To be added to if I can dredge up some memories of other games.
The piece is written in roughly chronological order.
My Father and The Stags
Dad was always talking about ‘The Stags’.
As no-one had heard of Mansfield, let alone been there, it became as exotic as a faraway country.
‘Mansfield’ became a common topic in Dads school assemblies and was part of his whole ‘act’ with children and parents. In Mondays assemblies he would talk tell everyone whether Mansfield Town had won or lost at the weekend.
In Mansfield there was apparently a ritual in which the people walked down to a market in the centre of town to eat an amazing food called ‘Mushy Peas’ (pronounced ‘mooshy’). Dad regularly spoke of the Mooshy Peas ritual. I think at some point in the late 1970s, before watching Mansfield vs Colchester United, I finally got to take part.
From Dad I heard about these apparently God like players: ‘Wagstaff’ (who sounds almost Shakespearian), Sandy Pate, Rod Arnold, Stuart Boam, Ray Clarke, Terry Eccles. Cec (or Ces) Podd was an interesting one. I heard his name a lot, but he didn’t play for Mansfield, rather Bradford City. He was one of the first Black players to play professional footballers in England.
There were reminders of Mansfield all around the house – old programmes, pictures in the toilet, beer mats promoting ‘Mansfield Bitter’ and other paraphernalia. Mansfield Bitter was spoken of if it was manna from heaven. In the 1970s, before the Mansfield Brewery became nationally successful, and way before you could widely buy Mansfield Bitter in cans, sourcing some of the stuff was like searching for Eldorado. I think Dad managed to find some for his Mansfield Town promotion parties.
When any of the Uncles were visiting, talk invariably turned to how Mansfield (and later, Forest) were getting on. Uncles Tony and Ric were both avid Stags fans. Dads brother Geoff veered toward Nottingham Forest as did Uncles Dave and my cousins Tim Russ and Nick.
Unknown football match in Farnsfield, Nottinghamshire
This is my first memory of a football match, although I never got to see the game. .
We were living in Farnsfield, a village about 9 miles east of Mansfield. We lived there briefly during our longer spell in Malaysia, and then after moving back from Malaysia, but before moving to Saudi Arabia.
Jane was at school there. I wanted to go but was too young. I would spend hours on end doing dot to dot puzzles, following Mum around the house, saying “what number comes after ‘xx’…”
We had a house with a decent sized garden. There is a lovely photo that I still have, of me, Jane and Jeff sitting in the garden. It is on my desk, and I am looking at it now, as I write. Jane is sat in Dads big wooden chair, a chair that came with us to Wells and was positioned, permanently, at the head of the table. We have our pyjamas on, so it must be the summer . We are all laughing. It is a photo of happiness.
One Saturday are walking around the village. We are on a lane. There is path nearby. Dad says it goes to the local sports field where there is a football match going on. I feel I can hear the voices of the players. I want to go there, to watch the football match. I want Dad to say we will go, but he doesn’t; he kind of dismisses the idea and we don’t go.
October half terms in Mansfield
Every October half term, we would take a trip to Mansfield. The journey probably took close to 5 hours then; now it would take three and a half hours maximum. We would be all squashed into the Renault, then in later years the Golf or the Mini Metro. During the last hour or so the cries of ‘are we there yet’ would get ever more regular.
The journey up to Mansfield seemed interminable; with Dads risk averse driving it probably took close to 5 hours. I-Spy books and ‘pub cricket’ games only kept us occupied for a certain amount of time and Jeff and I would spend long spells of the journey fighting on the back seats.
As we drove through Mansfield, and up a long gently sloping road called Ladybrook Lane, Mum would regale us with the story of how she had to walk up and down this hill each day to go to and from school; how much harder life was for he and than it was now for us. The telling of this story became a tradition; Jane would always groan as each year Mum began the story.
At the top of Ladybrook Lane, we turned into Beck Crescent; Grandma and Grandpa Waite still lived in the same council house, number 55, that they had moved into just after the second world war. 55 was a three bedroomed house with back garden. It still had its original outside toilet.
As soon as we arrived at Beck Crescent, Grandma would be fussing over Dad; ‘sit down Philip, I will get you a cup of tea’. Grandma would wait on Dad for as long as we were staying and this would wind Mum up. If Grandma offered him another cup of tea, or to take his coat, Mum would retort with a ‘he can do it himself!’ Grandma could sometimes be slow and forgetful, and this would also try Mums patience: ‘Come on mother!’ she would exclaim in frustration as we prepared to go out somewhere.
To cram everyone into to the three bedrooms to sleep, Jeff and I always had to share a single bed, with he at one end and me at the other.
Whilst we were in Mansfield we would visit various relatives. For a year or two G + G Peabody were living near there, before moving permanently to Wells. Mums sister, Janet, lived in Newton Abbott with cousins Sally and Tim. Mums brother, David, and my Auntie Christine lived in Eastwood with cousins Russ and Nick. Dads brother Geoff lived in Nottingham.
Mansfield Town vs Barnsley 21st October 1974 2-1, att 5291
During the half term of October 1974, aged 8, I was taken to my first ever football match.
The game was Mansfield vs Barnsley. We would have gone with Uncle Geoff, Uncle Tony, perhaps Uncle Dave, and a friend of the family called Spike, a policeman who lived on Becks Crescent.
Managed by Dave Smith, Mansfield were doing well in the old fourth division. At the time of the game they were top of the table. Dad was always talking about Mansfield; I never followed him and became a proper supporter, as in later years we started watching Bristol City, who became my team. I didn’t quite know whether I should follow Dad and support them, or whether to be my own person.
Anyway, I was excited about going to this match; just to be allowed to go meant something to me. Crowds at the start of the season were around 3000; but with Mansfield doing so well, the crowd for the Barnsley game was swelled to 5291. We stood in the enclosure; a space was found for me at the front of the terrace. Dad and the Uncles stood a few steps behind. It felt busy, tight. I remember little about the game, except that Mansfield won again, 2-1. The goals were scored by Clarke and Hodgson. Ray Clarke scored 28 goals for Mansfield that season. I knew his name, as Dad mentioned him a lot. He played up front with a ‘Terry Eccles’. I had heard of Hodgson too. From reading the programmes, and the newspapers, I soon learned most of the Mansfield players names. Even at that age, I would read the sports section of the newspaper, memorising team names and players and scores, reading the reports, doing the Pools with Mum.
Going to the match was exciting. I was hooked,
Mansfield Town vs Brighton and Hove Albion 23rd October 1976 or Notts County 29th october 1977
The memories described below are clear, but I am not certain to which game the memories are attached. The game would have been during one of our half term trips to Mansfield.
Dad and the Uncles go to this match, but I do not , although I want to. I am not sure why I am not taken; perhaps in the higher division, with the bigger crowd (over 7,000 at the Brighton game, 11,000 for Notts County), it is not considered suitable.
Perhaps it is because Russ and Nick , my cousins, are at Beck Crescent and we are all to play together.
The game is taking place and I am on a piece of grass somewhere on the Ladybrook Estate, kicking a ball about with Russ. I can hear a hum from the ground; as the darkness sets in, the sky is illumined by the floodlights at Field Mill. I hear a hum of noise generated by the crowd and see the lights and I am mesmerised by them. Everything else has stopped. I want to be there, to be amongst the crowd, to see the pitch and feel the noise. The memory is etched in my memory as if I was there right now.
Russ and I go back to Beck Crescent in time to watch the football results on Grandstand. Dad and the Uncles return
In 2019 I am looking on google maps to see where I might have been playing football. It’s not obvious. I have the memory that I was higher than the ground, but Google maps indicate that I am lower, which would explain how I can see the lights coming off the ground. Field Mill is only a mile and half from where I was; no distance for the crowd noise to travel.
Mansfield Town promotion parties
The Stags were promoted twice in the mid 1970s – 1974-75 from Division 4 and 1976-77 from from Division 3 .
Dad held ‘Promotion parties’ to celebrate both; these would have been in May 1975, when I was 8, and May 1977 when I was 10.
For the parties, everyone attending had to wear the colours of Mansfield – amber and blue. ‘Replica kit’ wasn’t a universal thing then, so most people just wore whatever they could find. There is a photo of Mum with amber silk scarf. Dad did have a replica shirt; i can see a photo of him with the shirt on, big ‘mutton chops’ sideboards in mid-1970s style, clutching a can of Watneys ale.
The ‘Watneys Party 7’ would have been a staple for these parties, and others of the time. Dad would have sourced some Mansfield Bitter from Mansfield.
All the usual social group would have been there – teachers and some parents. Mum and Dad socialised alot – there always seemed to be a drinks party on.
Jane, Jeff and I would have been upstairs in bed whilst the parties took place; so I have no idea what actually happened at them.
Nottingham Forest vs Peterborough — January 1st 1976
In January 1975 Brian Clough became manager of Nottingham Forest, and thus began their ascent to English and then European champions. In Cloughies second season in charge we went to watch them play in the FA Cup third round against Peterborough, on January 1st 1976, so we must have been in Mansfield for New Years Eve, which must have been the only time we did not spend New Years Eve in Wells.
I was taken along, with Dad, and Mums brothers Dave, Tony and Ric. Uncles Daves son, Russ, who was about 10 months younger than me, came along too. The day was wet. The crowd was huge – something in the region of 30,000, so we had to park what seemed like miles away from the stadium and walk in. We traipsed through huge puddles of water in the streets on the way to the ground. We stood in the Trent End (?). I watched mesmerised as the rain fell through the beam of the floodlights ; one of the greatest sights in the known universe, forever a thing of beauty. Most of the crowd were packed under the terrace roof, that, like on many football grounds, never quite stretched to the front of the terrace. Thus, despite, the huge crowd, Russ and I, happy to endure the rain, were able to stand at the front and enjoy an unobstructed view of the game.
In the week prior to the game, Cloughie had publicly asked the supporters to refrain from using bad language. His pleas were not entirely successful : I remember hundreds, possibly thousands, of voices shouting ‘Shit, shit, shit’ in harmony (it wasn’t sophisticated). I wondered what the masses were showing their approbation toward: the game, which was a pretty dreary 0-0 draw, Cloughies admonition not to say such words, or just life in general.
Nottingham Forest vs Ipswich 21st October 1978 (possibly)
In the next few years, at October half term we would start going to watch Forest more regularly, and Mansfield much less so. Dad’s brother Geoff became a season ticket holder and eventually started working for the club. In one of Forests first seasons in the top division, Geoff got us tickets in the main stand, I forget who Forest were playing, but remember that the crowd was about 25,000. The stand was very cramped, and the wooded seats were uncomfortable. I sat next to a man who smoked pungent cigars throughout the game. The air was thick with cigarette and cigar smoke, as it always was at football grounds back then, but up in an enclosed stand, there was nowhere for the smoke to go.
Dad and Uncle Geoff would talk about ‘the little, fat lad’ John Robertson. They liked to mimic Cloughie talking about Robertson. He was playing the game we went to, and is provides the only memory of the game itself; he never strayed from the touchline, but moved up and down it, the ball glued to his feet before he caressed in beautiful crosses with his left foot.
By the time I was about 15, we – myself, Jeff, and cousins Russ and Nick – were allowed to go on our own to watch Forest. We did this a couple of times. Forests glory years were behind them although they remained a force in the top division for some time yet. Crowds dropped to below 20,000. We stood on the Bridgford End, which was open to the elements.
23 Oct 1982 Nottingham Forest v Arsenal Att: 17161
We watched Forest beat Arsenal comfortably, maybe 3-0, with Tony Woodcock scoring at least one. After the game we were picked up by Uncle Dave and taken back to Eastwood where they lived.
Mansfield town vs Stoke – 20th August 1977, 2-1 att: 14078
This was Mansfield’s first game of their only season in Division two. It was a massive game for Mansfield, reflected in the huge crowd.
We did not go, but I remember Grandpa Peabody saying, in a perplexed tone, how the Stoke fans had come to Mansfield that day and trashed the place.
Mansfield Town vs Tottenham Hotspur 25 March 1978
I did not go to this game. On December 21st 2019 I asked Dad whether he went to the game and he said he did.
The two games that Mansfield played against Spurs in season 1977-78? were arguably the biggest in Mansfield’s history. In their only season in Division 2, Mansfield were relegated. Spurs won promotion that season, their first one outside the top division since 1949.
Mansfield drew both games against Spurs. Dad talked about the Spurs games. The game White Hart Lane on December 27th was drawn, 1-1. I have a vague memory of seeing some highlight of this game on ‘The Big Match’, which did mainly cover the London clubs. Uncles Tony and Ric were staying with us for Christmas. There was much excitement about drawing away at Spurs.
The return at Mansfield was on March 25th 1978.
I have dug out the highlights via You Tube – they are here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKY6mS2NNHk . Watch it – This is the best 3 minutes entertainment you will see this year (its also a great piece of social history.)
Look at the pitch ! There are six goals, a missed penalty, comedy keeping. The goals are incredible, and the commentary form Hugh Johns is wonderful, especially for the first Spurs goal:
”that is the most fantastic goal I have ever seen in my life! Particularly, the way Rod Arnold was bouncing around like a’ Jack in the Box’”
Mansfield’s third goal is one of the best bad goals of all time: a terrible pass from Steve Perryman is cut out by Mansfield; a though ball over the top; the Spurs keeper Barry Daines comes out of his penalty area to clear the ball, and completely misses it, slipping in the mud; Dave Syrett latches on to the ball and has an open goal to score in, but the ball gets slowed down by the mud and only just trickles over the line.
I was surprised to find that Glenn Hoddle was playing that day, and he slightly ruins the comedy goals routine by scoring a sublime free kick for the final goal.
Exeter City vs Mansfield – 19 Aug 1978 0-0, att 3704
The whole family went down to Exeter for the first game of the 1978-89 season, with Mansfield back in Division 3. This would have been during the summer holidays. Myself, Dad and Jeff went to the match; Mum and Jane would have spent time in the city centre of Exeter; shopping or looking at the ‘sights’.
We drive down the Exeter. We are there by 12 or 1pm; a couple of hours at least before the game starts.
Somehow we manage to be in the same place as the Mansfield coach, which is stopping somewhere on way to the ground. The Mansfield manager is the Irishman Billy Bingham; Billy has been manager of Ireland. Somehow, Dad has some connection with Billy Bingham – he knows a brother or cousin or something and is able to start chatting to Billy Bingham. I am amazed at how my father is so comfortable with ‘strangers’. He talks with Billy Bingham as if he were a long lost friend. Billy Bingham goes down the length of the bus and comes out with a programme (Or something, I don’t remember exactly what), signed by all the players.
Later, but still before the game, we are in Exeter town centre. There is a young Mansfield fan, on his own, with a Mansfield Town draped around himself. An Exeter town supporter approaches him and says’ You don’t wear that here’ (or words to that effect), and tears it off him violently.
It is a small taste of the football hooliganism that is becoming an increasing issue in Britain. Mum says: “Oh, that poor boy, he was only fourteen or fifteen”.
We go on to the game and see no more hooligan related incidents. Dad takes us into the Exeter ‘home’ end, a large terrace, of the type common in the 1970s, but now very rare. The Bristol End at Twerton Park must be one of the few remaining terraces of this type still in use. We stand near the front.
Along one side of the ground the terrace is made of old wooden sleepers and earth; I am fascinated by this, and by the whole ground which is earthy but somehow beautiful.
Dad soon starts chatting to other supporters around him and keeps this going throughout the game. The game ends 0-0, but is reasonably entertaining. There is a good following from Mansfield; there must be several hundred Mansfield supporters in the shallow terrace opposite us. At the final whistle we watch them clap enthusiastically in support of their team. I am intrigued by how happy they are after watching a 0-0 draw; Dad says ‘they will be happy’ with the result.
Mansfield vs Colchester 28 Oct 1978 1-1, Att: 4525
This is another half term visit to Mansfield.
I think Jeff comes too and we stand in the usual position.
It is a dour game on a muddy pitch, memorable only for Mansfield’s equalising goal. The Colchester goalkeeper is kicking the ball out of his hands, but miskicks. The Mansfield Town striker, Ernie Moss, turns and jumps as the ball is kicked; the ball hits his backside, and loops over and past the goal keeper, with enough velocity to just creep over the goal line.
This goal has become legendary in the Peabody house. I went with Dad to watch Forest Green Rovers play Mansfield on October 19th 2019; at the game, Dad asked me : “Do you remember the time Ernie Moss scored off his backside”, and we enjoyed reminiscing about (again), the greatness of this goal.
*Ernie Moss himself is a legend. He was one of the players Dad spoke of regularly; the type of player he liked – an honest journeyman pro. He is considered one of Chesterfields greatest ever players, for whom he played close to 500 games. As well as Mansfield, he always played for Peterborough, Port Vale, Lincoln City, Doncaster Rovers, Stockport County, Scarborough, Rochdale – some of the Northern greats of lower division English football.
According to Wikipedia, he only scored two goals in 15 games in the 1978-79 season (one of his less successful), so the backside goal was one of only two he scored.
On researching Ernie Moss via Google, I discovered the sad news that Ernie is suffering from ‘Pick’s Disease’, which is a rare form of dementia, probably caused by decades of heading a hard heavy ball. One article is here:
Mansfield vs Crewe 24 Oct 1981 0-1 , att 2513
The end of the 1970s.
I was sixteen now, and this was perhaps the last Mansfield game I went to at Field Mill during that era.
After this, we still had trips to Mansfield, but Grandma and Grandpa Peabody were by now living in Wells, so there was no need to visit them. We were as likely now to stay with Uncle Dave and Auntie Christine in Eastwood.
I think it was just Dad and myself at this game; perhaps Jeff.
Crowds were down – just 2500 were at the game, compared to 4-5000 in the games we went to in the 1970s.
In the late 1970s and early 1980s, Crewe were always near the foot of the fourth division. 1981-82 was no different; they finished bottom of the league, with only 27 points, 15 less than the side above them. Mansfield finished the season fifth from bottom.
The game was poor; Crewe won 1-0.
As we were walking back to the car, I noticed a man walking alon on the other side of the road, a massive bloke with Mansfield Town scarf draped around his neck. He was bellowing in desperation to the skies: “Fooking Crewe, fookin Crewe!” in a desperate cry for help; losing at home to Crewe was the end, things could not get worse.
I think I learned something that day about existential despair.
Roger Peabody 