A celebration of a football fan by Wolvesy
He attended every home match at Penydarren Park across nine decades. Rain or shine. As a child with his dad, as a kid with his mates, as a young man with his work mates and then as a father with his children, eventually as a grandfather with his grandkids and finally one last game with his great-grandson. A lifetime spent on the terraces of Penydarren Park, he hated sitting in the seats and resisted it despite his frailty towards the end. Always in his place on the Wank Bank, leaning on the crush barrier, near Holvey’s Tea Bar. The same group of people around him over the years, ebbing and flowing as life and circumstances got in everyone’s way of their weekly fix of the Martyrs.
The full circle of life on those terraces. Dishing out spending money to his son as he tried to watch the game. Keeping one eye on the mass of kids playing football on the Theatre End grass bank. The final whistle and into the Jubilee Club for a pint with pop & crisps for his kid as they watched the day’s results on the TV. One pint and then home with the Football Echo. If it was a Welsh League match, then maybe his lad could answer the phone to tell eager callers of the Southern League result elsewhere. A serious responsibility so no messing around. Just the score and the scorers.
Saturday was the day he watched his heroes. Not that those teams were ever that successful, but he remained loyal and passed on that pride in his hometown club to his children.
It was on a matchday that he also passed on his values and principles to his family. A quiet man but the football club became a place where he could show his true colours to everyone with no fanfare. Tackling racists in the clubhouse after one home game when visiting black players were being racially abused, calling them out for their actions in a packed bar showed his son that there should be zero tolerance for any discrimination.
The kids’ teenage years brought new demands on his time. Requests to go on away games so off he went on the supporters buses with his son. Fareham away to see Ray Pratt’s hat-trick. The Chesham postponed game and a day on the Vicarage Road terraces. His son delighting in the new sights & sounds of the professional game but he looked unimpressed, these players weren’t better than Carter, Sullivan and Pratt to him.
Soon came the demands for solo travel to away games so now he would watch the Welsh League whilst his lad went to see the first team in action. No mobile phones then of course to immediately share the teams’ exploits so the swapping of match reports had to wait until his eldest has return later in the evening from away. The Football Echo still shared. Bags of chips and Match of the Day to end every Saturday.
Stories told of the train trip to Swindon Town in ’65, raising funds for the Floodlights appeal, the John Charles era, the Hendon Cup defeat and favourite players; Mickey Lenihan being one of those players that was always referenced if he was challenged on the best players he’d seen in the black & white of Merthyr.
His loyalty to the football club didn’t need reward but the late eighties provided a brilliant team, a new stadium and a European adventure to enjoy as his first grandchild arrived. The baby in his arms when the Merthyr team’s open-bus tour celebrated the Welsh Cup of ’87. A photo taken of him with that famous trophy to stand on the cupboard at home.
Never a big drinker, a couple of pints at the most. New Year’s Eve was the only real night out for him which is why his intake of “non-alcoholic” Hemeling lagers at one end of season player of the year event resulted in a comical accidental drunken stumble on the steps of the grandstand. Taxi called and plenty of laughter from his family & friends. Another episode in his story of being a Martyr.
The routine though did not alter for home games, his kids were older now and he sometimes had to watch the grandson who followed his beloved Bampi around everywhere.
His children had left home. They lived close to the family home and got on with their lives, more grandkids came along and then retirement from work. Babysitting and walking the dog now filled most days but every Saturday home game meant a family get-together as everyone knew that he would be standing at that crush barrier on the Wank Bank drinking tea and watching his team.
Penydarren Park is the man’s second home. A place where he could always escape the trials of work and money. So when it was threatened by another carpet-bagger of an owner who didn’t share the man’s love for his town’s football club, he too became an activist for the Trust. This wouldn’t be the speeches, leafletting or stunts that other, younger, supporters were doing to save the club. This was way more subtle and definitely more effective; his family all knew that walking through Merthyr Tydfil town centre with him would take forever as he stopped every five minutes or so to meet old workmates or fellow Martyrs when the latest gossip from Penydarren Park was discussed and he was able to assure everyone that the Trust had a plan, and the club would be saved.
Photos with his family on the Wank Bank on the day that the ground was closed by the liquidator as we said goodbye to Penydarren Park as we headed into exile at Taffs Well.
He enjoyed that one season down the A470, but he was so happy to return to our spiritual home along Park Terrace.
Like everyone who came back to Penydarren Park, the old haunts in the ground were still there to welcome him. By the first game the same circle of friends and neighbours surrounded him. A winning team now, bringing pride back to the club that he now owned, one of many of course but again that appealed to his sense of community. Everyone equal.
Through the Western League back to our home in the Southern League. Familiar clubs every other weekend. The simple pleasures of sharing an afternoon with friends, the love of live football as he didn’t really enjoy the TV games preferring local quality to the mass of televised games just there to fill TV schedules, drinking tea or maybe a cheeky rum before the game, catching up with old stories, connecting with family, no matter the game or the weather he would be there as a constant in his family’s lives. Bampi will be at Penydarren Park; season ticket holder, club owner and car park reserved. Always.
Always buy the programme, leave it to read later with a cup of tea and a cake. Read it cover to cover.
Getting old now, not so mobile, no more walking the dog or popping to town on the bus but still the journey to Penydarren Park. Nothing would stop that pilgrimage for a home game.
He was there when we won that gloriously unexpected Championship last season. It would be his final season but what a campaign to see, what a team to share with the family that followed his legacy to them. Goals galore and more players to compare with Micky Lenihan and Micky Dicks. He always thought Micky Dicks would have gone to the Football League if it wasn’t for that injury. Now he would talk about Rees, Handley and Jack Evans.
His final game was a real testament to his love for his family and his club. A daft day with a visiting newspaper photographer taking pics of him with his family and friends to advertise an article of people held together by football and the match day experience. He was a bit bemused by the posed photos that were demanded of everyone but those pics are a snapshot of the respect and love for him from everyone who knew him at Merthyr Town FC.
His great-grandson’s first game on the terraces became the man’s last visit to his favourite place. An iconic moment of passing the torch to a new generation even though we didn’t know it at the time.
David Evans was my Dad.
David Evans was a Merthyr football fan.
He was a clever, quiet, principled man who always encouraged everyone who met him to reach for the stars. I’d always get a text message to tell me that Jonny Owen was on the radio again.
I’ve previously written that a lot of life’s lessons were taught to me via football and Merthyr Town FC but in reality, all those experiences were actually highlighted through the prism of my Dad’s support for me, our family, and his pride in everyone who enjoyed football the right way.
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