Poetic Writing of Robbie Kennedy Bennett - Were You One of The Thirty?

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett

Were You One of The thirty
Who Played In The Dixon St Game?

Dixon Street playing fields in Parkfields, Wolverhampton in the 1960’s. Plenty of lads from the Rough Hills Estate and All Saints would congregate and play a match for hours on end. Far too many for a 11 x side game. If you were there you joined in and played. Quite often it was 10 goals for half-time and twenty the winner but come Sunday it was a monster of match. We kicked off in the morning and resumed after dinner in the afternoon. The pitch was probably as wide as it was long. The one touchline was the path that went from Dixon St to Kent Road and Pond Lane. At about mid-day when the Monkey House pub opened blokes would pass by on their way for a pint sometimes stopping for while to see our game.

I was recently in conversation with someone and mentioned this poem. He knew Dixon Street playing fields very well. He played for Coseley Amateurs and recalled the old tin huts that were so called changing rooms. One game had to be held up as another path ran diagonally across the pitch and a woman was walking to Pond Lane with her shopping.

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett

The playing field at the time of writing is being redeveloped and levelled to make another flat pitch and the Monkey House is boarded-up. Whenever I drive by I can still feel the excitement. I recall that time in my life over 40 years ago when those games meant so much to me and I’m sure that there are others who feel the same way.

View from the corner of Major Street about 2004

The idea from writing the poem came from being invited to Goodyear’s Social Club for Roger Bull. Not wanting to go into detail at this moment, it was nice to be remembered and contacted. There were lad’s there I hadn’t seen for over 20years and we were soon talking about the football matches on Dixon Street.

For many years I have written poems about the old days. I realized that there were many like me who knew we had something special in the playing fields at Dixon Street.

It played on my mind for a while and I knew that I should write a poem about ‘our’ field. I was down there last Sunday (March 2009) watching 2 games of football. Whilst there I heard a motorbike coming out of Cheviot Road. I instinctively looked over to see if it was my elder brother. That’s inside of my mind because it’s what I used to do when I was a teenager playing down the fields.

For a few hours my thoughts were all over the place seeing how it had changed. Trees and bushes around the field with a perimeter path. The MEB offices had gone, so had the old tin sheds with the fence behind and the Monkey House was boarded up.

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett
See pubs in the area at this link
www.mrsite.co.uk/usersitesv6/rkbpoetry.co.uk/wwwroot/page57.htm

The council are working hard levelling the ground for new football pitches and there is in now a park for youngsters. So there will be football and memories for other generations to come.

On a week day dinnertime workers would be over the field playing a game of football. On the odd occasion they would be one short and I could ‘get a game.’
Also on a Thursday afternoon when walking home from school a match would be on for the shop workers. At that time Thursday was half day closing and there was a football league for all who were unable to play on Saturday.

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett

After a few years of playing games amongst ourselves we decided to get opposition from lads from other areas. We needed a name and chose Rough Hills Rangers. This was a time before youth football leagues and no adults shown interest except Peter Morton’s dad Bill. So we had a team and an adopted manager but who chose whom? This proved to be fine except we did not have a regular goalkeeper until about 1966-67 when ‘Hoddy’ came to the estate. Barry Hodson, a proper goalie, moved to the Rough Hills from Eastfield and was immediately given the number 1 slot.

So the ‘Thirty’ poem about lad’s from Rough Hills, Parkfields and All Saints is alive and kicking. Prompted by Roger Bull who lived further a field near to Snow Hill.

Early in December 2010 along with many others I attended the service to celebrate the life of Roger Bull. By all accounts he had been very brave after being diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and was dignified and inspirational throughout. It was interesting to hear of his life since those childhood days. Playing football and cricket as a young man and being a founder member of a football club where his son’s were playing.

Although obviously sad, folk were encouraged to wear something bright. Afterwards at Fordhouses Cricket Club Roger had once again brought a smile to the faces of old friends.

View looking over to the Junction of Dixon Street and Rooker Avenue. The ground is in the process of being levelled for a new football pitch.

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett

Are you one of the lads that played?
Enter you name into my guest book and I will mention you on this page.

GUESTS
Simon Askey, All Saints and Park Hall Juniors
Roger Bentley ( well done for spreading the word)
John Meese (lads listed below by John)
The Browns
Dave Brown ( He kicked lumps out of me)
Big Chris
Weave
Clampy
Kiddle
Pyder
Bully
Benny
H
The Pitts
Billy Walker
Ian Bosworth
Barry Hodson (a proper goalie)

I'm honoured that the poem has found the readers.
With Thanks to guests below.

i loved that one about the thirty robbie and your comments after about it now. rick
Comment by: rick
18 May 2009 - 16:35:42

They say that a goalie has to be daft, he has to be daft and has to be saft, Well there's no one dafter than Hoddy, no one safter than Hoddy. Have I told you they have to be brave, occasionally be able to make a great save? Hoddy was brave and could make a great save, that's all that I want you to know. But I must be daft and I must be saft, to blow up his dam blasted ego!

Comment by: Robbie
21 April 2009 - 05:51:53

thanks for the mention about being a real goalie good for the ego
Comment by: barry hodson
21 March 2009 - 14:47:02

hi robbie told you i know how to get on the page sum good stuff but i thought i inspired you good luck mate
Comment by: barry hodson
21 March 2009 - 14:36:17

Guest Book message from Dave Brown
so bennetts into poetry and i guess he`s pretty good,he was`nt a bad footballer especially in the mud . those good old sunday mornings playing till we dropped usually finishing off the game around 4 o`clock.
best wishes dave.
Comment by: dave brown
13 March 2009 - 11:50:25

Guest Book message From John Meese
Joined 67-68 season,probably the youngest of the 30, never threatened,always encouraged,what lovely memories and happy days. The Browns, Big Chris, Weave,Clampy, Kiddle,Pyder,Bully,Benny,H,The Pitts,Billy Walker and all. I remember Rough Hills Rangers played a friendly at Bantock Park arranged by Micky Brown. Won 2-0. The opposition wanted to buy Robbie and Ian Bosworth for 10 shillings. Best mates, great memories!
Comment by: John Meese
12 March 2009 - 22:55:28

The first Guest Book message from Simon Askey
I was one of the thirty but five years later. Also played for Park Hall juniors in 73 on pitch by The Monkey. Played for Park Hall Juniors on the pitch by the Monkey. All Saints Sports Day,winning the 60 mtr sack race. Many happy memories playing football and cricket down the field.
Thanks for the memories.
Simon
Comment by: simon askey
16 February 2009 - 19:45:00

See poem My Adidas Santiago at Footie Poems link
www.mrsite.co.uk/usersitesv6/rkbpoetry.co.uk/wwwroot/page38.htm

HOME IN HUNDRED SECONDS ©
© Poetic Writing of Robbie Kennedy Bennett www.rkbpoetry.co.uk

An errand ran this Cheviot child he jogged there up the alley,
Aside the Rough Hills Tavern,
And over the land we called the patch.
The chip shop there I’d reckon,
I could run home in hundred seconds.

Rooker ‘chippy’ had a counter of stainless steel,
Falsified faces reflected then came our meal.
Salt and vinegar showered upon,
Newspaper wrapping then ready and gone.

Dispatch and over the patch back down the alley,
Aiming to beat my tally.
The chip shop there I’d reckon,
I could run home in hundred seconds.

Morality conveyed from boy to man,
Get the job done as best as I can.
Targeting the touch of our outhouse door,
Ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four.

An errand ran this Cheviot child he jogged there up the alley,
Aside the Rough Hills Tavern,
And over the land we called the patch.
The chip shop there I’d reckon,
I could run home in ninety seconds.

Home in Hundred Seconds © Robbie Kennedy Bennett

As a lad I liked run and found an errand a challenge. If it was a chip shop tea we were having my mom would give me the order and off I went. About 200yards down our road was the garages and an alley that led to a piece of wasteland alongside the Rough Hills Tavern, now sadly adrift and derelict and most probably will soon be gone. That wasteland we called the patch is now houses. Writing this makes me recall it was a haven for caterpillars and crickets. In Rooker Avenue, which stretched from Dixon Street to Parkfield Road, was a line of shops with the chippy at the far end. I can even remember the first time that they started selling hot sausage rolls. A piece of heaven at the time was sausage roll and chips.

In that line of shops was a grocer, butcher, hairdresser, greengrocer, sweetshop, handy stores and a cobbler. All soon to be affected by the shopping stores to be introduced to towns and villages alike. Also there was the nearest red telephone box to our house now also almost a thing of the past with home and mobile phones.

The obvious challenge in the chip shop was how quickly could I get back home with the family tea. Years later when in my thirties and in marathon training I used to run the two and a half miles to work along Dixon Street every morning passing Rooker Avenue. I would race against my time and within a couple of months reduced it dramatically, which had great affect when next entering a race.

The recent photograph of the shops in Rooker Avenue was taken in 2009 after I had visited my mother on her 80th birthday.

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett

Home in Hundred Seconds © Robbie Kennedy Bennett

OUR GRAND NATIONAL ©
Poetic Writing of Robbie Kennedy Bennett ©

Our Grand National
no not the one you think it be,
not the one from Aintree
not the one in Liverpool,
shadows in the night
of the lampost light
we raced and chased after school.

o’er privet and hedges oh yes!
cheeky little beggars I guess,
that race was so inviting
extremely so exciting.

Our Grand National
oh what a race,
cover your tracks
and cover your face

running over gardens
running out of luck,
at the imaginary Chair
and Beeches Brook

jockey’s without a horse
nor stirrups and saddles but
we had a course

our Grand National
not the one but it was to us
juvenile delinquent’s
to some on the number 30 bus

Our Grand National
no not the one you think it be,
not the one from Aintree,
around about eight o’clock
kids went running around the block.

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett

Kids on the estate entertaining themselves during the dark nights.The ‘National’ was mentioned to me twice in 2 days. First in Fordhouses Cricket Club at the Celebration of the Life of Roger G. Bull and the next day by Hoddy who left a message in my guest book. OUR GRAND NATIONAL © Robbie Kennedy Bennett

GUEST BOOK MESSAGE.
just a thought how about writing a poem about when we would run the grand national over the hedges round the block good luck
Comment by: hoddy
10 December 2010 - 13:05:38

Just discovered your site while doing some family research. Ex-Cheviot Road and All Saints school. Football - Dixon Street or Rooker Avenue/Lawn Road. Anyone remember Glynmar FC or Bridge Sports (1967+)? Speedway at Monmore Green in the 60's. Trainspotting (steam) by the 'cut' or by the bridge near Monmore Green stadium in the late 50's. The Rooker Avenue shops. The no. 30 bus. Thanks for the Rough Hills photos and memories, Robbie. Keep up the good work.

Comment by: Derek Mills

12 January 2012 - 16:35:37

POETIC WRITING OF ROBBIE KENNEDY BENNETT ©
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