 goals, 18 England caps with 5 goals. He also played in games for the Football League, The FA XI, England “B”, England Under 23, and for the Army. He won two Championship winner’s medals, he’d played in the FA Cup Final, and had also appeared in European Cup football as well. It’s documented that in one season ( I think that it was 1955/56) he played in 84 first class games. He just lived to play football and he had a love of the game that I haven’t seen in any other player.
Duncan was special, everybody at that time knew it – Sir Matt, Jimmy, the fans, his team mates, opponents – even Duncan himself knew it, but it never ever affected his ego. I treasure the memories of him cycling down the Warwick Road on match day, his perpetual smile and cheery wave to the fans as they called out to him. I’d give an arm and a leg just to see him once again come bounding out from that old player’s tunnel, taking those giant leaps into the air as he headed an imaginary ball. He’d trot over to the popular side with Eddie Colman and Mark Jones or Jackie Blanchflower, and they would pass a ball about in triangle until it was time to kick off. Jack Irons used to be the United mascot at that time, but in the immediate months before the disaster, there was a young boy of around 7/8 who used to lead the United team out wearing the United kit, and on the back of his shirt was the number 6. He’d trot over to that popular side and Duncan would be the first to pass the ball to him. I often wonder what happened to that young boy.
The disaster hit us all so hard, but I think that the real body blow that finally brought everything home was Duncan’s quiet passing in the early hours of the morning on February 21st 1958. If there was one person that you wanted to survive, and this is not being disrespectful to those other wonderful young men who perished, it was Duncan. Whilst he was still living, there always seemed so much hope. I recall that morning so often and remember when my Mum came up the stairs into my bedroom, gently shook me into wakefulness, and then explained to me that Duncan had passed. The feeling that came over me as a young 13 years old boy is indescribable. During my lifetime I have lost people very close to me on more than the odd occasion, but their passing has been something that I have always managed to cope with. Even today the grief that I feel about Duncan’s passing is so hard to explain – it’s still there even after all these years. If I close my eyes I can still see him, still hear his voice with that West Midlands accent, still feel him ruffle my hair as he signed my book or piece of paper, still see him disappearing up the Warwick Road on his bike after he’d played in a match. I suspect that for most of my generation that follow United, they share those same feelings and always will do.
Tomorrow, October 1st will celebrate the 71st anniversary of Duncan’s birth. As happens each year, I will shed a tear or two, but also raise a glass in memory of a wonderful young boy who gave the British and European fans so much pleasure. I will indeed toast a boy who the title “Legend”, “World Class”, “Great”, “Icon”, really do truly befit.
Happy Birthday “Big Fella” – sleep on in restful peace and thanks for the beautiful memories and the legacy that you left to us all.
As a youngster I had my favourites – two of them to be honest. My second favourite you might be surprised to hear, played for Manchester City and he was Bert Trautmann, the big blonde German goalkeeper. Bert was a young man when he was first captured by the Russians in late 1944, but he escaped and was fortunate to be recaptured by the British who brought him to England and to a POW camp just outside St. Helens. Initially, when playing football he was a half back, but in a game at the camp when they were short of a goalkeeper, he volunteered and took to the task like a natural. After the War ended he stayed in the St Helens area and joined the St Helens Town club, quickly becoming the first choice ‘keeper. It was in a friendly match between St. Helens and Manchester City that he again took the eye and City signed him not too long after that game. The legendary Frank Swift was coming to the end of his career and Trautmann was the ideal replacement. The City fans did not take to him at first and he faced a lot of prejudice. This was mainly due to his nationality and the fact that the Second World War had not been over for that long. However, he kept at it and eventually won them over with the strength of his performances. The very first time that I ever saw him play was on September 25 1954, at Maine Road, in the very first derby game that I ever attended. United lost that game by 3-2, and I recall that the difference between the two teams that day was one Bert Trautmann. He had such great presence and was a commanding figure in his area. Fearless and brave, and terrific at coming out for crosses which he sometimes took with great effect with one hand, he was probably the first goalkeeper to start off counter attacks by quickly throwing the ball out to his full backs or wingers. As a budding goalkeeper myself, even at such an early age, it was Trautmann that I tried to model myself upon. I never got tired of wataching him, even in derby games against United when he so often frustrated the United teams.
However, my firm favourite was a young man who indeed is an icon, a legend, an all time great, and one who, for those of us that had the privilege of seeing him play, will never ever be forgotten. Three dates will always be imprinted in my mind and in my heart until the day that I draw my last breath; 6th February 1958, 1st October 1936, and 21st February 1958. The first date is obviously the one that commemorates the saddest and blackest day in my Club’s history. The other two commemorate the birth and the passing of my hero and you all know that it is Duncan Edwards. In today’s modern game, eulogies like, “legend”, “great”, “maestro”, “world class”, are bandied about all too frequently on players, whom in my honest opinion, come nowhere near to the class that was “big Dunc”. It’s difficult for younger people today, who never had the chance of seeing him play, to accept that there was once a player who was the “perfect player”, who had “everything”. We who did see him play however, were so lucky to watch a boy who was a man before his time, a player who had so much love for the game of football that he would get as much joy out of playing in a kick about game with kids in the street, as he did in turning out for his country at Wembley in front of 100, 000 spectators.
It was this love of the game, his youthful exuberance out on the pitch, and his so modest personality, that endeared him to so many people - not only at Manchester United, but throughout the whole of British football. He was revered by the fans, his team mates, and his opponents alike. His impact on British football for one so young was astonishing and what he achieved in his short life time bears this out. The testimonials from his contemporaries of his era about just how good he was, bear witness to his abilities as a player; to his temperament, to his technique, and to him as a person. Never in the public eye for the wrong reasons, never one to court publicity or blow his own trumpet; off the field he was just a shy, retiring type of young person. No airs or graces, no ideas of grandeur, just a young man with his feet firmly planted on the ground. He received his fair share of criticism in the press but it never bothered him. He used to tell reporters; “you’ve got your job to do, and I have mine – that’s fair enough by me.”
It’s said by people today that he never fulfilled his potential. I don’t buy into that line of thought at all. Fate decreed that his career would be cut short, and that was cruel as it robbed British, indeed World football of probably the greatest all round footballer that the game has seen. But he was without doubt in my opinion the finished article. 177 games for United with 21 goals, 18 England caps with 5 goals. He also played in games for the Football League, The FA XI, England “B”, England Under 23, and for the Army. He won two Championship winner’s medals, he’d played in the FA Cup Final, and had also appeared in European Cup football as well. It’s documented that in one season ( I think that it was 1955/56) he played in 84 first class games. He just lived to play football and he had a love of the game that I haven’t seen in any other player.
Duncan was special, everybody at that time knew it – Sir Matt, Jimmy, the fans, his team mates, opponents – even Duncan himself knew it, but it never ever affected his ego. I treasure the memories of him cycling down the Warwick Road on match day, his perpetual smile and cheery wave to the fans as they called out to him. I’d give an arm and a leg just to see him once again come bounding out from that old player’s tunnel, taking those giant leaps into the air as he headed an imaginary ball. He’d trot over to the popular side with Eddie Colman and Mark Jones or Jackie Blanchflower, and they would pass a ball about in triangle until it was time to kick off. Jack Irons used to be the United mascot at that time, but in the immediate months before the disaster, there was a young boy of around 7/8 who used to lead the United team out wearing the United kit, and on the back of his shirt was the number 6. He’d trot over to that popular side and Duncan would be the first to pass the ball to him. I often wonder what happened to that young boy.
The disaster hit us all so hard, but I think that the real body blow that finally brought everything home was Duncan’s quiet passing in the early hours of the morning on February 21st 1958. If there was one person that you wanted to survive, and this is not being disrespectful to those other wonderful young men who perished, it was Duncan. Whilst he was still living, there always seemed so much hope. I recall that morning so often and remember when my Mum came up the stairs into my bedroom, gently shook me into wakefulness, and then explained to me that Duncan had passed. The feeling that came over me as a young 13 years old boy is indescribable. During my lifetime I have lost people very close to me on more than the odd occasion, but their passing has been something that I have always managed to cope with. Even today the grief that I feel about Duncan’s passing is so hard to explain – it’s still there even after all these years. If I close my eyes I can still see him, still hear his voice with that West Midlands accent, still feel him ruffle my hair as he signed my book or piece of paper, still see him disappearing up the Warwick Road on his bike after he’d played in a match. I suspect that for most of my generation that follow United, they share those same feelings and always will do.
Tomorrow, October 1st will celebrate the 71st anniversary of Duncan’s birth. As happens each year, I will shed a tear or two, but also raise a glass in memory of a wonderful young boy who gave the British and European fans so much pleasure. I will indeed toast a boy who the title “Legend”, “World Class”, “Great”, “Icon”, really do truly befit.
Happy Birthday “Big Fella” – sleep on in restful peace and thanks for the beautiful memories and the legacy that you left to us all.