Scottish Football Reminiscences and Sketches

John's death reminds me of a young and promising forward named Smith, who used to play on the left wing of the Cedargrove in company with a smart companion named Seward. Young Smith was a very enthusiastic football player, and missed few, if any, practice games. Poor lad, I met him twice in one season in matches with the Cedargrove, and it took all my master knew to prevent him from getting clean past the Conquerors' backs and scoring. He was a nice dribbler, and like Fred Adamson (an old member of the same club), went straight ahead with a splendid hold of the leather. Talking about Fred, I remember that player, in company with Johnny M'Phedran and James Wilton, going for big Thomas, who was then the Conquerors' captain, and played at half-back. Thomas was an awful fellow to meet in a charge, and a hundred to one was sure to send his opponent to grass. Johnny, however, who was a little bandy-legged, held tenaciously to the ball, and while Thomas was eagerly watching his opportunity, Fred sent him flat on his back, and the ball was close on goal in an instant. There was a hard scrummage, and in the nick of time, Joe Sayler (who was then the crack sprinter of the Conquerors), dashed up and got the ball clear before it reached the keeper. Poor Smith, he caught a severe cold one evening, and eventually succumbed to a painful malady. The Cedargrove were at one time hard to beat. In fact, in the early history of the Scottish Football Association Challenge Cup, they pressed my master's club hard for the trophy, and were only vanquished – after three games – by one goal to none.

The Red Cross were also dangerous opponents, and possessed not a few capital players. There were John Huxter, Sandy Kenneth, Jack Williams, Joe Drummond, and Bill Millins. They were not easily beaten. Sandy Kenneth, though rather a quiet-looking customer to meet in the street, developed into one of the finest half-backs that Scotland ever produced. He was always cool and collected, and, although by no means a very hard kicker, could judge the ball to a hair-breadth. Sandy was especially clever in tackling, which he could manage without deliberate charging. If the ball got up close on the goal which he defended, he would follow the dribblers, and with a clever manœuvre on the left foot, obtain possession, and after nursing the ball for a few minutes, would, amid the applause of the spectators, send it spinning down the field. Then there was Bill Summons. He was rather a volatile customer, and a perfect football coquette. There was scarcely a club of any pretensions in Glasgow but what Bill had wooed. He, however, stuck well to the Red Cross, and did some splendid service in their best matches, but eventually left them and joined the Conquerors, who, by the way, were just a shade too ready to take over the best men of other clubs by holding out tempting baits in the shape of big matches. Bill, with all his faults, was a grand back, and I question if anybody in Glasgow could make a finer kick when he set his mind to it. He had his failing, to be sure, and who hasn't? He was sometimes most erratic while playing important matches, and, especially on a windy day, would make grave mistakes with too heavy kicking.

Jack Huxter, too, of the Red Cross, was a very fine player, and a "caution" to get past at back (poor fellow, he, too, like Dixy, has gone to his account). He was a dangerous man to meet in the heat of a tussle near the goal-line, and woe betide the daring forward who would attempt to take the ball from Jack there. His only weakness was a frequent desire to "go" for the man instead of the ball, and charging rather heavily. Although a back, he was by no means an inferior dribbler, and possessing good speed, sometimes astonished the members of his own club by the smart runs he would now and again make in company with the forwards when the leather was in an opponents' territory. He stuck like a veritable leech to the Red Cross, and turned out most faithfully to all their important matches. I must not forget Willie Millins, who was one of the neatest dribblers of his day. He has given up football now. Getting a clear start, many an exciting and clever run he made for the Red Cross. I heard my master say that in a match for the Association Cup between his club and the Cedargrove, he once made a goal after dribbling the ball almost the entire length of the field.

Then there was a lot of smaller fry, including good players belonging to the Dumbrook, North-Eastern, Gallowgate Rovers, the Locomotive Slashers, Thornians, Northern Jumpers, Edinburgh Irishmen, Partick Unfortunates, and last, though by no means least, the Flying Blues. There was no club in Scotland, except, perhaps, the Vale Crowers, that had made so much progress in the game as those Flying Blues, and few, if any, were gifted with the same amount of self-confidence. The Blues, nevertheless, had good reason to feel proud of some of their members, for they were young and active, and the very ideal of smart football players. It was a lucky thing for them when they migrated from the north and established themselves in the old ground vacated by the Cedargrove. Had it not been for that lucky arrangement, they might have wasted their football lives in obscurity, and gone down to Association posterity "unhonoured and unsung." Their success was as remarkable as it was swift and decisive. Possessing any amount of pluck, they tackled all and sundry in the district, and the second year, after gaining something like a first-class reputation, won nearly every game they played. Their captain, Tom Vincent, was a grand back, and, indeed, one of the crack men in that position, of whom Scotland has now so many to select from; and then there was Bentback, Bill Donoup, Jack Drummer, and Mat Neil, all fine players at their respective positions. Never shall I forget the match between the Blues and the Conquerors for the Association Cup a dozen years ago, about the last big match in which I took an active part. My master's team had had bad luck though, for after pressing the Flying Blues till within a few minutes of the game, the Blues beat the Conquerors by one goal to none, Bill Donoup sending the ball under goal at the last minute, although the story goes that he had a bet of a "sov." that the Conquerors would win, and it was even admitted that he was heard to say, when kicking the goal, "Here goes my blooming sovereign!"

Although now stowed away in the corner of a large chest, side by side with jerseys, caps, knickerbockers, and other football requisites, as a remnant of the glorious game, my master sometimes visits me to think over the past, and I often hear him say that, although he does not play now, he still goes to see some of the leading contests, and at them picks up many queer stories of the modern players. Last year's crack men, as he sees them crowding in his "mind's eye," are not, he says, unworthy representatives of those of the past.

VI. – HOW CLUBS WERE STARTED LONG AGO

When the summer game of cricket was far more extensively played in Glasgow and District than it is now, those who understood the feelings and aspirations of young men engaged in it repeatedly considered the question in all its aspects, and a combination of circumstances have occurred within the last decade which had seriously affected that game. The City of Glasgow could not, of course, afford to remain in a stationary condition to suit the convenience of a few thousands of cricketers. New streets had to be formed, new houses built all round, and with this advance upon civilisation came the deadly blow to cricket – at least juvenile cricket – and those clubs soon disappeared from the field. Ground after ground was swallowed up, and on the scene of many a hot and exciting match blocks of houses, railway stations, churches, and public works may now be seen. The Scotch youth, and for that part of it (just to give the sentence greater weight), the British youth, loves some kind of manly sport. Cricket he could no longer play for want of good and level ground, but then there was another game which, at least, could be played or learned under easy circumstances, even on a quiet street or big "free coup," and that was Association football. They soon took to it kindly, and many of them struggled hard and procured a ground. Not one, of course, like that on which they used to have their cricket matches long ago, but one on which Farmer Lyon grazed his cows and sheep, and they had it for a trifle. What did they care about ridges and furrows, or that it was a difficult matter to see the lower goal-posts when you were at the east end? Not a straw. The only matter which annoyed them (and this only happened occasionally) was Lyon's bull. Their club colours were red jerseys, with a small white stripe, and "Jock" (that was the animal's name), used to scatter the lads about on the Friday evenings when they were engaged in a big side. The players generally managed to clear out in time, but the infuriated animal once goared the best ball the club had, and next morning, as they had to play the "Invincible" of Glasgow Green, a subscription had to be raised for a new one. Football can thus be played under much more favourable conditions than cricket, or almost any other out-door game, at less expense, and this, in a great measure at least, is the secret of its popularity amongst the masses. It can also be played under nearly every condition of the atmosphere. Nothing seems to frighten the Scotch Association football player. Rain, hail, snow, and even frost, is treated with cool indifference. In England the ball is quietly laid aside with the advent of April and forgotten till the Autumn leaves are yellow and sear, but in Scotland Association football seems to have no recognised season at all, so far as the younger clubs and even a few of the seniors are concerned. With the sun making one's hair stick to his head with perspiration, and the thermometer at 90 degrees in the shade, they play away in the summer-time, and at Christmas attempt to dribble in half-a-foot of snow. Meantime the question about football being blotted out can, I think, be easily answered in the negative, and upon these will depend the future prospect of Association Football in Scotland. There are, in fact, "breakers ahead," and a strong and determined hand will have to take the wheel. The greatest of these is the "professional" football player, and the next the "greed of gate-money." "O! we never heard of a professional football player in Scotland," exclaims a chorus of voices; "there is no such thing. It's only in England." My remark, of course, is only beginning to be realised. The definition of professional in athletics "is one who runs (plays) for gain." Everybody knows what that means. If you receive any money whatever, directly or indirectly, from your club (except out of the private purses of the members), you are a professional. Are there not clubs, with great reputations, who have such members? If these are allowed to continue on the club books simply because they are good players, the committee are doing a great injustice to the other members, it may be under a mistaken notion. Now, as football has always been looked upon as a purely amateur game, and played by young men for their own amusement, it is to be hoped that the day is far distant when the professional football player, or even worse, the professional football "loafer," who does not work, but preys upon his fellow-members, will appear in a general form. In all conscience, if the public wish to see professional football (and I know from experience they don't), what would they think of the All-Scotland Eleven against the Champion Eleven of England? That might sound all right, but with the recollection of how professional athletics of all kinds (with the remarkable exception of cricket) are now conducted, and their low associations, woe betide football when the professional element is introduced. It will assuredly be the signal for its decline and fall. As for the greed of gate-money, of which some clubs are so fond, much might be said. When I refer to the clubs who try to gather as much cash as they can during the season in order to pay their legitimate obligations and meet the heavy item of ground rent, I show up an honourable example, and one worthy of imitation; but when I hear of clubs who have gathered ten, yea twenty times more than is required for such purposes, and even get handsome donations besides from their patrons, deep in debt at the end of the season, I begin to wonder where all the money has gone. I ask a young gentleman who has only lately become a member, and he tells me he knows nothing about the finance committee, but throws out grave hints about sordid motives and bare-faced applications for pecuniary assistance. In this respect clubs must be above suspicion, if they want the delightful game to hold its own and prosper. As a quid pro quo for this vicious practice, however, there is no game whose players are so charitable as those connected with Association Football. There is not a club in the Association that is not ready to play a "Charity Match," and far more has been given to the funds of charitable institutions by the actions of Association football clubs than all the other games in Scotland put together.

VII. – THE GREAT INTERNATIONAL;

OR,

NED DUNCAN'S DREAM

Scotland v. America, 1901

While on holidays, enjoying myself at a quiet and beautiful sea-side village on the shores of the Firth of Clyde, I received a note from a friend reminding me that an old football chum was still on the sick list, and making little or no progress towards recovery. In fact, his life, which had recently been enfeebled by an incurable malady, was slowly but surely drawing to a close. Last time I saw him he referred to the fact that he had some MS. which he wished Mr. John M'Dowall, his successor in the secretaryship of the S.F.A., and myself, to read over, and when this came into my mind I resolved to repair to Glasgow at once, ere it might be too late.

It was just as well that I did, for poor Ned Duncan was fast sinking when I got permission from his widowed mother to visit the bedside. Ned, I may mention, was one of the most enthusiastic players of his day that ever kicked a ball, but was obliged to give up practice in consequence of the unfortunate circumstances I have just mentioned, and of late had only been a spectator at the leading games. He received me that evening with a kind smile of recognition, and his pale face beckoned me to come near. I was certainly much touched with my old friend's appearance, and tried as much as possible to cheer him, but it was of no use.

He said he knew he was going to the silent land. The doctor, in fact, had told him he had only a few days to live, and he was glad I had come to bid him farewell, and take over some straggling notes he had compiled last summer about the football of the future. "Going home one evening," he continued, "after an International match, I fell into a deep sleep, and had a remarkable dream. I thought I saw a great match between Scotland and America. Real genuine players glided past, scrimmaging with each other for the ball; thousands of spectators, new and beautiful youthful faces, graced the area allotted to spectators; the hum of thousands of excited voices greeted my ears, and" – Here poor Ned's voice failed.

After a few minutes repose, the old player gasped, "But what need I tell you more. Here is the MS., and make what use of it you like."

My dear old friend is now under the turf he loved so well to play on when in the zenith of his fame.

Having eventually opened the packet, the first sentence which met my eyes was "Ned Duncan's Dream; or, The Great International of 1901."

I will, therefore, leave poor Ned to tell his own tale, and what he saw in his vision, which at any rate has the merit of originality about it. As more extraordinary dreams have come to pass, there is no saying what the beginning of the twentieth century may bring forth, for International football matches with Australia, America, and Canada have been talked of, and some of them even played, during the past year or two, and may become accomplished facts.

I must, however, return to the MS., which reads after the following style: —

"It was in April, 1901, on a Saturday afternoon, that the Yankees came to Scotland to play a match with our crack Eleven. The Universal Postal Service, which scattered letters all over the world at the rate of one half-penny per ounce, conveyed a formal challenge from the Americans to Scotland that the Yankees would be delighted to meet an eleven of that country in an even game of football. The New World men of course meant business, and our secretary, who was a capital fellow, much liked by the Scottish Football Association for his kind and obliging disposition, was instructed to accept the challenge and welcome the strangers to Glasgow.

"Previous to the time I speak of, the Americans had beaten the Australians and Canadians, and were considered by their own friends invincible even to the extent of a couple of goals. The Canadians, by the aid of the Electric Express Line's fast steamers, had been able to leave Montreal in the morning and return in the evening from New York, defeated but not disgraced. The Australians were a little longer on the way, as the improved appliances for driving ships had not yet attained that perfection there which had been shown in most of the ports and rivers of the British Isles. They were experimenting, however, and some good in that direction was looked for daily, and a new Express Company floated. The Americans had also beaten the Englishmen the previous year at New York, and, as their own newspapers had it, 'came over to crow in the Land o' Cakes.' The great shipping trade of the Clyde ere this was, so to speak, causing a new order of things to arise all over the world. Large and beautifully-built steel and bronze vessels left the Clyde every day for all parts of the earth.

"They had annihilated space and bridged the Atlantic in earnest, and the 'electrics' (once called steamers) could go from Glasgow to New York in little over twenty-four hours. Yes. 'Daily to New York, Montreal, California, and New Mexico. Splendid accommodation for first-class passengers: 120 knots per hour, and no vibration.' So read the advertisement in the leading Glasgow newspapers. Why! what did it all mean? One hundred knots per hour – 3000 in twenty-four hours! To New York in a day! I had certainly heard of the swallow taking an early breakfast at the uttermost part of England and picking up a late dinner on the shores of Africa, all in one day; but 120 knots an hour with an 'electric,' – it was just enough for flesh and blood to comprehend at once.

"'Well,' said a friend of mine with some experience in the marine engineering line, 'I have long thought on electricity as the great motive power of the future, provided it could be properly stored, and now you see what it has come to.'

"In fact, our coal supply – one of the sources of Britain's greatness – was getting exhausted, and electrical appliances had become an absolute necessity. The strain could no longer be borne of one huge vessel consuming 500 tons of coal in twenty-four hours, and those blessed electrics were not introduced a moment too soon.

"The learned men of France, who had long been working earnestly to solve the problem of electric economy, were beaten in the race, and a perfect system of stored electricity introduced and successfully applied to the propulsion of ships, patented by Professor Scotland Thomson, nephew of the late Sir William Thomson, of blessed memory.

"Lots of other remarkable events had been occurring in our history, but none so marked as the introduction of the 'electrics.' The people of Scotland had very nearly lost their individuality. Old Caledonia was to be simply a name. Englishmen invaded Glasgow, Edinburgh, Dundee, and even Ultima Thule, and overran the country with their ideas of social life. They made slow progress at first, but came in hordes, and the invasion was irresistible. They, of course, introduced all their newfangled ideas about games and pastimes, and compelled us to submit.

"Parliament had got so mixed up and thoroughly disgusted with the question of Irish Home Rule, which cropped up every session, that in an evil mood it had threatened puir all Scotland with assimilation of the Law of Jurisprudence, but failed. King Albert the First, however, had, out of respect to the great city of Glasgow – the Second City in the Empire – created his third son Duke of Glasgow, for you must know the House of Peers was still extant, but greatly reformed and limited in power. It could only veto a law passed by the Commons once, and there was no more about the matter.

"The match, you may be sure, was the general topic of conversation all over Scotland several weeks before it came off, and on the Friday evening, when the Americans arrived and put up at the Express Hotel, Glasgow, the excitement was great. The preparations and arrangements for the struggle were on a grand scale, and good weather alone was wanting to make it a success. That evening several of the Scotch team strolled into the billiard-room of the Express Hotel to welcome the young Americans, and had a chat with them about football in general, and the spread of the rules all over the world.

"The eventful day at last dawned, and a finer April morning could not have been desired. Play was announced to begin at 3.30 p.m., and long before that time Bruce Park, Cathcart Road, was half-filled with spectators, and presented a fine sight.

"The crowd around the field was certainly the most remarkable that had ever gathered together in Glasgow. As the game was no ordinary one, they flocked from all quarters. Most of the towns in Scotland supplied their quota to swell the multitude, and as railway travelling was cheap and convenient now compared to the original football days of the Queen's Park, Clydesdale, Vale of Leven, Rangers, Dumbarton, Granville, 3rd Lanark Volunteers, Partick, Clyde, Alexandra Athletic (of which poor Duncan was hon. secy.), and a host of other clubs, a two-hundred-mile journey, which was easily accomplished in an hour, was considered next to nothing. They were there – young men and maidens from London, Manchester, Liverpool, Edinburgh, Blackburn, Darwen, Bolton, and Sheffield – all bent on making a day of it. The road to Bruce Park, indeed, was a sight to see, despite the fact that the Cathcart Railway carried its thousands that afternoon to the south-side. There were not a few buxom country girls in the crowd, enticed thither by no great love of the game – which, of course, they did not understand – but by their sweethearts, just to let the young persons of the place see that they had lads as well as their neighbours. There was one winsome lassie among them, however, who would have done credit to Burns' incomparable 'Queen o' the Glen.'

"Emma was the only sister of a young farmer in the district. It is a mistaken notion to suppose that farmers in Scotland are by far too plodding a class to indulge themselves in anything savouring of English games and pastimes, particularly football, but this is a mistake. I know several farmers in the country who love the dribbling game dearly, and do their best to promote its interests in the way of supplying ground to not a few young clubs dotted over the country. In fact, Emma was the beauty of the whole parish, and all the young men for miles around were well aware of it. No one could deny it, and even the most unreasonable of fellows, Charley M'Gowan, the schoolmaster, and Alfred Walker, the lawyer's clerk, were forced to acknowledge it.

"'Talk about Sydney's heavenly Geraldine,' said young M'Gowan to me one afternoon on the road to practice, 'she beats her hollow.' M'Gowan, however, was a bit of a cynic, and Emma soon cast him off for Walker. He was a fine singer, and in after years, when he became a confirmed bachelor, delighted to sing songs about the inconstancy of the fair sex. He used to hum out Gœthe's 'Vanatos,' and more particularly that verse with reference to the fickle fair ones, which ran

"'I set my heart upon woman next —Hurrah!For her sweet sake was oft perplexed;But ah!The false one looked for a daintier lot —The constant one wearied me out and out —The best was not easily got.'

The Yankees, however, had a high opinion of our feminine beauty, and the impressions made on the gallant youths that Saturday afternoon were of the most favourable order. The Romans, in fact, were not more captivated with the beauty of the Sabean maidens than were the young Americans with the lovely Scottish girls who gave them such a hearty reception at Bruce Park in April, 1901.