A recent series of posts on Twitter developed into a conversation and I'm not sure if that is what it (Twitter) is intended to provide. A Blog, however, is more flexible; so, I'll continue.....
I had been discussing matters relating to Liverpool Football Club with a chap who, since he is a season ticker holder, I had concluded was obviously a man of good taste. Although somewhat younger than me, he was clearly familiar with the history of the club and mentioned two or three players from the past - in particular, a centre-forward called Albert Stubbins - and this reminded me of an incident during my childhood in the city soon after the end of WW2 - and which I've concealed for over sixty years.
Although, my parents arranged for me to join the choir in a local C of E church in Liverpool after the war, I was raised in my mother's chapel-going, Welsh-speaking, community in north Wales and it would be hard to deny the fact that I wasn't the most consciencious Anglican chorister in the world. In fact, I had worked out that Evensong usually took just about the same length of time as it would take to catch a bus into the town centre, stroll down to The Pier Head, catch a ferry across The Mersey and back home again. Furthermore, it cost exactly the same amount of money that I had been given to place in the collection tray (which was sixpence - in old money, by the way).
What has prompted me to make this confession (religious pun unintentional) was the fact that, on one of these occasions, I happened to catch sight of Mr. Stubbins - who, like me, was watching an escape artist - one of many street entertainers who could be seen in those days. When he (the footballer, not the escape artist) left the bomb-site where the 'show' had been taking place, like the star-struck child I must have been, I followed him for several minutes until he 'disappeared' into what I suspect may have been a pub. It would be difficult to imagine a modern footballer being so accessible to the public.
