Lets get this ball rolling.
I was never one for the coaches back in the old days and as has been pointed out, the trains were cheaper and more flexible than they are now. Our little mob of the day consisted of about seven of us but sometimes numbered more, normally less.
The Southend away support never warranted a train special but you could on occasion jump a ride up north with West Ham or Chelsea if you were stupid enough. The day would usually start early with me leaving the house at stupid o'clock to get to Rayleigh Station where I would board the first express to meet up with the chaps at Wickford. On this little trip, it was to Aldershot.
Aldershot, the home of the British Army and from memory it looked like mortar practise had been carried out in the town centre. But more of that later. As ever, I arrived at Wickford early and headed round the corner for a bacon butty and cup of rosy while waiting for the others to turn up, hungover from the night before. On arrival of some slightly green looking fellow travelers we would all troop back to the station and walk straight through to the platform. These were the days of letting the train take the strain and also copping the fare if we could get away with it. False names and addresses were already prepared and anyway, who was going to check?
We would disembark at Stratford and jump on the tube. Once on you were never asked to show your ticket and even if we did spot an inspector you just got off at the next stop and legged it down the the other end of the train from where he had come from, worked every time. After several changes we arrived at Charing Cross and again just walked onto the platform. Here is where you can put our support into some prospective. We numbered the grand total of four for this trip and on the far (thank God) platform on their way for an jolly up in Portsmouth were in the region of 1500 Millwall. :stunned:
Considering the curcumstances we thought it prudent to not sing out a few Southend dittys just in case we offended and also pulled up the coat collars a smidgen to hide the scarf.
Once on our way we relaxed a bit and enjoyed a couple of beers purchased earlier. One lesson I learned very early into my awaydays was to remember a town a couple of stops away from our destination, just in case. Accents wouldn't be much of a problem here but local knowledge might just save the day. On arrival, we marched out of the station in 'Ready for a punch-up' mode only to be met by some simpleton decked out from head to toe in Aldershot colours, oh and he was wheelchair bound as well. Other than that the only opposition were an couple of mothers with screaming kids and the odd pensioner so our arrival was pretty much a victory as I suppose you could say we took the station. :unsure:
We took a wander through the town and as I mentioned before, it reminded me of bomb practise. It was either a major building project or Salisbury Ranges were double booked. A pub loomed into view and we barged in and ordered a round of drinks. Remember, there was four of us and if the truth be known only one of us could actually have a proper row, I was 14 and the other two were badge wearing cowards, we weren't that good a firm really. This huge great lump lumbered over and gave us all the stare, that one we have all encountered at least once on our travels and we all knew what was coming. That immortal line of 'Where you from? was spat out with hate and venom so much so that if I had told him we were infact neighbours and our mums were best of friends and played bingo every Tuesday together he would still want to thump us. But as I said, remembering another town close-by can sometimes be your Get out of jail card and on this occasion it worked, just. We still took his reasoned advise to **** off and don't come back and besides, I wasn't that fussed about having a beer so early in the day.
We headed for the ground which was in a park with three sides and just a large net to stop the ball going out onto the road. We were in the far end beside the home support who seemed intent on murder and screamed abuse at the small contingent of away fans who had ventured in early. They had hung a flag up on our side that said something along the lines of 'Aldershot, Home of the 4th Division' and I decided it only right and proper that it should smolder a little. Looking back it was probably not my smartest move and inciting the baying crowd to charge the fence while chucking anything they could lay their hands on didn't win me any brownie points with the rest of the Southend faithful but there you go. But then a wonderful site met our eyes.
I forgot to mention that we were sitting proud on top of the division and were heading for not only promotion but champions as well. On this day, Southend had emptied and something like 2,000 shrimpers were coming our way. The police had brought all the coaches in at once and also a train load was fast approaching as well. The cavalry had arrived! The charge around the ground was a site to behold. Every nutcase from Shoebury, Westcliff, Leigh and Rochford had turned out as well as Wickford, Hockley and Rayleigh. Some of the horrors that were fronting up the locals should have been locked up years ago and had the keys thrown away but on this day they were hero's one and all.
I believe there was a game of football at some point although just about everyone in that stand were more interested in trying to get at each other for the entire afternoon. The walk back to the station was more lively with Aldershot chucking bricks and nicking scarfs while we would lob em back and offer the odd charge across the street. For a 14 year old idiot like myself it was fantastic. The police being ever the killjoys battered all and sundry but as was the way them days rarely made an arrest. They prefered to give you a dig then get you out of town.
It's all changed now of course. Nowadays you get nicked for scratching your arse in a threatening manner but although I'm older and allegedly wiser I much prefer the old days.
