FLASHBACK: MATLOCK TOWN 1-1 EASTWOOD TOWN, 2008...

England’s Obsession With Tradition, Foibles, Upwards, Smoke and Cricket. 

(Or ‘Matlock: An Evening Out Following A Rainstorm…’)

Calm after the Matlock storm...

The rainstorm I encountered on the A6 after Derby was frightening. Lightning quickened my pulse: I could feel it as I drove and the thunder bellowed at my progress towards Belper. The heavy shower was a deluge and I felt that there was little chance that the match between Matlock and Eastwood could possibly go ahead. The sky to my right was charcoal above black hills and the road began to flood. It was 5pm when I reached Belper and there was virtually nobody about, almost like the early hours of the morning, not the tea-time rush-home period of the day. As the road led me towards Matlock Bath and the Heights of Abraham, the weather improved, the rain abated and Matlock itself was pleasant. The game was to go ahead and the stadium on Causeway Lane appeared like it was just the next building on a main street and there was a park opposite.

Matlock: a walk in the park...

Destination reached...

When the turnstiles had opened and I had been fed, I entered the ground and chatted to a turnstile operator, who asked me the kind of question I had been dreading: “Are you a Groundhopper?” I was appalled. Did I look like one now? My instant reply was a sharp “NO..!” Gods, maybe I am, though… No, I’m certain I can’t be. The chap told me I should go to Wisbech on the Saturday, for it was their final game at the present stadium. I smiled sympathetically and walked away. I bought programmes from an elderly chap sitting at a table, who looked as if he was about to be brought his roast beef dinner. He addressed me with a thick Derbyshire accent, “How did Belper get on?” How would I know? I had never been asked that before and I shall probably never be asked that again… Fortunately.

Turning on the stile...

I noticed that there were two blackboards attached to a wall inside the stadium, one listing forthcoming matches and stating an appreciation for the support of the locals, the other offering an opportunity to chalk-up team-changes. Hilariously, an open matchday programme had simply been attached near the bottom of the board, displaying front and back pages and therefore the printed team lists. Quaint. Maybe no-one was keen to write with chalk. But I was a teacher…

Does it say how much the pork scratchings are?

The urinals were glum. They were black, ancient, foreboding and probably dragged from a recluse’s stone hut on the Heights of Abraham. Or maybe Walsall’s old Fellows Park ground. I expected my urine to steam, bubble and hiss as it trickled down the monstrosity. The red drain section put me in mind of a Victorian abattoir, so I watched my back, piddled quickly and exited… Incongruously, there was a clean blue towel hanging from a hook to dry one’s hands upon… There were several wheely-bins shoved to one side too and my experience of Matlock’s toilet made me wonder what delights awaited desperate female fans…

The blood-stains were worrying...

I chose to sit in the stand opposite the entrance, near the refreshment room, which didn’t open until close to kick-off but when I sat down, my view was not only obscured by vertical posts, holding up the roof but also by two blue metal sections of mesh fencing and I realised that I would have to retrace my steps to the opposite, low seating area, where I could enjoy the high kicking, which was shortly to begin.

Offensive obstruction...

I was amazed to find that at the end to my left, before I transferred my ageing body to my new seat, there was no stand at all. There was however a cricket pitch and I was reminded of my first trip to Northampton’s old stadium, which they shared with Northamptonshire Cricket Club, where the cricket pitch lay beyond one of the sidelines. The goalposts at that end at Matlock had been inserted into holes after I had arrived and I noticed that on the hill beyond was a ruin, looking like a castle but built as a folly apparently, yet appearing as rather impressive. It is known as Riber Castle.

Just a folly...

The goal-frame has just parachuted in...

Sight-screen, covers, an English church and summer's end is nigh...

From my new viewpoint, the town rose above the stand to my left and later during the evening, the backdrop was attractive. There was a cluster of white seats too, near the centre of my stand and they were reserved for both sets of Directors. No Directors sat on them. They had probably stayed at home to keep out of the threatening weather, or maybe sat warm in the offices opposite.

My view...

They shall remain nameless...

I was joined by a bunch of elderlies, who I guess had been auditioning for ‘Last of the Summer Wine’, if their accents and demeanours were anything to go by. They were loud, friendly, in search of chips and were obviously long-suffering Eastwood supporters. One of them, ‘Compo', was told he would have to leave the ground to find a chip shop and he subsequently returned to feed his friends, even offering me some and then, as banned-from-the-touchline Eastwood manager Paul Cox walked across us in front of the seat, he was offered some and took a few! Villa Park this was not…  Paul Cox had already surprised me at Eastwood before a pre-season friendly against Tamworth, when he had heard me asking a tea-lady for some tissues to wipe the dirty seats with. He took responsibility himself and wiped the grime away. Impressive…

The Green Terrace...

The sun goes down...

Opposite the stand, a grassy hillside rose above the stadium and two people had seated themselves on a remarkable, if post-storm, rather damp knoll, a much better viewpoint than I had paid £7 for. 

Then smoke drifted across the cricket pitch and I reminisced about the passing of the traditional English summer. Garden fires and acrid smoke, fathers sawing wood in the shed, the gentle ‘spring’ of cricket ball on the ‘meat’ of a bat, linseed oil, woollen bathing costumes, which were droopy socks when one emerged from the sea, grey flannels rolled up to the knee and dad wearing ties on the beach… Gods, I’m old.

Smokescreen to hide the high-kicking...

Smoke is like steam, I guess and hot air rises, and Matlock rises, and hills around the ground do too. And so did the corners of the pitch, like the glue hadn’t worked, and so did the ball for most of the game, and so did the vertical duo of Eastwood strikers, Rhead and Smith, and so did the creatively-challenged hoisted deliveries, which brought the two goals… 

Ready for action...

But I would be surprised, after the limited showings of Matlock and Eastwood if either team actually ‘goes up’ at the end of the season, following the 1-1 draw… 

Cardboard cutouts swell the attendance...