A TRIP DOWN WHITE HART MEMORY LANE

You Can’t Choose Them, They Choose You!

As we approach another new season, my 59th as a Spur, I reflect on how they selected me to be a part of the faithful band of followers that worship at the White Hart Lane altar. For all devoted football fans, we are well aware that the club that we love, actually choose us and we absolutely do not choose them.

This article looks at how my love affair with Tottenham Hotspur began all those years ago.

LUNCH IN TRAMWAY AVENUE

Once upon a time in 1966, when I was just six years old, I got curious about the sights and sounds that I experienced on the way to my Grandparents house, near Tramway Avenue, Edmonton.

Off we’d go in our Ford Anglia, from our flat in Holborn with my Mum and Dad to make our weekly visit to my maternal grandparents for Saturday lunch. North bound through Kings Cross, Caledonian Road, Holloway, Rainbow Theatre, Finsbury Park, Manor House, Seven Sisters.

Suddenly there were hundreds of people, many dressed in navy and white scarves, hats, some sporting billowing rosettes, carrying banners or flags. There were even lethal contraptions called rattles. 

Further down Seven Sisters Road towards High Cross, the crowds grew thicker, ever more colourful, flooding the buses, spilling onto roads and pavements. What was I seeing, why all these people, why all the colour and, at Bruce Grove, some people even singing ?

The crowds got ever larger as my Mum and Dad advised me that we were now at the Spurs, who were playing at home at 3pm. But who and what was the Spurs ? They must be very special, if all these people flocked to see them. 

QUESTIONS QUESTIONS

As a very curious kid, I bombarded my parents and grandparents with myriad questions about the Spurs.

My excitement grew when at Edmonton Green, there was a shop apparently bearing the name of one of those Spurs. His name was Dave Mackay and his shop sold ties. Everybody wore one in those days, even my grandad got knotted up for gardening.

All my pestering bore fruit as my Mum and Dad explained that the Spurs were a football team and like England, who had won the World Cup that July, the Spurs were good.

It transpired that my Mum and Dad, my grandparents, my uncle and older cousins were fans of these Spurs.

RUNNING IN THE FAMILY

My family all followed the Spurs, it seemed, but I didn’t know why. I had to find out and join in.

My maternal grandfather had watched Spurs since the 1920’ s when he took it in turns to follow them and Clapton Orient (later to become Leyton Orient).

My grandparents moved to Edmonton in 1932, into a newly built house near Tramway Avenue. That confirmed them into the Spurs faith for life. My mother also followed the 1951 team with her younger brother, my uncle, and that cemented their Spurs legacy. 

I heard tales of mum, my uncle and grandad watching something called push and run, meeting the players in the Corner Pin or Bell and Hare after games and I was amazed. 

They spoke of Rowe, Ramsey, Burgess, Duquemin, Bailey, and Nicholson. These men were the Spurs. The push and run Spurs, whatever that meant. 

It turned out that the Spurs were really good. They did something called the Double in 1960/61 and my family revered men like Blanchflower, Mackay, White, Allen, Smith, Jones, and Mr Nicholson.

A mention was made of something called the FA Cup. The Spurs had won it again in 1962. They’d apparently won it three times before in 1901, 1921, 1961.  

I couldn’t get enough of this Spurs story but why had they been special again in 1963 and why did they have a parade ? I’d have loved to have seen it. More rattles and hum no doubt! Apparently the Spurs had become the first British team to win a European trophy, the Cup Winners Cup. They’d beaten Atletico Madrid by five goals to one. My uncle said it’d been Dyson’s match (may he rest in peace).

JIMMY JIMMY 

All my family mentioned a fellow named Greavsie, the best of the current Spurs and how he had missed out on the World Cup Final. This chap was someone I needed to adopt as my favourite. If my family loved him, I would adore him too. 

They also liked the Scots warrior Mackay, who had broken his leg twice. He was the heartbeat of the Spurs, they said. 

NEXT HOME GAME

Travelling home from my grandparents we would again drive past the Spurs. No navy and white bedecked people by then, the show presumably over for now. But a noticeboard mentioned the next home game and my parents explained that this indicated who the opponents would be, next time the Spurs played at their stadium. 

I couldn’t wait until the next Saturday visit to my grandparents. I wanted to see all those people, the colour and hear that noise again.

Talk about 'when Saturday comes', it couldn’t come fast enough. 

ABIDING WITH ME

All this time, the Spurs were lulling me into their navy and white web. It didn’t take much effort. 

At primary school we played in a red top and white shorts, the same kit worn by a team called United. They were also very good and had a Law, a Charlton and a Best.

But by May 20th 1967, for something called the FA Cup Final,  I had been given my first white Spurs shirt. All my family were, apparently, up for the Cup! That Cockney Cup Final, was the first that I watched live with my family on TV. It was the Spurs against a team called Chelsea, with both teams abiding with me. 

Numerous cups of tea, a few nervy moments but the Spurs won the game by two goals to one. 

Our family favourite Greavsie didn’t score but Jimmy Robertson and Frank Saul did. Chelsea got a goal by Bobby Tambling.

The Scots warrior Dave Mackay climbed up to the Royal Box to get the FA Cup, his broken legs had mended.

ENFIELD TOWN

So I was nearly seven years old and it had taken a year for the Spurs to completely capture me. From now on, in the playground I’d be Greavsie, and always the Spurs who played with style, swagger, and attacking endeavour. 

It’s who we still are mate, always daring and sometimes doing. 

The Spurs had chosen me, my family and plenty of my friends. We were all in the back of the Spurs net. 

My older cousin introduced me to live football at Enfield Town in the Isthmian League. Blue and white kit just like the Spurs wore, but no blue cockerel badge. 

By 1968 some school friends wanted to be like the fifth Beatle of United or Charlie Cooke at Chelsea. However, it was the Spurs I dreamt about and I eagerly awaited my debut appearance at White Hart Lane. 

But that is a story for another day, and by then I’d got a new hero. 

This was Anthony Heard's Spurs 'Origin Story'. We'd love to hear how you became a Spurs fan too - share your origin story by sending to editor@whitehartreview.com