A model professional: part 2

by George Myerson

21 December 2009

Wheelhouse cigarette card

In memory of Corporal Sid Wheelhouse, Grimsby Town Football Club

In part 1 we read of Sid's burgeoning career with the Mariners and his enlisting for service on the front. We rejoin the story as the Footballers' Battalion arrives for war but plays on.

Part 2: Action on the field

It is, of course, the first Christmas of the war that is famous for football at the frontline. There were no more games against the Germans after that. The authorities made sure of that by staging a little barrage on Christmas Eve of 1915. But the game had carried on, and naturally the Footballers' Battalion were in the thick of it.

Early in 1916, there began the most extraordinary competition in the history of football, the Army Cup, held behind the lines on the march to the Somme. It was meticulously organised by Brigadier-General Kentish (who had, in his time, been goalkeeper for the Royal Engineers). The rounds were carefully arranged: there was a draw before each one, allowing for the different locations of battalions. In the gaps between the fighting, the final crept closer. There was even plenty of newspaper coverage back home.

The Footballers' Battalion, like the big clubs in the FA Cup, had a bye in the early rounds. They came in for the third round, and played first on Friday 7 January 1916. True to his status among the players, Corporal Sid Wheelhouse was there at full-back, alongside Fred Bullock of Huddersfield Town. Fred, short and thick-set, a nice contrast to his defensive partner, was already an England amateur cap - and, in fact, extraordinarily, he went on to play for the full side after the war, even captaining Huddersfield to the FA Cup final in the spring of 1920. But all that was a long way away this January.

Sid wrote a letter about this afternoon to the Grimsby Town club secretary, Mr Hickson, who sent it to the papers, as was the way: how else could anyone tell who was alive? He wrote as well as he did everything else: simple and direct but deceptively talented.

The account began with a keen sense of anticipation: "We had to play the winners of the Essex and Hertfordshires, four goals to three." But there was a very English sense of the downside of the occasion: "I'm sorry to say that the weather turned out rotten, for it nearly blew a gale, and it rained very hard." The Footballers' Battalion were 'away' that day, so they had to march to the Essex 'ground', a few miles behind the lines, through the rain and the wind. However, what bothered Sid that day was something closer to a professional's heart, as he put it with laconic charm: "It spoiled the gate very much, as given a fine day we would have had a gate of two or three thousand, because the weather was all against it, we had a gate or four to five hundred."

These were men within days of returning to the trenches and the big push... gathered in their hundreds and thousands to watch an Army Cup tie

When you think about it, all of these numbers are extraordinary. These were men within days of returning to the trenches, knowing that the big push was on the way later. Still, they gathered in their hundreds and thousands to watch an Army Cup tie.

Nowadays, when they remember, the players parade with hands above their heads in an over-dramatic gesture of solidarity with the fans, standing glumly on the terraces after another disappointment. On that day in January 1916, Sid had a more heartfelt appreciation of the supporters, his fellow soldiers, who marched with the team to a third round game: "They deserved the VC for walking all that way in the weather as it was." All those seasons at Blundell Park seemed to be present in these words, a professional's recognition for the fans.

Mind you, there was not much suspense in that third-round game: it was giants against minnows. As Sid remarked, without a good performance from the Essex goalie it would have been 29-0. Instead, the Footballers ran out 9-0 winners (just a little better than Spurs against Wigan the other week). The two stars of the show were Jack Cock, a sergeant major, who played for Huddersfield near the top of the second division, and Corporal Joe Bailey, a young Reading inside-forward. Jack was to be one of the Chelsea stars of the 1920s, and finished up as the long-serving manager of Millwall into the Second World War. Joe had played for the England amateurs, and his diary reveals tremendous excitement at being here among the celebrities, for that is who they were, in the mud and the rain.

The most famous player of them all, VJ Woodward – still one of the top dozen England goalscorers of all time – was also in the forward line, though he did not get on the sheet that day. It would be the equivalent of Michael Owen turning out for the army at the front line – or a cross between that and Bobby Charlton.

They had tea and a singsong after the match. The next round had to come up quickly, since there was not much time before the fighting began again. On Monday 10 January, having spent the morning "cleaning billets", the Battalion marched off for another away game. This time it was against the South Staffordshires. Sid looked up at the sky, and felt simply happy for a moment: "The weather was beautiful and we had a good crowd." That was it - a good crowd, plenty of fans. He remained a complete professional footballer, counting the gate. I guess that must have been one of the main things on his mind down the seasons at Blundell Park.

This time, in the sun, nearly the whole Battalion marched with them, 1,300-strong: "The band played nearly all our Battalion to the ground." They had their own anthem, 'Play For Goal'. It had been composed especially for them. From the moment he arrived, Sid was full of life that afternoon. It was more like a game: "There were the followers of the Staffords." Still, as they came out onto the pitch in their all-white kit, he noticed that the rain had left its after-effects. "The ground we played on was awful. It was over the boot tops in mud." And over the boot tops really meant something in those days, since they had massive ankle supports.

It put me in mind of Huddersfield two seasons ago, when the ball would not bounce and we had to dig it out of the mud before we could kick it

The game kicked off, in a slithering sort of way. As Sid said, a shade irritably, "the ball did not bounce". The leather soaked up the water, and it was like a cannonball. (At that time, the charity fund to provide these leather footballs for the soldiers was second only to the cigarette fund in popularity.)

Never mind. Nothing could really spoil the sheer pleasure of the occasion. Sid and Fred were doing their double act in defence: "It put me in mind of the Huddersfield ground we played on two seasons ago, when the ball would not bounce and we had to dig it out of the mud before we could kick it." Evidently, that is a last echo of a joke between the two defenders, on that cold and bright afternoon in January 1916: "It's as bad as your place, Fred..." One more bit of football black humour. They hadn't a great deal else to do, in fact, in defence, but they did their best to make some fun for themselves.

Behind Fred and Sid, there was Tommy Lonsdale in goal. He had been the Grimsby Town regular, before the arrival of young Percy Summers. Then he moved on to Norwich City: "He only got a kick when Fred Bullock or myself passed to him to let him know that he was in the game." (Of course, this was long before the back-pass rule.) Tommy simply scooped it up and bashed it all the way downfield. He had a good long punt on him. The suspicion, though, is that Fred and Sid were trying to catch him out, rather than simply rolling it towards him!

Six-nil was the outcome this time. They were coming up to the end of the 90 minutes. The excitement was still high, the crowd lively. The referee, an officer dressed properly all in black, accompanied by two flag-waving linesmen (no referee's assistants in those days), gave one last penalty to the Footballers' Battalion.

Sid, the storyteller, saved this little titbit for last: "I nearly forgot to tell you," he wrote to Mr Hickson. Right at the death, "we had a penalty." Instead of the usual suspects, the crowd wanted a different penalty taker: "They shouted Tommy Lonsdale up to take it, as he had nothing to do in both matches." Up lumbered the goalie, for in those days they needed to have the physique to withstand the strongest shoulder-charge. "Well, Tommy took the kick and put it well out of the goalkeeper's reach." Sounds good? Not quite... "right over the bar!"

As the ball soared into the darkening Flanders sky, the happy moment came to an end. They had a proper tea after the game, a touch of celebration with an improvised concert. Soon after that, they were back at the frontline. After a stint of more serious fighting, the Footballers returned to business and won the Army Cup, known as the 'Flanders Cup' at the time, in the spring. By then, Woodward was back home hurt. Sid was still in one piece and he kept his place alongside Fred in their defence.

After the final victory, in early April, the players signed the match ball, which was sent home to be auctioned for charity. Other famous men from the Battalion joined them. The Athletic News, a national sports paper, reported in December, when this auction was staged, that it was "a football worth possessing... the historic ball bearing the signatures of many good lads... some alas will take the field no more."

There on the list was the Grimsby skipper: "The signatories include Gibson, Mercer and Tim Coleman of Nottingham Forest, Alf West of Notts County, Lonsdale and Wheelhouse of Grimsby, Scott of Clapton Orient, Bullock of Huddersfield, Baker of Plymouth."

This ball sums up, more than any other single object, the place of football in English life before the First World War.