"To say a great big Thank you, I mustn’t forget..."

The game's on - what sport is about - not the great stadia
and the highly paid stars but the effort, friendship, excitement
and memories of a game well played on a damp and misty day 

November, late Autumn, and whatever the events or expectations of the next few weeks and months it is one of my favourite times of the year – no, it is the favourite time of the year for me. After breakfast yesterday morning we went out for our usual Sunday morning walk around the country park. The morning was heavy with damp, dank mist, visibility down to a few hundred yards, cars had headlights on, no sun piercing the dull November sky. Everything was shrouded in dampness, the last of the flowers, plants and bushes have died off and a damp chill pierced through our coats. Pat muffled up with woolly hat and gloves, me with my warmest jacket on entered our local playing field on the way to the country park and through the mist I could see four or five young men putting up the goalposts and goal nets on the football pitch in readiness for the morning’s game -  a task that I have done on so many occasions over the years.

The sparkling spider's web

And, as we walked I stopped and watched the posts being erected and – like a twitch on the spider’s thread – remembered the many, many times that I have stood on similar mornings to this helping, watching and waiting for the game to begin when my son was playing football as a child and a young player. He is long retired from the game – family life, injury and the passing of his fortieth birthday mean that playing competitively is a thing of the past. He now helps to coach his own sons and other young boys in the village where he lives (see blogs for September 26^th & 29^th  2014). The wheel has gone full circle.

As I stood there  peering through the mist the words of a much loved song sun at school meandered through my mind: Estelle White's wonderful Autumn Days

Autumn days when the grass is jewelled
And the silk inside a chestnut shell.
Jet planes meeting in the air to be refuelled.
All these thing I love so well
So I mustn't forget, No, I mustn't forget.
To say a great big Thank You
I mustn't forget
Clouds that look like familiar faces
And the winters moon with frosted rings.
Smell of bacon as I fasten up my laces
And the song the milkman sings
So I mustn't forget, No, I mustn't forget.
To say a great big Thank You
I mustn't forget
Whipped-up spray that is rainbow-scattered
And a swallow curving in the sky
Shoes so comfy though they're worn out and they're battered
And the taste of apple pie.
So I mustn't forget, No, I mustn't forget
To say a great big Thank You
I mustn't forget.
Scent of gardens when the rain's been falling
And a minnow darting down a stream
Picked-up engine that's been stuttering and stalling
And a win for my home team.
So I mustn't forget, No, I mustn't forget
To say a great big Thank You
I mustn't forget.

Around "the loop"

Autumn Days  - each week when I used to lead the school’s hymn practice if we  ever asked the children which hymn they would like to sing they nearly always chose this one, whatever the season! Whenever we sang Autumn Days it never failed to be sung as loudly as possible and with a real joy, the children often swaying to the rhythm as they sang. Not only has it a jolly melody but I think speaks to children of things that they can relate to – it certainly does with me: sparkling grass, the smell of a cooked breakfast on a chilly morning, fresh milk on my cereal, frost, the football season............. all things that speak of being secure and all being well with the world. As I stood there watching the match preparations I experienced the same feelings, smells, tastes and words of a quarter of a century ago: hot coffee from a thermos flask, a bacon sandwich, the jokes and good humour of fellow parents as we stood on the touchline, the smell of embrocation on the legs of the young players, the promise of a hot meal when John and I returned home full of the events of the match, the after match banter, leg pulling and sometimes critical analysis when things had gone wrong. And they were all good memories of what now seems a far off time – but as the words of the song say “.....I mustn’t forget, no I mustn’t forget, to say a great big Thank you, I mustn’t forget”

The still, silent and misty lake

And so we carried on with our walk. We went around what we call “the loop” – a longer walk around the very perimeter of the country park. The  thickening mist seeming to dampen all sounds. Occasionally a cyclist or other walkers and their dogs would loom out of the misty dampness. Spiders’ webs glistened in the hedgerows, puddles littered our path. Trees that only a few weeks ago were showing the brilliance of early autumn gold, red and orange now are beginning to look dull yellow, brown, black and bare. Where only a few weeks ago bright red berries decorated many of the wayside bushes these too have been picked clean by the birds or have died off. The world is closing down for the cold winter months ahead. As we passed the still lake ducks floated silently on its surface or pecked the last few seeds or bits of bread left by children who come to feed them. The grey waters of the lake disappeared into the distant mist and as we passed the Country Park Visitor Centre I noticed the windows a little misted up as a few visitors enjoyed the warmth of the cafe, drinking their cup of coffee or tea whilst wrapping their chilled fingers around the warm cups.

Our Autumn garden

And so, having walked a little over two miles we turned homewards and back though the playing field. We heard the sounds of the football match long before we actually saw it through the mist; a cheer telling us that one side had scored. And then there it was – one side in yellow the other in red. Mansfield Boys against the local team, Ruddington. On the side of the pitch spectators and coaches all offering their encouragement and advice – just as I had done a quarter of a century ago. And I remembered again all those, what seem now, far off times when John followed the same route as many of the boys who were running around in front of us might well do: playing for the various village youth teams – Elms Athletic, South Notts Colts, Ruddington Village, The Jolly Farmer’ Pub - representing the local Rushcliffe Area schools, representing the Nottinghamshire schools side, playing for Nottingham Forest Juniors and then  being signed by Notts. County and captaining their youth team, playing at Old Trafford home of Manchester United, the "Theatre of Dreams", against David Beckham, Gary Neville, Paul Scholes, and others who went on to be the superstars of the English game, being invited for a trial for England schoolboys.........    And so it went on, the memories, all of them good, flooded back as if yesterday.  And it all started on misty mornings like this one, so very long ago. As I watched the youngsters and heard the shouts of the spectators and coaches my mind was filled with both a regret that those happy days are long passed but also of gratitude for wonderful memories to reflect upon and the words of Autumn Days again went through my head...... “I mustn’t forget, no I mustn’t forget, to say a great big Thank you, I mustn’t forget”.

And then it was time to go – back to the warmth of home and a cup of coffee. Our daily exercise done and a part of my life unexpectedly revisited on a misty and damp Sunday morning. As we walked the few hundred yards back to our house I looked forward to the next few weeks; the end of November is near and cold winter will start to appear over the horizon. There is already a sense of the year fading – the last weeks and days of 2014 are sliding away. Already shops are showing the first signs of Christmas.  Pat and I stood in our local supermarket on Saturday and the shelves were heavy with Christmas fayre – nuts, puddings, decorations and the like and already notices have appeared in our village shops advertising Christmas events. On my walk through our village today workmen were putting up the annual Christmas trees outside the shops. Then we will be into the very heart of winter – freezing January and February when all will be hoping that the Spring will begin to soon show itself, that  the earth become unfrozen, that the first snowdrops and daffodils will poke through the soil and that the first warm rays of Spring sunshine return again. And as we walked up our garden path, tired from our walk around the country park and for me down memory lane. my front door keys at the ready another few words from the past came into my mind,  Robert Browning’s wonderful Pippa’s Song:

      
The year's at the spring
    And day's at the morn;
    Morning's at seven;
    The hillside's dew-pearled;
    The lark's on the wing;
    The snail's on the thorn:
    God's in His heaven—
    All's right with the world!

Could there be anything more evocative than those few words that promise all is right with the world and that the dark days of coming winter will come to an end once more? It is a message of hope - that life will return, a new year will be beginning, all will be, as Browning says, "right with the world". As I recited these wonderful words in my mind I thought back to another age – over fifty years ago when I first saw Browning’s lovely Spring thoughts. In was hot, late Spring day in May 1961 when I sat down in a classroom at my secondary school to take my Art GCE “O” level. I had opted to take the section of the paper involving calligraphy and manuscript writing and the set task was to write Browning’s poem in manuscript writing and suitably illustrate it as a piece of manuscript. I never forgot the words – indeed, in later years I would often use them with classes of children as a piece of handwriting practice – and they still, like the words of Autumn Days had and have the capacity to raise my spirits and take me back in time to what seems now a different age. “So I mustn’t forget, no I mustn’t forget, to say a great big Thank you, I mustn’t forget”