The Alies returned to HQ under the influence of a superabundance of Kendal hospitality dispensed by President Elect-or should it be erect- Arth! As the Alies descend off the coach at the sumptuous surroundings to be found at Mint Bridge they were greeted by “Arturo” and ushered into a beautiful, modern, well appointed clubhouse.
Gilly and the Major opted to ride in the lift to the Lounge Bar and Kentdale Suite and by the time they had arrived “Arturo” had lined up the beers on the bar and then gently pointed the Alies in the direction of his table where bottles of “Nandu” were already lined up. This nuggety red, an uncomplicated little number, proved to be a good session wine that bounced around the palate like a flyweight boxer.
All too quickly kick off time approached but “Arturo” insisted that the Alies reassemble promptly at his table at the final whistle where another harmonious session swiftly recommenced. A number of longstanding friends circulated the table, all with tales to tell of past meetings and the characters involved. Sometimes we take the game too seriously and forget what a lasting impression it makes on people’s lives; after all it is a game that can be played by all shapes and sizes in all weather conditions.
Eventually the Alies were wrenched away by the players but promises were made to resume another sophisticated discussion on the first Saturday in January for the return fixture. Loafer, clear that table! Thanks to the careful husbandry of the Accountant a familiar clink was heard above the pulse of the engine and glasses were filled once more.
The previous evening the annual torchlight procession had taken place in Kendal and the Alies were most certainly glowing when they arrived back at The Lane. It is only a short hop down the A6 and M6 so there was enough time for a few snorts back at The Lane before staggering off into the encircling gloom.
Matron, however, soon trimmed their wicks between thumb and forefinger, an art only known to a few, but there were reports seeping back that she was amused to observe that on the Alies’ return there was much flailing about with unresponsive limbs trying to get into their jim-jams before zonking out. Not so much as “lead kindly light” but “draw the curtains before the neighbours become too excited” and “whatever are you doing with pussy?”
For the Kirkby Lonsdale game the Major was down south testing his new tank out on the ranges, while Doctor Foster had taken to his sick bed and Minimus was indulging in a spot of brass rubbing, well that is what it sounded like.
The Alies might have been down in numbers but the clubhouse was packed. Kirkby came along in force, as was to be expected, and there were large numbers of former Vale and Kirkby legends at the pre-match lunch and out on the terraces. Unfortunately the injury to Cameron Dale, thankfully it did not turn out to be serious, but the sight of a player lying prone on the ground for a considerable period of time is a chilling experience, saw many drifting away.
A drought of cask ale had the Alies fretting for a while before alternatives were sorted, but for the second home game there was plenty going on in and around the cloisters, forcing the Alies to keep their ears close to the ground as the rumour centrifuge gathered momentum during the early evening and later in the week.
As the Alies assembled for the Ilkley fixture there was a full agenda for them to get their teeth into because the hive had been buzzing ever since the final whistle of the Wilmslow and Kirkby Lonsdale games.
While the players went off for a meeting the Alies sorted themselves out on the coach and checked if they had brought their hats, boxing gloves were optional, consulted a leaflet on concussion and a flyer entitled, “Women of Lancashire-We Need You!”
The Sommelier arranged the cellar which included a box of Argentinian red brought along by the Major. This choice brought forth a collective gasp of astonishment because a few years ago the Major took exception to the Argies’ Lady President who had designs on the Falklands, so without a tear he cried no to Argentinian wine, but now he likes the cut of the current President’s jib so the boycott has been called off.
Corbyn, Trump, May and Mourinho hardly had a look in as the fat was not only chewed but rolled around like a cigar on a Cuban lady’s thigh. The goings on in recent weeks were meat and drink to the Alies who are never short of opinions and solutions, having been there, done it!
Once underway the Platelayer interrupted the mutterings with updates on the Ryder Cup, the Accountant struggled with distributing the wine as the coach reared and bucked its way through Wray, Roy of the Rovers country, Wennington and Bentham, the superb scenery being bathed in strong sunlight for the whole journey.
Another wonderful welcome awaited the Alies at Stacks Field, it is Level 5 you know, wine on the table, a raft of Tetley’s, stimulating conversation in particular when the Loafer passed around photocopied reports of previous encounters against Ilkley.
In the game played at Ilkley on 27 January 1968 in a snowstorm which the Vale won 6-5, Mr Chips was making his debut and scored a try, the Loafer was at fullback and “had a fine game,” Gilly was in the front row but missed all his kicks at goal, while the Borough Treasurer was showcasing his talents in the back row.
Fifty years on the memories came flooding back, helped by some well crafted programme notes and full glasses, but once half time had passed in the latest engagement the Red Rose challenge had faded which further boosted the post match hospitality.
Heads might have been down momentarily, glasses were topped up and sorrows were yet again drowned on the return journey to conclude what had been a rum month for the Alies in more ways than one, eye opening at times, with plenty happening, both on and off the field.
Doris Lessing once wrote that, “What of October, the ambiguous month, the month of tension, the unendurable month:” Fair warning to the Alies of what might be lying in wait. Trick or treat? You bet!