At the Station I quickly located my travelling companions beside platform 1 and we were soon boarding the train. It was not a big party. Just about a dozen of us. All male and mostly in the 20-30 age group with a few older heads. One of those was the organiser. I cannot remember any names but I knew instantly he was the man in charge. He was like so many of the older guys I had encountered on the supporters’ buses. Not big or well-built but commanded respect.
I settled down in my seat at a table with 3 other lads. The other 3 knew each other but were welcoming enough without being gushing about it. Not long into the journey one of them produced a pack of cards and I was invited to join the game.
I cannot remember what game it actually was (it was not poker) but I had heard these stories of innocents abroad getting parted from their cash by card sharks on train journeys. I said I was not really a card player – which was basically true. My father although not a gambler enjoyed poker. I think his great love of mathematics made the game attractive to him. He had taught his sons the basics of the game but I didn’t have his concentration skills and never really played often.
The other 3 assured me the stakes were only going to be pennies so I took the gamble and joined in. My fears were unfounded. We all took turns at winning a few hands and at the worst i would have ended up losing at most a shilling over the next hour or so. That broke the ice and after the cards stopped we had a blether the rest of the way to London.
The Straw House made me laugh, I was once offered an upright hoover before a match for a £5er which the guy brought out of a long trench coat like it was contraband….good deal you may think….but I was 16 years old and not really in the market for a vacuum cleaner. 🙂
Some brilliant memories there, Mike. Thanks for sharing.
Hail Hail.