Nearly Reach the Sky Read Free Page B

decided that the Memorial Grounds stadium in CanningTown, where West Ham first played after starting life as Thames Ironworks, was no longer fit for purpose and earmarked a site in the borough of East Ham that would … be more accessible, allow bigger crowds to watch the games and – you’ve guessed it – enable the club to become a major force in the land.
    Ever since it was confirmed that we are to leave the area that has been the club’s home since 1904, I’ve been chalking off each game played there in the same way a condemned man scratches the wall of his prison cell to mark the passing of his last days on Earth – knowing the hangman’s noose will inevitably be wrapped around his neck at the end of it all. Frankly, it’s not a good way to feel.
    Other clubs have moved to new stadiums, I know. The trouble is West Ham isn’t another club – it’s my club. And I’m not sure how to pack up a lifetime of memories that were fermented in London E13 and ship them off to another postal district.
    Let me take you on an unofficial tour of the ground. Perhaps, then, you will understand why I am so reluctant to leave.
    I’m assuming you got here from one of the smarter parts of London on the District line via Upton Park Tube station and then took the short walk south down Green Street, passing notable local landmarks such as the Queens pub and Ken’s café on the way. Each to their own, of course, but I’m not all that keen on the Queens. If you’d fancied a pint on the way you’d have done better getting off at Plaistow and looking in at the Black Lion. Alternatively, you could have stayed on until East Ham, strolled along the High Street until you reached the junction with the Barking Road, and popped into the Denmark Arms, which has a sticky-carpet charm all of its own. What you don’t want to do if you come again is make the fatal mistake of alighting at West Ham station – it’s a bloody long walk from there.
    We are now at the main gates – the John Lyall gates – the ones that were adorned with scarves and shirts and teddy bears and all sorts of other claret and blue stuff when, in 1993, we were robbed of Bobby Moore by that filthy little cheat, cancer. You probably saw the pictures in the newspapers.
    If you are not of the claret and blue persuasion yourself, you may well think the theatre of disturbing dreams we are now entering is called Upton Park. Let me put you straight on that one, me old china plate (I told you I was fluent in rhyming slang). Upton Park is the geographical area from which the Tube station takes its name. But the football stadium is officially the Boleyn Ground – so-called in memory of a castle that wasn’t really a castle at all.
    The ‘Boleyn Castle’ was a rather strange-looking affair, built in 1544 and boasting vague connections to the woman over whom Henry VIII lost his head before he decided she must lose hers. Some romantics say Anne lived there, others reckon she merely visited from time to time. Sadly, they are wrong – she had been executed eight years before the place was built. However, Green Street House, which stood in the grounds that West Ham had rented from the Catholic Church, became known locally as the Boleyn Castle – hence the name of the stadium that stands before you.
    Directly ahead, you will have noticed those two rather large and tacky replicas of castle turrets, which celebrate West Ham’s links with Tudor England. Talk about rewriting history! For years the club’s owners were desperate to knock down the original building, and finally managed to do so in 1955.
    On your right is the players’ car park. I agree, some of those motors do look distinctly pricey. (Remind me to tell you about the time I nearly got run over by Mido coming out of there in hisRolls-Royce. I guess if you are going to get knocked down by a car, a Roller is as good as anything, but you don’t want it driven by Mido – he was terrible.)
    Over there is the club shop. If