The first practices and the first games - against Manchester City, Hull City and Bolton Wanderers reserves - had gone by very quickly for our second string Busby Babes. They had won two of the games: City 1, United 4; Bolton 3, United 4…. and the game against Hull City's boys had resulted in a draw. And already, the Reds' teamwork had begun to gel:
'Here we go, Bill! Let's move it up to striking range!'
'Good on you, Matt… I'm right with you…'
Their assistant coach, one Bill Molesley, took notes on each player:
'Like how they concentrate on getting the ball to each other… Mason, even more than Crawley, is nimble and quick. All the lads like Matthew, and I do, too, but I wish he'd be just a bit more aggressive. Matty certainly knows his first aid, though; he dropped everything to help when the Hull City goal-keeper got hurt trying to get the ball.'
Today, though, Man United Reserves were bound on a charter bus to Newcastle, all the way across the north of England. Some of the lads were just a bit fidgety, while others tried to take a nap as the miles stretched on ahead.
'Have you heard much about Newcastle's reserves this year, Molesley?' asked Al Nugent, one of the referees, very quietly because the fellow next to him was able to sleep on the road.
'Oh, Bob Grant's as paternalistic as ever…he's giving some of the boys on his team another chance this year. I pity him if that Thomas fellow is one of them. That boy needs to learn that it's not all about him… also, Napier's back again. I can't understand why he's still there, or Gillingham or Blake, if they want to win more games this year.'
'Is there anyone new on their side?'
'There's a kid on loan from the Istanbul Football League. He's supposed to be pretty hot stuff… perhaps a bit wild. Name's Pamuk or something….'
'Will I end up having to remember that name, Bill?'
'Who knows, Al? Who knows?'
And the lad next to Mr. Nugent let out a big snore…
-0-0-0-0-0-
Truth be told, Robert Grant's mission in life was not unlike that of the far more visionary Mr. Matt Busby - making young men's life better through sportsmanship as he managed a winning football team. Yet he blustered out his frustration with the hand he played a great deal … a very great deal, only to relent and give the fellows he worked with another chance, and another, and another. He had much raw talent to work with — boys who could kick, block and run. He had also made a promise to whip each one of them into shape so they could be ready to play for Newcastle.
'Barrow, how many times have I told you not to go out for a smoke?' Mr. Grant - as he was known - was saying to Thomas Barrow, a middling to good striker, as he rounded up his team for the game with Manchester United reserves. 'It's a filthy habit at your age, and it can't be good for you.'
'It helps me relax, Mr. Grant. Today I really need to relax,' Thomas replied, snuffing out a cheap cigarette into the bare ground.
'I really wish you'd find another way to do that. Hoodlums smoke cigarettes, and you might make the team soon, Thomas.'
This umpteenth time Mr. Grant had talked to him about this, Thomas replied, 'yes, sir' for the umpteenth time, knowing it was a habit he did not necessarily want to break….
Meanwhile, four of the Newcastle boys - Evelyn Napier, Kemal Pamuk, Chuck Blake and Tony Gillingham - were roughhousing nearer the pitch.
'I'm so glad this is a home game,' Pamuk was saying, all excited.
'Do you think we'll get our wish and actually beat Manchester?' Napier asked, half hopefully.
'Oh, that too; why not. What I meant was that she's here.'
'And who is 'she', Kemal?' Gillingham retorted smugly.
'Oh, the pretty one in the ticket office…'
'Really? I thought she was Mr. Grant's eldest daughter.'
'You happen to think of her a lot, don't you, Gillingham?' sighed Blake. 'What if she's off limits to any of us on the team?'
Fond of Mary Grant himself, Evelyn Napier rolled his eyes and said, 'She just might have quite a life that none of us happen to see. Now let's warm up. Manchester's coming…'
-0-0-0-0-0-
'Manchester' were indeed coming, getting off their charter bus and walking into the pavilion, on their way to their locker room, right past the ticket office. Mary, Daisy and Anna took time out from setting up the counter to watch as the United lads walked by.
'Their voices are different,' Daisy observed, listening to the lads' banter and their staff's advice to them.
'Of course, Daisy. Manchester is a different place… quite modern, I think,' Mary replied, keeping her eyes ahead as she sized up how wiry, how stocky, how rough and how fine they were.
Enthusiasm radiated from a great many of their guest players, and this brought a smile to the ladies' faces. Then came Matthew and William, their brotherliness evident.
'Mind that step, Billy,' Matt said as he guided his friend right past Mary, Daisy and Anna.
Mary's mouth fell open at the sight of Matthew's big blue eyes and kind expression. Daisy took one look at William, then blushed and smiled as she looked away. Anna smiled to herself, waiting until the boys had passed before she spoke. Mary's eyes still trailed after Matthew…
'If I didn't know better, I'd say the two of you were spellbound over a boy…'
'What?' exclaimed Mary, tearing her eyes away from a young man as handsome as anyone she'd ever seen in the cinemas, utterly different from the chaps on her father's team who had a tendency to stare at her. 'Of course not.'
'Are you a good liar?' Anna teased.
Daisy, meanwhile, let the thought of the nice, tall, brown-eyed boy slip out of her mind for the moment, as there would soon be work to do before the game.
