unusual layout of their home ground, the majority of United supporters disliked the open fourth side to the ground, which I could understand: even on such an auspicious occasion with a capacity crowd present, the open far side seemed to be a drain on the fervent atmosphere.
I wasn’t overawed by the crowd, in fact, I was later to realise the bigger the occasion the better I liked it. As I changed next to my teammates I was riddled with nerves but, once I crossed that white line, my concentration was total and my nervousness dissipated. For a friendly it was a keenly contested game. There was, after all, Anglo-Scottish pride at stake. The game ended 1–1 and I readily recall the Clyde goal being scored by their international winger, Tommy Ring. Little did I know then, Tommy was to come back and haunt me, albeit for a short time, on the occasion of another auspicious debut in my football career.
I felt pleased with my performance, though I was more relieved than anything at the fact I had not made any telling errors. Reg Freeman appeared pleased too, though in keeping with the man, he didn’t say as much. When I entered the home team changing room at the end of the game, he simply patted me on the back.
Sheffield United’s star player was Jimmy Hagan, an immensely talented inside-forward of considerable artistry whose talent deserved far more than the meagre reward of one official cap for England. Jimmy, like so many of his generation, had had his football career sacrificed to the war. He was the inspirational leader of the team, a man who always thought deeply about the game. Knowing Reg Freeman was not one to offer praise to players, never mind lavish it, Jimmy came up to me and complimented me on my performance. Such a compliment from a player of Jimmy’s stature made me feel ten feet tall.
‘You did well, Alan, son,’ Jimmy informed me. ‘The boss thinks so too, but you’ll find out what he is like. Getting words of praise out of him is like knitting with sawdust.’
In light of Jimmy’s kind words I couldn’t wait for the following Friday when Reg Freeman pinned up the various teams for the games on Saturday. When he did so, my heart flopped. Ted Burgin, the regular first-team goalkeeper, was reinstated for the game at home to Preston North End. I was back with the reserves at Newcastle United.
I saw out the remaining five matches of the season with the reserves, but wasn’t too disheartened. In my first season at Sheffield United I had established myself as the regular reserve team goalkeeper and had enjoyed a brief flirtation with the first team, albeit for a friendly.
I couldn’t believe that my whole attitude to my football had changed so much and so irrevocably in a little over a year. From not thinking I was good enough to sign for Sheffield United, I now believed my development, application and attitude were such that I was good enough to claim the number one jersey. I could see light at the end of the tunnel and I knew, in my heart of hearts, that it wasn’t a train coming.
‘Follow your spirit, and, upon this charge, cry, ‘God for Harry! England and St George.’
Henry V
To keep myself reasonably fit, I spent most of the summer of 1954 playing cricket for Thurcroft Main in the Bassetlaw League. Somewhat appropriately, given I was a goalkeeper, I kept wicket for Thurcroft, whilst my batting was good enough to see me in the higher order. When pre-season training began with Sheffield United I felt in pretty good shape, confident, should my personal game continue to improve, I would be knocking on the door for the first-team jersey.
As things turned out, 1954–55 had an inauspicious start for yours truly. On the opening day of the season I found myself keeping goal for the reserves at Newcastle United. Sheffield United fielded several youngsters in the team of which, of course, I was one. Newcastle, on the other hand, named a strong team, too strong for us. We found ourselves overrun from the word go. Try as we did, we proved incapable of mounting anything but sporadic attacks. We were totally outplayed and the Newcastle reserves ran out easy winners 4–0. For all I had conceded four goals I felt I had given a very good account of myself. In addition to executing a string of saves, I managed to save a second-half penalty from Alan Monkhouse, who had recently been signed by Newcastle from Millwall for the princely sum of £11,000.
One of the first things reserve team players do when entering the dressing room at the end of a game is to find out the result of the first-team match. We are all human. Whilst one part of a reserve team player wants to see the first team do well, as we all want to be part of a successful club, another part of him secretly hopes the first team will turn in a bad performance as that will increase his chances of a call-up. No one openly admits to this, of course, but that’s how the reserve team player thinks and, I imagine, such a state of mind is true irrespective of the standard of football you play. On this particular day we learned the first team had drawn 2–2 at home to Everton, which served as no indication whatsoever as to what Reg Freeman might do in terms of the line-up for Sheffield United’s following match. I felt I would have to produce not simply good, but outstanding displays for the reserves to be even considered for the first team. The way things stood I was going to have plenty of opportunity to do that.
Sure enough, I was back in action with the reserves the following Monday when we entertained our old rivals from ‘up the road’, Leeds United. The Leeds team included George Meek, who has the distinction of being the first ever ‘loan’ player, following a spell at Walsall, and a former Sheffield United favourite, Albert Nightingale. Albert wouldn’t be singing that night, though, as we cruised to a 4–0 victory which, in light of our defeat at Newcastle, rather evened things up. What is more, I kept a clean sheet and turned in what I felt was another good performance.
On the Wednesday, the United first team travelled to Manchester City and found themselves on the wrong end of a 5–2 scoreline. Sheffield United had flirted with relegation the previous season; following the defeat at Maine Road, even though only two matches had been played, the press were predicting United were in for ‘another long, hard season’. I imagined what Reg Freeman’s face would be like when he read that – like Louis Armstrong sucking on a lemon whilst a steamroller ran over his foot.
Sheffield United’s next game was at Newcastle United, a trip which would necessitate an overnight stay. When United were due to stay over, the team sheets were pinned up on a Thursday afternoon to allow players time to pack a bag for the journey the following day. The reserves were scheduled to play at home to West Bromwich Albion. When I sauntered along to the notice board to read the team sheet, for a moment I thought I had looked at the wrong one. There, at the head of the team to play West Brom with the number one next to it, was the name ‘Burgin’. My eyes immediately darted to the adjacent team sheet. Written in blue biro was the name ‘Hodgkinson’ and, above it: ‘First Team. Away to Newcastle United’.
I stood staring at my name in disbelief. No one had said anything to me. I had been given no indication whatsoever that I was going to make my Football League debut. It was a complete and utter surprise. I stood as spellbound as a small boy whose father is telling him a wonderful story. My forehead prickled. My hands were clammy and my mouth was so parched and dry David Lean could have shot Lawrence of Arabia in it. I looked at the team sheet again, then glanced across to the other team sheet. There was no mistake. I was going to make my Sheffield United debut.
I was so stupefied I didn’t notice two people arrive behind me. Sensing someone’s presence, I turned to see regular first teamers Jimmy Hagan and Tommy Hoyland.
‘Well done, Alan, son. You deserve your chance,’ said Jimmy.
‘Aye, good luck. You’ll be fine, have every confidence in you,’ Tommy added.
I
