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First on the bus in Hull, we were last to board for the return leg. Imagine our reception as we climbed the three or four steps. Some bloody great grumpy faced Hull fan just said,” sit down lads, and don’t say a f*****g word”. This we did, pressing pause button on our celebrations until we got back to Hull in time for last orders in New York, the only pub we could get served in at the time.

When Oggie’s uncle retired we were forced to pay full fare; £2.20 to Featherstone and Castleford, about £3 to Bradford, £4.50 to St Helens, it was all very structured with a nice socialist style price cap of £6 for the epic ventures to Whitehaven, Barrow and on one occasion Fulham. One year Rovers could win the league if Castleford beat Hull, so, based on our memories of 1983, we headed off to Wheldon Road in another mates fiat 127, bought our black and amber scarves to augment out red and white tops and joined the miners to cheer their boys on. Sadly history didn’t repeat itself and Hull won.

My memories of Post Office Road, Featherstone, are cramming into the little stand on the far side of the pitch, the club being barred from the Floodlit Trophy for not having any floodlights, it’s club house mysteriously burning down just about the time Bernard Manning cashed his insurance cheque, and a big fight taking place one year at the far end of the ground. There was a bus load of idiots who went to every game chartering their own coach and wearing no colours, they just went to fight – it was them. One kid was about 7 foot tall. The Hull Daily Mail published photos asking people to identify the offenders, this kid stood out like the only capital letter in a sentence. A couple of years ago when Hull lost in the Challenge Cup final I was drinking on Anlaby Road when a returning coach pulled up. This kid got off wearing a black and white shirt, what a bleeding idiot.

I was an apprentice design engineer at British Aerospace, Brough. A place I worked for 17 years. I became the office rep for the union MSF and started attending college to do TUC courses. I loved it and it changed my life. I started teaching for the college in 1999 part time on an evening and became a full time TUC tutor in 2000. I am now head of trade union studies at East Riding College based in Hull off Hessle Road near the ice arena. For five years I ran a project called Disability Champions at Work for my union, just about the time it became Amicus. I see people from Aerospace who where in their 40’s when I was there who look and speak just like the guys who were in their 50’s, the predictability of the end product of life on the corporate gravy train is quite scary. While they’ve spent 10 years designing the tools of death and oppression I’ve done so much to enable others to make a difference for their fellow workers, I’ve just completed a BA(hons) degree, I’ve sat drinking with Finnish metal workers watching the sun set at 11:30pm over a lake in Tampare, flown first class to Washington DC to speak on Capitol Hill, it’s amazing to reflect on.

I’m the youngest of six, well I was, I lost two brothers a few years ago in their early fifties. Mum’s 84 now, there’s a big gap between the rest of them and me, a bit of an afterthought or maybe the product of a slack Friday afternoon shift at the London Rubber Company. My Grandfather figure was a guy my Mam called Uncle Len, despite him not being a relative at all. He was the tallest old person I’ve ever met to this day. He lived on Kelvin Street opposite East Park. Me and my mates would leave our bikes at his house when we went to Craven Park. Uncle Len would listen to the game on Radio Humberside. If we got beat he’s play hell with us for “not shouting loud enough lads” while aunty Mary made us a hot drink in a china cup served with a rich tea biscuit. Uncle Len told me he could remember my Great Granddad and his family coming into Hull with a handcart containing everything they owned. They had come to Hull from Flamborough where they had been fish merchants. He told me they worked in the Windmill on Holderness Road that is now a pub. It’s one of those stories that can never be verified, and in some ways that just makes it more special. A number of years ago Uncle Len and Aunty Mary had been up to Malton to see their daughter. He drove a brown Austin something or other. When they got home Mary put the tea on and Len took to his favourite armchair, dosed off and never woke up. What a nice way to go.

Music has always been a big part of my life. My brothers were into all the good stuff, Pink Floyd, T-Rex, Led Zep etc whilst my sister covered her walls with posters of Davids Cassidy and Essex. The first singles I ever bought where Slades ‘Everyday’ and ‘My Friend Stan’ for 20p each from big kid called Chris Hebblewaite four doors away. My brother wouldn’t let me play them on his new Bush music centre, not that I could have done as they where ex duke box and I didn’t have an adapter. I came of age as it where with the punk era and own God Save The Queen in the blue cover with silver print, and Pretty Vacant with the two buses. One of my earliest successful negotiations was getting a bloke on Withernsea market to sell me X-Ray Specs ‘highly Inflammable’ on red vinyl with a picture sleeve when it was supposed to be either red with a plain sleeve or black with a picture. I was about 11 and on holiday for a week at Trailer Park. My eldest brother had collected every Beatles single and EP. They lived at Mother’s house filed in two singles cases. I used to play them to death when I was little. He saw them play at Hull ABC. Our Steve claimed to have been roadying for Yes when Rick Wakeman agreed to join them during an after show drink in the Punch in Hull, after they’d played at City Hall. I think that tale is filed on a shelf next to Uncle Lens handcart.

There’s a risk that this page is going to turn into my memoirs!