A diary of one man's utter failure, depression, frustration, cock-ups, and impecuniousness, starting in August 1947
The missus was adamant that I was not to go to this match, but remain at home to do the decorating!
Being a cunning little devil, I told her I had to go to work that day anyway.
Pleased with myself, I informed the lads who said they see me on the usual spot on the East Stand.
When I arrived, it was a sunny clear day, and the crowd was very small.
At half time, me and Mick were leant on a crash barrier, or should that be crush barrier? Anyway, we were leant there, and saw the flames through the wooden slats on the main stand, then the ref and players came running out onto the pitch, fans were scrambling to join them as the flames burst through to the seating, and in minutes it was obvious that the conflagration was out of control. As the fire brigade started to tackle containing the flames, the police moved me and Mick on, and out of the ground.
Little did I realise what was waiting for me when I got
The match was televised, and guess who watched it and saw me on the East stand?
I was so ridiculed, and was embarrassed by this incident.
On the morning after the Woolwich Police Station was bombed, which we attended from the hospital, I was in the gigantic staff dining room having my breakfast. The TV on the wall was on, showing the news.
Suddenly, it seemed everyone was cheering, jeering, and pointing at me and the television. By the time I looked up at the screen, I'd missed what it was that tickled their fancy.
It appears the news commentator was talking, and in the background was an ambulance that reversed into a fire tender - guess who was driving the thing?
They moved me a week later to Lincolnshire, and boy was I glad to escape the ribbing, jibes, and innuendoes!
I was sent to an office block, near the Pork Farms factory, as it had been hit twice in a week, to patrol and defend.
I spoke with the receptionist to get my instructions for the night. When the staff had left, I secured, and alarmed the external doors, then went a patrol to check doors, windows, lights etc.
Downstairs was all in order, and I recorded this in my notebook, then went up the stairs, going into the Mens WC first to check for people, taps, windows and lights left on. All okay.
Then into the ladies WC, the first closet door I tried had something behind it and would not open fully, I popped my head around the door, to see a box on the floor.
Brown cardboard, flaps tucked into each other on the top, and what I thought was part of an electrical element wire sticking out!
Now I began feel my heartbeat harder.
I realised not to use my RT, so went downstairs and used the landline to inform the emergency services of the suspicious package, then informed the client on the contact number given.
I went out into the car park to stop any of the night workers from the other offices nearby from coming into the danger area, telling them not to wait on the roadway, as this would block access for the emergency services.
Feeling quiet proud of myself for handling the situation reasonably calmly and efficiently, I waited the arrival of assistance.
About 2 hours later (well this was in Nottingham you know), the police arrived, followed by a fire brigade tender.
It turned out that the 'wire' I had seen, was part of the Christmas tinsel in the box with the other decorations!
As I was being informed of this, my night manager appeared, initially to give me written warning for missing my hourly check-call to control!
What anyone was doing taking the box into the toilet in the first place bemused me. We never found out who it was.