It was dark when we finally climbed down off the coach into the throng of waiting host families. As a youngster, I had a few major fears: firearms, facial hair, and giant dogs. The man with the moustache who nodded to us was one of the few Germans we met who didn’t speak English. He gestured to a massive wolfhound at his hip. ‘Lord,’ he said. The name of the dog.
James didn’t mind dogs, and his dad had a moustache. He just didn’t like travelling in motor vehicles. He looked queasy again as we got in the back of the man’s Land Rover. Lord kept an eye on us from the front seat. We were silent, because the driver was silent. After a few miles, I felt James trying to make eye contact. I thought he was getting nauseous, so I looked around for something he could be sick into, but that wasn’t his problem. He lifted the coat that lay between us on the backseat, to reveal a rifle. A real, actual gun. I was pretty sure, at that point, that I was going to die...
James didn’t mind dogs, and his dad had a moustache. He just didn’t like travelling in motor vehicles. He looked queasy again as we got in the back of the man’s Land Rover. Lord kept an eye on us from the front seat. We were silent, because the driver was silent. After a few miles, I felt James trying to make eye contact. I thought he was getting nauseous, so I looked around for something he could be sick into, but that wasn’t his problem. He lifted the coat that lay between us on the backseat, to reveal a rifle. A real, actual gun. I was pretty sure, at that point, that I was going to die...
As it happened, we lucked out, James and I. Admittedly, the first night with the Dierker family was strange – Herr Dierker was actually a hunter, and the heads of various animals lurched through the walls as we made our way to bed. But when we woke (Andre, the Dierker’s boy, was going to school at 6am) we did so in a huge and elegant house, and we ate a great breakfast. Mrs Dierker was kind and beautiful and glamorous, and her husband looked better in daylight, as he popped a couple of circles of salami into his breast pocket. I remember the taste of pink grapefruit marmalade. When we were delivered – fashionably late – to our meeting point, our team-mates were stunned to see Frau Dierker, hair flowing in the breeze, pull up in her top-down BMW. None of the others looked like they’d had a Dierker breakfast.
It was me, however, who apparently looked rough. Derby Boys were competing in a European Competition against the likes of Bayern Munich, and during the opening ceremony, one of our managers (I’ll call him The Gaffer, rather than name and shame) pulled me aside. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘You look half asleep.’
‘I was up late, writing the diary,’ I said.
A flicker of surprise crossed his features. ‘Well don’t worry about that,’ he said. ‘Come on, pull yourself together.’
I never played a game in the mini European Cup for which Derby Boys were competing. I was actually too old, and I went to Germany to make up the numbers. I played in ‘friendlies’ against the giant under 16s of Hardenberg. Before one of these matches, The Gaffer picked me out again, this time in front of the others in the changing room. ‘Eddie, look at your hair! It’s an absolute mess. For God’s sake, boy. Do something about it.’ He gave me a comb, and the other boys laughed. Most of the kids had crew cuts or tramlines, but my mates in the village back home would have ribbed me if I’d’ve used hair gel. The Gaffer tutted. ‘Do you think Paul Gascoigne would go out on the pitch with his hair in that sort of state? Have some pride.’
I think of that moment often. People didn’t know about Paul Gascoigne’s various illnesses back then, that his hairdo was probably the least of his worries.
Away from such pre-adolescent humiliation, James and the Dierkers made sure I had a brilliant time, and gave me plenty of material for the diary, which records a dawn hunting trip with Herr Dierker, cutting through the forest in his Land Rover, Lord bounding ahead. Outside, in the dewy silence, James spotted a deer, and Dierker raised the rifle. He couldn’t shoot it, though. He explained, through hand gestures, that the deer was too young.
Derby Boys won the European Cup, hence the ‘hurray’ of the published extract. The cup was lifted by Chris Riggott, who went on to play in (an adult) UEFA Cup final for Middlesbrough.
On the coach home, we were asked for our diaries. I saw some of the other boys scribbling a few late pages, but everyone handed one in. Everyone except me. I couldn’t find mine. The managers of Derby Boys were all schoolteachers, and as such, they weren’t about to accept the old ‘it must be in my suitcase’ excuse, especially given my neglect of personal grooming. It was made clear that I was under suspicion, and that my school would hear about it if I failed to submit the work.
It was me, however, who apparently looked rough. Derby Boys were competing in a European Competition against the likes of Bayern Munich, and during the opening ceremony, one of our managers (I’ll call him The Gaffer, rather than name and shame) pulled me aside. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘You look half asleep.’
‘I was up late, writing the diary,’ I said.
A flicker of surprise crossed his features. ‘Well don’t worry about that,’ he said. ‘Come on, pull yourself together.’
I never played a game in the mini European Cup for which Derby Boys were competing. I was actually too old, and I went to Germany to make up the numbers. I played in ‘friendlies’ against the giant under 16s of Hardenberg. Before one of these matches, The Gaffer picked me out again, this time in front of the others in the changing room. ‘Eddie, look at your hair! It’s an absolute mess. For God’s sake, boy. Do something about it.’ He gave me a comb, and the other boys laughed. Most of the kids had crew cuts or tramlines, but my mates in the village back home would have ribbed me if I’d’ve used hair gel. The Gaffer tutted. ‘Do you think Paul Gascoigne would go out on the pitch with his hair in that sort of state? Have some pride.’
I think of that moment often. People didn’t know about Paul Gascoigne’s various illnesses back then, that his hairdo was probably the least of his worries.
Away from such pre-adolescent humiliation, James and the Dierkers made sure I had a brilliant time, and gave me plenty of material for the diary, which records a dawn hunting trip with Herr Dierker, cutting through the forest in his Land Rover, Lord bounding ahead. Outside, in the dewy silence, James spotted a deer, and Dierker raised the rifle. He couldn’t shoot it, though. He explained, through hand gestures, that the deer was too young.
Derby Boys won the European Cup, hence the ‘hurray’ of the published extract. The cup was lifted by Chris Riggott, who went on to play in (an adult) UEFA Cup final for Middlesbrough.
On the coach home, we were asked for our diaries. I saw some of the other boys scribbling a few late pages, but everyone handed one in. Everyone except me. I couldn’t find mine. The managers of Derby Boys were all schoolteachers, and as such, they weren’t about to accept the old ‘it must be in my suitcase’ excuse, especially given my neglect of personal grooming. It was made clear that I was under suspicion, and that my school would hear about it if I failed to submit the work.
I found it, of course, at the bottom of my bag, beneath the toy gun that Andre Dierker had given me as a leaving present. The managers read it on the journey, and were moved to make an announcement about its quality and (mainly) its length as we got to Calais. It would go on to win the Best Diary Prize. As you can probably imagine, this did not increase my popularity on a coach full of eleven year-old wannabe footballers.
It turns out that the diary was a good indication of how my footballing career would go, but when I look back on it now, I think of my young self using the lorry notebook as a way to order the awkwardness and wonder of that trip.
It turns out that the diary was a good indication of how my footballing career would go, but when I look back on it now, I think of my young self using the lorry notebook as a way to order the awkwardness and wonder of that trip.
And I’m pleased that I won. Hurray.
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