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First County Visit:	Saturday 6th November 1982
Competition:	Football League Division 4 – (Tier 4)
Result:	Bristol City 2 – 2 Stockport County
Attendance:	4,648
Away Trip:	25
Away Day:	66
County Line-up	1 Brian Lloyd; 2 John Rutter; 3 Steve Sherlock; 4 Dean Emerson; 5 Paul Bowles; 6 Andy Thorpe; 7 Oshor Williams; 8 Trevor Phillips; 9 Micky Quinn; 10 Terry Park; 11 Tony Coyle
Scorers:	Micky Quinn; Own goal
Manager:	Eric Webster
County Visits:	6

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A GOATER GOAL AND A HURLED BREW

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They would go on to get promoted easily and revert back to a status, and indeed a growing mythology that leaves them where they are now.  Lounging around in West Avenue Exeter, (home for the third year of my time down in the south west), the previous day I checked out the fixtures.  Normally if the Grecians were at home that would be the end of it.  If they were away then Plainmoor or Home Park were alternative attractions.

The schedule showed that Scunthorpe were due at St James Park, but the pages of the Western Morning News were addressing with some interest the visit of United to Bristol.  That seemed slightly more attractive, and despite the fact that tickets had already been procured for the Sparks concert the evening of the game a quick decision was made and Nigel Joyner’s faithful minivan was pressed into action for the drag up to Bristol.  No easy trip that one – no motorway in those days so a wearisome drive up past Honiton; round Bridgewater and then onwards to Ashton Gate itself. 

Heaven alone knows how we got into the game, but we did.  It was certainly a different experience.  Hooliganism was at its height; the local plod, plus plenty of reinforcements were kept busy, as a Bristol side grabbed a surprise single goal victory in front of over 28,000.

Just digressing a little the United line up that day included one of the last of a long line of dual sportsmen.  Arnie Sidebottom played at centre half but plied a summer trade with Yorkshire CCC, and indeed ended up with a single test appearance.  A good few years later our paths crossed indirectly. 

I was a player and Secretary at Ashton CC for many years.  The Central Lancashire League required each Club to engage a professional, and in my early days I saw and played against many of the greats.  Sobers; Garner; Roberts; Croft – world famous names turning out on humble league grounds.  Ashton could never afford a real big name – indeed venturing out to secure Madan Lal for a season was the height of ambition and also eventually the road to financial woes.  For some reason we were short of a pro one afternoon and a call to Yorkshire led to Sidebottom coming along.  Werneth, local rivals, were the visitors.  These were always feisty affairs with precious little love lost. 

Ashton batted first and only managed a moderate total.  It wasn’t helped when Sidebottom departed having failed to trouble the scorers.  Calling for a quick run, which would have been a staple in the 1^st class game he was used to, Paul Hilton, (of Bury FC fame – see the Gigg Lane post), sat on his bat; refused the run and said something along the lines of “I’m not getting triggered by him”.  Sidebottom was run out by a country mile without troubling the scorers.

Arnie was a in a state of high dudgeon when he went onto the field for the Werneth innings bowling more than quickly, (for a league game that is), and also with a great deal of intent.  That’s putting it gently.  Routing the visitors upper order, he wasn’t shy of offering some verbal suggestions.  The crowd couldn’t hear what was going on but it was obvious that at the fall of one wicket the unfortunate batsman was pointed in the direction of the dressing room, and urged to make his way there … or words to that effect.  Ashton won; Sidebottom gave a match winning display and departed with a brown envelope.  That was the end of that, or so I thought.

Sat in work three or four days later my desk-phone rang.  Normally it would have been something completely mundane about the coding structure in the accounts system that I was working on.  “Hello it’s Martin Frost at Tameside MBC – can I help”, was my stock response.  The reply came, “Hello, Martin, this is Raymond Illingworth the manager at Yorkshire CCC”.  Whilst tempted to say “Of course it is, now stop wasting my time”, it did sound remarkably like him so the benefit of the doubt was given. 

Cutting short a 15 minute conversation the gist of it was that the mother of the batsman to whom Sidebottom had proffered advice about leaving the field the previous week had complained about bad behaviour. Talk about not fighting your own battles.  Illingworth wanted my views and whether there was any substance in the assertion.  I confirmed to Illy that he had not been out of order, and frankly if he wanted to send him back for the following weekend we’d welcome Arnie with open arms.  Sadly he couldn’t make it, but I’ll never forget the performance that afternoon – a sportsman with pride in his performance and a rock solid desire to win.

That was a lengthy aside with of course only a tenuous link to Ashton Gate. Eight years later Bristol had slid into the fourth tier. Still a solo traveller I fancied a return visit, but didn’t fancy the 300+ mile round-trip drive.  This was only the second time, and definitely the last that I’ve used the train for football travel.  It’s always been the car, but for a short spell when the Fingerpost Flyer was the conveyance.  And on just the once a flight to a game!  More of which when we reach the Goldstone Ground, (Away Trip 62).  A perusal of the timetables told me the outbound leg would be easy.  An early start at Piccadilly; change at New Street and thence onwards to Temple Meads.  And plenty of time to find a bus out to Ashton Gate. 

I rather suspect that I put the issue of making the 5.30 (ish) return to the back of my mind.  It was brought into significantly more context when the bus ride around Bristol took more than the few minutes I had based the whole trip on.  It meant ducking out of the game with a few minutes left; hoping that the relevant omnibus would turn up on time and then hit Temple Meads ready to head north.

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The early arrival gave me the chance to see how things had changed at the ground over the previous few years. (Archive footage taken in 1979 – Ashton Gate on my first visit). Not a great deal was the answer.  An impressive Grand Stand was still in place, as was the Dolman Stand, which apparently had been built behind a somewhat older structure, with the front part left vacant, (much akin to what I later saw at Sealand Road and the County Ground, Swindon). 

A decent uncovered terrace, (long departed in future visits and replaced by the Ayteo Stand), and behind the other goal a covered end, (the Winterstoke End), which I had the (mis)fortune to occupy on the last four of my visits.  It was dark, gloomy and very shallow; latterly with uncomfortable bench seating and quite horrible sight-lines.  Not a good place to watch the unfolding spectacle.  It had been the location for the United game, and hadn’t provided much in the way of a decent view then.  Even with the crowd some 24,000 less for this County trip I fancied somewhere else. 

I settled for the Dolman Stand on the basis that it looked a decent view, and additionally gave what looked to be a reasonable speedy egress to the bus-stop.  It was a decent point that day, and at 2-2, (courtesy of Quinny and an own goal), it was time to leave at 4.40.  Too late was the cry.

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I don’t know whether public transport is good; bad or indifferent in Bristol.  It’s probably much the same as anywhere else.  It was definitely a half hour journey so the bus really did need to show up by 4.50 to give me any chance.  4.50 came and went and the second hand on my watch seemed to speed up.  Just before 5.00 it hove into view.  By that time the crowd were exiting and loading the thing up seemed to take an eternity.  The winding route didn’t help my angst, but it finally pulled up the Temple Meads approach at just gone 5.25.  It was still possible, but that possibility melted into thin air. 

Rounding the corner onto the platform the distressing sight was the light from the lamp on the rear carriage was growing ever smaller as it set out on its way to Gloucester or Cheltenham or wherever the next stop was.  A miserable search for the timetable notice was further saddened as its legend informed me that Temple Meads was to be a temporary home for the next three hours.  A pretty sporadic service, but there again no surprise on a Saturday evening.  It turned out to be a long day!  I’ve never made a conscious decision not to use rail services for football since that day, but I do wonder whether it left some sub-conscious scarring…

Not many other memories of Ashton Gate other than one in the Annus Mirabilis.  A Friday night game down towards the South West didn’t raise much favour with the County faithful.  The prospect of the M6 / M5 on a Friday afternoon was less than appealing as a driver.  So that day Jeff and I let the Fingerpost Flyer take up the strain.  Fears of congestion on the motorways were well founded, and it was an increasingly anxious contingent that kept a beady eye on the time.  It was barely 5 minutes from kick-off when the stadium was spotted, and a rush for the gates, (grabbing a programme en-route), ended in relief as Brett Angell set the game in motion. 

It was a hugely important game.  A league defeat at the hands of then leaders Brentford the previous week had been a set-back as the Hatters looked for promotion.  There’d also been a couple of League Cup games against Southampton, (with the replay at the Dell catalogued in Away Trip 80), plus FA Cup and Autoglass games against Birmingham and Burnley respectively.  All in the previous 16 days.  Bristol lay 3^rd so it really was all to play for. 

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Let Dave Espley, (in Saturday Night and Thursday Morning), take up the story. 

“County take the lead after 10 minutes.  A scramble in the home area seems to have ended with a home defender hoofing the ball away.   Sadly for him, however, it smacks straight into the referee’s arse, and rebounds into the path of an unmarked Alun Armstrong, who reacts superbly well, and slots it home confidently”. 

Just the sort of luck we needed, and that’s the way it ended come the blast of the unfortunate official’s whistle signalling the end of the first stanza. The late arrival had meant that a visit to the tea bar was essential if not life preserving.  There had been no time for a pit-stop on the way down.  I spent the half time in conversation with Dave as we inched our way to the front of a queue, which the custodian of the refreshments could never have anticipated.  It took the entire break to swap a handful of coins for a brew and pie and the teams had returned to action as we made our way back into the gloom of the Winterstoke End, (photo below). 

On the way a glance up saw a Bristol attack, with the winger beating Lee Todd and despatching an inch perfect cross.  You wouldn’t really have wanted Sean Goater to be ready in the middle – he always knew the way to goal, and with unerring accuracy he nodded it back across Paul Jones for the equaliser.  In his book Dave uses the single word, “Bugger”.  In front of the seats the following day showed how vitriolic my own reaction had been. 

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It would have been on “Saint and Greavsie”, where they had the habit of showing the previous night’s action.  Sitting in front of the box that lunchtime, Armstrong’s goal looked as comical as it had seemed; the Robins winger had certainly skinned Toddy, and Goater had definitely made no mistake.  As the camera panned to him running away to celebrate your truly could be seen hurling his much wanted and needed brew onto the terrace, in sheer frustration, followed by some no doubt well-chosen words.  At a distance of 20 years it was madness but when you’re caught up in the heat of the moment who knows what can happen.  It was 1-1 and then that was the way it finished.  Not a bad point but still feelings of a couple thrown away.

The disappointment was compounded on a quick return to the tea-bar to replace the brew which was now heading towards the drains. The the shutters were firmly down.  Clearly the operative had sold out or more likely felt that he had done more than his fair share.  Whatever the case, it left one thirsty fan less than content.  A 3 o’clock departure with no stop on the way down; 90 minutes of a game, and there was no respite.  Liquid refreshment had to wait until Hilton Park at nigh on mid-night, where takings must have been quite remarkable for a late Friday night as 50 parched and hungry County fans emptied the shelves.

Three months later we were promoted – more than a consolation for a frustrating Friday night out in Bristol!

January 2017

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VISITS

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Day	Date	Competition	Tier / Round	Opponents	Res	F	A	Crowd	Away Day
Sat	06/11/82	Football League Division 4	Tier 4	Bristol City	D	2	2	4,648	66
Mon	26/12/83	Canon League Division 4	Tier 4	Bristol City	L	1	3	9,246	89
Sat	26/08/95	Endsleigh League Division 2	Tier 3	Bristol City	L	0	1	7,331	303
Fri	07/02/97 (Highlights)	Nationwide Football League – Division 2	Tier 3	Bristol City	D	1	1	13,186	347
Sat	21/11/98 (Highlights)	Nationwide Football League – Division 1	Tier 2	Bristol City	D	1	1	11,032	394
Sat	25/01/03 (Highlights)	Nationwide Football League – Division 2	Tier 3	Bristol City	D	1	1	10,831	477

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ON MY JOURNEY WITH COUNTY AROUND 180 GROUNDS

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Previously – BOOTHFERRY PARK Next stop – SEALAND ROAD