I was going to start with the passing of the ( now ) late and always great, Jack Charlton. But as it’s a special happy day for me, I decided against beginning on a sad note, though I will return to him later.
The real question today is at what point do I reach my mid-seventies? It’ s my 75th birthday ( too late to post a card, but not too late to deliver one ) and I simply don’t know what time of day I was born. Can’t ask my mum, obviously, but she was the only other person who was there at the Royal Northern Hospital in Holloway. ( I love telling people I was born in Holloway, not the prison ) I’ve thought about checking the hospital records, but they pulled the place down years ago and they’ve not even put up a blue plaque saying I was born there.
So, I’m going to drag this out as long as possible. At the time of typing I am in my early seventies. Later today ( around 11.59pm I think ) I will be in my mid-seventies and after that I honestly don’t care. ( was going to say something more explicit, but I knew it would be censored out. ) I am not too worried about age. I have a creased piece of parchment, signed by both parties in blood, mine red and his black, where the Devil has guaranteed me eternal life. That’s the reason I don’t worry about the Big V either. The only real concern I have is running out of mates somewhere around the year 2045.
Birthdays in our house are rarely a one day affair. It all started yesterday when my children, daughter in law, grandchildren and grand-puppy came for lunch. Then we all went for a walk in a very crowded park with a lot of people who seem to have heard nothing of social distancing. In fact the swans with 6 cygnets in tow observed it better than any humans. Today more local people in and out and the cake I was shown yesterday ( took four matches before Nicky finally caught the blowing out on film ) Sister in law and brother in law for lunch with Nicky and Naomi and Jonny. Then the cards stay up for seven days before they are taken down. More like five years old than seventy-five! And I got a badge .
Would have been nice if Newcastle hadn’t been robbed by the ref giving two dubious penalties against Watford on Saturday and if England hadn’t lost the cricket to the West Indies. Mind you, I shouldn’t be complaining. My pal Rob Bransgrove is the Chairman of Hampshire County Cricket Club and owns the stadium where they play down in Southampton and where the Test Match took place. We exchanged a few emails and in one he told me he was currently the only spectator there apart from the players and the Sky tc crew. “ A very weird experience “ as he said. And a very costly one for him as well, I fear.
Anyway, now I can talk about Big Jack Charlton. He looked like a giraffe and he played like one too. Huge long neck, legs like telescopes from his waist down. He always said that his kid brother, Bobby, was a footballer, but that he wasn’t. He was a stopper, a destroyer. Attackers may have been able to beat him for pace and skill and get past him, but they rarely got more than one step past him, before he would extend that long leg and bring them crashing to the ground. Not pretty, but effective. And that summed up Jack.
I met him a few times and spoke to him when I was writing my biography of Gazza ( not “My Life in Pictures “ but a real book, “ Ha’ Way the Lad “ which also came out in paperback later as “ Gazza” Lot of imagination put into that by the publishers, there. “ Ha’Way the Lad “ is a 300 page hardback ( and yes, it did make the best-sellers ) Gazza had surfaced as a teenage prodigy under Arthur Cox and Kevin Keegan, but as Newcastle found themselves back on the top division, Arthur resigned and Kevin retired and the club appointed Big Jack.
The Charltons had an amazing Geordie pedigree. Born in the mining village of Ashington, Newcastle legend, Jackie Milburn was their uncle. Jackie bizarrely ended up as the sports master at Jewish Public School , Carmel College and adored Rabbi Rosen, the headmaster. Jack also brought with him the prestige of a World Cup Winner’s medal from 1966 and had played in the tough, if not brutal, Leeds United team of that era.
First day in the job, he called Paul into his office and patted the young man’s stomach.
“ I’ve head you’re a cheekie chappie, “ Jack said with a twinkle in his eye. “ There’s a lot of fat there, but I’m told that underneath you’ve got a bit of skill. I’m giving you two weeks to get fit and back in the team. If you’ve not made it by then, well, I’ll show you the door.
Until Jack’s arrival Paul’s regular stop off after training had been “ The Oven Door “ where he stuffed himself with chocolate fudge cakes, cream doughnuts and custard tarts. He decided to give himself one more day of indulgence after the warning from his manager and went in to collect his usual order. But Big Jack was ahead of him. He’d read Paul, just as he’d read so many attackers over the years. He’d gone in there and told the staff not to serve him and then he made sure that Paul always had a regular supply of steaks to build himself up without putting on weight in the wrong places.
I chatted to Jack at a couple of charity events he attended after that and he was always smiling, always polite and very intelligent He was said to have a “ black book “ in which he wrote the names of players that he felt needed to be remembered. Physically, that was. I asked him if it existed and he just pointed to his head. Another urban myth destroyed. He said some harsh things to Gazza when he was intent on joining Spurs. But, that’s life I guess. On balance the world is poorer without him.
Which leads me nicely to Live-Aid intended to make the poor world richer. July 13th 1985. My fortieth birthday and who can forget Status Quo striking up “ Rocking All Over the World“ to kick it off. Bob Geldof was the Marcus Rashford of his day. He saw what needed to be done and he did it with the help of promoter Harvey Goldsmith, who is another guy I know and really like. They had their ups and downs and there is a play on this week on the subject of their relationship But, together they got the job done and created a seminal moment in the 80’s. I think Live Aid may just have been the most important moment of the whole decade.
There’s been a lot on tv about it this past weekend, but the best incident was somehow or other Bob’s Band “ The Boomtown Rats “ being pushed up the bill so they could perform whilst Charles and Diana were still there. Seems the Royal couple had been allotted two hours to stay. Diana was clearly loving it. Charles equally obviously wanted to be somewhere else. I suspect his musical taste ( apart from The Supremes with whom he once engaged at a Royal Variety show ) was more Beethoven, Brahms and Mozart . Can’t believe anybody would prefer them to The Rats whose “ I Don’t Like Mondays “ would certainly be one of my Desert Island Discs. But folk are strange and there is no accounting for taste or lack of it.
Anyway, Geldof as the organiser clearly felt he should be on stage to be clapped by Charlie and Di so Midge Ure and his band Ultravox ( remember ‘ Vienna” Isabella aged 94 ? ) were pushed back to allow that to happen. Midge as a trustee of the event, who’d worked just as hard as Bob, wasn’t happy. Nor was Paul Young who had his act interrupted to be told that America had joined the party. Meanwhile, Phil Collins who had already appeared on the London stage had hotfooted it to Heathrow and jumped on Concord so that he could sing the same song in New York. He even managed to make a call from the plane to the puzzlement of Billy Connelly who said that he couldn’t understand a word that was being said. Pot, kettle, black, Billy.
I am actually looking forward to my day today, I get the chance to play all the music I like loudly all day around the house. As I said, my missus has done some great organizing. Got some friends popping in from time to time and I am sure they will love sharing the sound and the glory of Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan and the Stones and Haim and Vampire Weekend rolling around our street. So with apologies to Isabella and all my neighbours.
I am ending there and going downstairs to put on my music and look forward to another forty five years, at least, of my life. It’s a Jewish blessing ( or maybe a curse ) to say “ Until 120. “ No problem for me and meanwhile taking the somewhat shorter view I will see you all tomorrow if we are spared.