That was handy for getting to and from the ground. You could leave at full time, and be home in time to hear the dulcet tones of James Alexander Gordon.
It was. Get to her house for lunch (Crisp butties on Hovis were a favorite) and watch the build up on Telly. Granddad would bring the sweets for the match down around 2:30 (Wine gums. Lions, of course!) and we’d set off through the ginnel to Thornton Rd (Who would ever put two streets with such similar names next to each other???!!!) , then up the second ginnel by the ice cream factory and car park. The opposition bus was usually parked up outside the car park against the short row of houses. Granddad would make sure we got in the Platt Lane End before carrying on to the Main Stand, where he’d had a season ticket since before I was born.
After full time, we’d run back through the ginnels, making sport of dodging the dog poo and trying not to trip on the cobbles, to 173, where the door was open and a drink was always waiting!
Then, tea, Dr Who, and if we behaved, we could stay up and watch Match of the Day. And, if we were REALLY good and the guests were decent, we could stay up to watch Parkinson…although I don’t remember watching it much!
Sunday, Mum and Dad would come and pick us up and stay for a visit. Always a high spot of Mum & Dad coming to pick us up on Sunday was that my Granddad would fill the fruit bowl. From there, it’d be off to see my Dad’s parents on Whitchurch Rd (by Hough End), where McVities Milk Chocolate Wholewheat were the order of the day and that Granddad would sneak us sixpence “spends” telling us not to tell my Gran, even though she did the exact same thing!!
That shilling was sweets for the week. And the next week City were home we did it all over again. And if City were away, we still visited both sets on Sunday after lunch.
Bliss.