TT GROUNDHOPPING

Clive Hayward – @Byehorse

Clive discusses his trip to Dagenham

DAGGERS (A)

So. East London again. I am the passenger, and I ride and I ride. So far up the city’s grim backsides that I emerge, blinking and limping, into the hinterland. Into Dagenham: a place famous for making cars, for spawning Terry Venables, and now with perhaps the highest density of flags up lampposts since the heyday of Nazi Germany.

But enough politics. This is a story of sunshine, companionship and being Torquay til we die.

Which hopefully won’t be for a while yet. Because a day on the road watching the Yellows is almost always fun. Football will get in the way, but it is the glue that sticks us all together.

It was the start of the Jimmy Ball era. He won’t be remembered for Saturday. The real challenges are yet to come. Ridiculous levels of injuries, suspensions and- a new one- illness left us toothless, tired and frustrated. The winner, late in the second half, was a bad goal to concede against a club which Kuwaiti cash, KSI and Andy Carroll have not yet managed to drag out of its slump.

But it was an uplifting day in so many other ways.

We arrived bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at Newton just before nine. Don’t get me wrong, I miss our northern adventures like a desert missed the rain, but it was a civilised time to start.

Jamie was on the platform, off do his thing in Exeter, hoping to create a Republic one sticker at a time. We chatted about trips to come and joked that the station CCTV will ensure that when the crackdown comes we will probably all now be rounded up and banished to the Tower.

My companions for the day were Kirsty and Keith -fresh from murders on Gdansk floors- and a trio of Wades. All 5 brought joy and enthusiasm so potent that it would be dangerous to inject. Chris is a responsible sort of fellow. He never completely manages to switch off from his day job keeping order amongst rail staff and passengers, and I enjoyed teasing him when he found it necessary to admonish relatives for slightly higher than average conversational volume!

It’s always fun to get the sort of running commentary on a journey that train insiders can provide. In summary, driving styles were ever so slightly unpredictable, someone in a signal box needs to have a word with themselves for sticking us behind a slower service and we were slightly delayed in our arrival to Paddington Platform 2.

It didn’t matter. We had plenty of time, and we also had Top Trumps. I cannot tell you how enthusiastically we competed for South West and Wales Railway Station cards as we glided through the countryside. If you started the day not knowing how many platforms Severn Tunnel Junction station has, or the date Bath Spa opened, you

finished it as an expert. Cardiff and Exeter St Davids were right up there with Swindon as high value cards. Bradford-on-Avon, Dawlish and Torquay not so much. It was educational, it was competitive and it was a lot of fun.

You’ll know my old mate Andy. Whilst he doesn’t study the subject with the obsession of the CAMRA brigade, he is a fan, like me, of an occasional “old man’s pub”. On a previous trip he had found one in Plaistow, a place so deep in the East End you suspect that jellied eels are the local delicacy and Ronnie Kray the Mayor. Anyway, he had suggested the Black Bull, and we thought we would give it a go.

Naming no names, one of my friends went there & enjoyed it, whilst a relative went there just before opening time, noted that it looked a bit rough and concluded that it had probably been closed for good.

So Plaistow didn’t happen, and we stayed on the District Line to Dagenham East.

I admit that I had poured scorn on The Pipe Major last week It is a pub in a handy position roughly equidistant to the tube station and the football ground, but Andy’s description of it as a “Wacky Warehouse” seemed bang on the money based on my recollections of the place. It does indeed have a children’s playground in the garden, and it afforded a spectacular view of the local Travelodge, but to give credit where it’s due it also had something for everyone. Supporters Trust veteran Michel joined us. He enjoyed his burger and I stuck to the black stuff. Matty and Alex were already there (they are, after all, addicted to the shindig). You may remember Alex from last season’s Dorking Portaloo saga. He continues to bring the fun, and it was nice to meet his partner, who is unsurprisingly more sensible than him, and good company.

Fishermen sometimes talk about “the golden hour:” that time before sunset when it all goes a bit mellow and fish often bite. The Pipe Major provided the TUFC equivalent. We sat outside. Some of us drank quite quickly. We discussed the looming fixture (a bit) and ripped the piss out of ourselves and all and sundry (a lot). Over what are often the best couple of hours of a match day, we formulated some bold plans for Slough(a) and tried to come to terms with the emerging team news. That pre-match optimism will never die. It is essential, even though it is also completely irrational.

The homeward journey was good, and better than most. Retracing our steps to Devon, we were treated to some fascinating insights, stories and reflections from a Brynsman who becomes more interesting with every conversation. We learned a little about his charity work, about Jimmy’s new digs, about hopes that Tuesday’s team will be a lot stronger and- the best bit of all- why those who are sensible wouldn’t dream of messing with Jay Foulston!

At the centre of it all, our beaten-up old football club. Many have abused it. A few have actively tried to kill it. But it’s safe again for now.

A big Sunday afternoon awaits, with a group of footballers who might just deliver the silverware which their talent and drive makes possible. So I will finish here, and head off to watch Torquay Utd Women in what may be a title decider against Forest Green.

Up the Gulls!