A Kid In Sunderland

The King’s Arms. My grandparents ran the pub after the war, so I spent much of my first few years down there. You can’t tell, can you...? It was down by the shipyards, so grandad used to pre-pour 40-50 pints at lunchtime and have them ready on the counter for the one-hour shipyard lunch-break, when the door would burst open and a torrent of boiler-suited caulkers, welders and rivet-catchers rushed in, gratefully grabbing the nearest glass. Thirsty work, shipbuilding...

I’m pleased the pub is still serving excellent beer, and another good pub in town, Fitzies, actually used to be my doctor’s surgery back then. Dr Kelly - he was a doctor figure from fiction - tall, handsome, square-jawed, tweed-jacketed - a sort of Sean Connery of a G.P. At least it hasn’t been bulldozed - and the beer is canny.

There were still bomb-sites all over the town centre. My local recreational ground - right opposite our house - had been kindly donated one night by a Mr Heinkel. Trams clattering and sparking their way over the bridge. The joys of Joseph’s Toy Shop - our mini-Hamleys. Standing outside ‘The Picture House’ cinema, next to ‘Notrianni’s Ice Cream Parlour’, and asking adults ‘Take us in, Mister?’, because the Western film was classified. Putting a penny in the machine at the North End of the station that stamped your name on a metal strip - and then getting home, looking at the strip and thinking ‘er... why did I do that, exactly?’ But you did.

The magic of helping my mum blackberry-picking up Tunstall Hill - tossing our liberated fruit into my haversack. Every kid at school had either a khaki haversack or an air force blue one - mine was the only purple one.

And Roker Park. As a young kid my aunt lived nearby and my cousin and I would sometimes have a competition to guess the correct score by counting the roars we heard from the ground. I wasn’t that interested until my teens, but I remember being impressed by the huge crowds crossing the bridge - one river below, and another one above. That wonderful noise - a clunk and a fizz - as they turned on the flood-lights for a night game. King Charlie (Charlie Hurley) was my early hero - a colossus of a centre half, far more than just a mere mortal. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him much later. He wasn’t 7-foot tall any more - he must have shrunk, somehow.

Ah - footy. What do they say? You can change your job, you can change your wife, but you can never change your club.

Why do we do it?
Wise men have said
I’ve nee bloody idea, but -
I’m Sun’land ‘til I’m dead.

Memories of Roker
Lord Rowell, Todd and Gabbers
The Roker Roar went on and on
I was bloody hoarse for hours.

Beers in The Kings Arms
More bevvies up at Fitzies
Let’s gan across the bridge, man
And have a few quick whiskies.

We’re gannin up! We’re gannin down!
Every fan across the land
Is thinking just the same as me -
‘It’s the hope that I can’t stand’ !