A Lad from Featherstone

July 1952. The newly married couple, Betty and Clifford Lambert, South Cliff, Bridlington, East Yorkshire. A photographer, Yorkshire Post, asked permission to take this photo. Clifford, second youngest player, Alan Tennant, the baby, on the field, had just taken part in the world’s first, live, televised game of Rugby League; the Cup Final,  Featherstone Rover V Workington Town at Wembley. The highlights were transmitted world wide on Pathe News, and now on YouTube. A link is at the end. Clifford, just turned 22, is flush with a newfound fame, seemingly impossible for a lad in a tiny mining town. He was just one of many, Lad’s from Featherstone, who would become the name of Rugby League throughout the world. Ask any rugby player, an code, union or league, if they have heard of Featherstone Rovers and they nod. They are truly a sporting phenomenon, not just rugby, all sports. If these Lads were racehorses, their sperm would be worth millions. Newly married Betty and Clifford lived in a

Some simple facts about Lads from Featherstone , the 1983 rugby league cup final. Terry Hudson played scrum-half, was the captain, and received a 10-minute sin-bin in Featherstone Rovers' 14-12 victory over Hull F.C. in the 1983 Challenge Cup Final during the 1982–83 season at Wembley Stadium, London on Saturday 7 May 1983, in front of a crowd of 84,969. Never under-estimate Lads from Featherstone. Here is one of the finest examples ever.  Cup final 1983 against, Champions Hull., money and the rest.  Two things everyone missed: 1. They were playing against Lads from Featherstone and; 2. We had two of our lads in enemy camp. Keith Bridges and Charlie Stone. Daily Telegraph, Times and the rest saying 'waste of time a white wash' Oh dear they forgot what lads from Featherstone do.. We win against all odds. Here are some of the lads: First Terry Hudson -Tex (i used to give him matches at Gordon Street Secondary Modern - he was 'cock' of the school-to stop

Oh fuck, oh fuck oh fuck, totally crashed and smashed. It had been going so well, full on building works, 240 railway sleepers, two retaining walls, three new levels and two bed static for guests to stay and visit Sheila’s gallery and ashes. Full on 0800 till dark. Lambo’s shoulder was very sore but rest of body good. I have a trust old (31 years) yacht Frangi (Hallberg Rassey 49) last visited with Sheila in September, Portland Marina, just over an hour south of Sherborne Dorset. Its late June and decision made to sell her. Off I go to meet the agent. Me, Colin being practical, Lambo confused, but exited at seeing his remaining love. We climb onboard, decks looking green and sad, down the companionway steps to see a saloon table with half-finished jig saw. Sheila loved jigsaws. Oh fuck, the tears started as Lambo scraped it, very unceremoniously, into a bin liner.  Agent arrived, excuse after excuse poured from my lips as to her sorry state. It got worse, much worse. As I walked from t

Phew, that was close. I am shaking writing this; panic attack perhaps? my gut is tight, shoulders tight, head spinning or, it's just the super-silver haze kicking in? Let's start yesterday, 1400 hours, Sunday 6th December 2020; I start with a four-mile cycle up some steep hills, a day off writing and move Lulu, my trusty campervan, onto the drive outside my home, connect the electricity supply with heater on low. Diary out, dates to be entered, having agreed to visit a mate, maybe buy his off-road bike, then visit mum and dad. I park in their drive, tight fit but done it a few times, and be in a bubble (single man over 65) for a week or two. My brother John has been visiting on a regular basis and taking mum to the hospital for her eyeball to be removed, they play with laser guns, and put the eye back in again. He also has a campervan, much bigger than mine, and stays in a site nearby. My turn to offer support; I will sit on the harbour wall, walk on the beach, practice on my n

Phew, that was close. I am shaking writing this; panic attack perhaps? my gut is tight, shoulders tight, head spinning or, it's just the super-silver haze kicking in? Let's start yesterday, 1400 hours, Sunday 6th December 2020; I start with a four-mile cycle up some steep hills, a day off writing and move Lulu, my trusty campervan, onto the drive outside my home, connect the electricity supply with heater on low. Diary out, dates to be entered, having agreed to visit a mate, maybe buy his off-road bike, then visit mum and dad. I park in their drive, tight fit but done it a few times, and be in a bubble (single man over 65) for a week or two. My brother John has been visiting on a regular basis and taking mum to the hospital for her eyeball to be removed, they play with laser guns, and put the eye back in again. He also has a campervan, much bigger than mine, and stays in a site nearby. My turn to offer support; I will sit on the harbour wall, walk on the beach, practice on my n