Totally Frank: The Autobiography of Frank Lampard

It was very annoying. Like most kids, at one stage I really had the hump with school but I am thankful for what I experienced there and I made a lot of friends. My view of the world is a lot more rounded than it might have been and I think Brentwood played a big part in that.

On the whole, I was a pretty good student. There were a few minor scrapes that every kid has, though bizarrely the only real problem I had was the fact that I made the football first XI when I was in fourth year. A few of the older boys resented me for it. I was still just a young kid but I was good enough to play and I think some of the others were hoping I would fall on my face.

I didn’t. They let me know how they felt at the end-of-year school dance when a couple of the older lads sauntered up to me to ask what I was doing there. It was more of a threat than an invitation to explain so I ignored them. I had done nothing wrong except put a few noses out of joint by being good at football. I was punching above my weight – something I have done most of my life.

The teacher in charge of our school team was a nice guy from Oldham called Chris Boukley and he took me under his wing and encouraged me to play even when the older lads were trying to intimidate me. Some kids tried to make an issue of my background being different to theirs but I had my own group of friends and I wasn’t the only kid from ‘new money’. There were quite a lot of us at Brentwood, and at football we used to play away games at the really posh schools like Eton. It was a very different world to mine. There were children from very wealthy and privileged families at my school but it was nothing like Eton.

You find your own way and make your own society in those kind of situations and I didn’t hang out much with that crowd. We talked about politics and history but we still played football at lunchtime. I enjoyed learning but football was still my main ambition in life. Having to attend lessons on Saturday was difficult for me as was the fact that I played for the school team but was also playing at youth level for West Ham. It was only a matter of time before the two would clash. When they did, it was spectacular and the fallout was excruciating.

Dad bunked me off school so I could play an FA Youth Cup tie for West Ham. I never really thought much of it at the time. I was desperate to play of course and presumed I could get away with it. Anyway, my Dad was taking me. I played, we won the match and had a good game. Perfect, I thought. Wrong. I went to school the next day and there was a horrible buzz going about that I had been found out. The school team had also had a game the day before – the quarter-final of a cup competition. They lost, turning my absence into a major scandal when it might have been a minor irritation.

I sat in class like a condemned man waiting to be sentenced. I was guilty all right and if anyone doubted it they only had to look at my face. I was hoping for the best but knew it was a real issue when the headmaster marched into the room and shouted ‘Lampard! Come with me.’

I was taken to his office and sat there ashamed and silent. He fetched a copy of the local paper and spread it in front of me. I was puzzled. Then I noticed a photograph of me playing for West Ham in all my glory. There goes my excuse that I was sick then. They took truancy very seriously, as they did loyalty and responsibility to the school and your fellow pupils. He told me that I had let down the school, my team-mates and myself. He didn’t need to rub my face in it. I knew already. Worse was to come. He sent me to see Mr Boukley to apologize.

I really liked him. He had paid me a lot of attention when I first arrived and had made me feel like I could succeed even when I had doubted myself. I was dreading the meeting. Of all the people that the headmaster had pointed out that I had disappointed he was the one I felt worst about. The rebuke was pretty brief but I was upset with myself after I saw Mr Boukley.

I was also pissed off that I got two hours’ detention on Saturday afternoon – the worst possible. They made me write an essay that might teach me a valuable lesson: ‘How Loyalty is More Important than Self-Interest’. I thought about it for a while and decided that I could be clever too: ‘It’s true, loyalty is very important but sometimes you have to look after your own interests because no one will do it for you,’ was my conclusion. I was quite pleased with myself. My teacher, however, didn’t find it so entertaining and got the right hump.

As far as the academic side went, I studied pretty hard while I was there. I was no fool and I guess the desire to succeed came across in class as well. I got ten GCSEs – an A+ in Latin, three As, five Bs and one C – grades I needed to go on and study for my A levels. The school tried to put a case to me that I should stay on and I was promised that I would captain the football first XI. Mr Boukley made the point that it would be good for me regardless of my football ambitions to get a sound academic base. I could get my A levels and still go on to play football afterwards.

I thought long and hard about it. I got good grades in my exams and enjoyed studying French and Spanish. I went home and spoke to Dad. I had known for a couple of months that there was an apprenticeship for me at West Ham and that seemed the obvious thing to do. More than anything I wanted to play football, to be a footballer. But, when it was put to me that I should continue learning, it did turn my head.

My Dad turned it back. He was adamant I should take up the offer at West Ham. I didn’t need that much persuading. I think I might have got bored with school. I wanted to play football more and more. I entertained the idea of staying on just in case I didn’t make it in football and ironically, that was partly because all my life my Dad had told me how hard it was to become a professional player. It was what I had always wanted. It’s true that when the school offered me a different option I wavered a bit but not enough. Dad was very clear: if I didn’t do my apprenticeship then I wouldn’t learn the real basics of the game. You need to know the background in football even when it means scraping the mud off of other people’s boots and scrubbing the dressing room floor. Hardly the glamour of the professional game but essential.

It’s easy for me to say I have no regrets. I don’t. A lot of my mates went to a rival school and they went on and did A levels and then on to university. I have more experience now and I can honestly say that I’m not a great believer in further education for subjects other than science and technical ones. The likes of medicine and law are essential and clear about what they aim to achieve. I don’t mean to sound snobby or judgmental but I went and stayed with some mates when they were at university and I didn’t like the way they were living. There seemed to be a lot of time spent doing very little and experimenting with smoking dope and stuff and I have to admit that on that basis I wouldn’t necessarily send my kids to university.

A lot of them didn’t know what they wanted to do when they went to university and changed their minds a few times in the process. I realize that higher education can be of great benefit and is quite a privilege but I also think it can be a bit of a waste of time unless you apply yourself. It can also give you bad habits in life. I have this argument, even now, with my mate Billy Jenkins who spent five years at Durham University. We have known each other since we were five – he is the son of the former West Ham physio Rob Jenkins and we’ve always been close.

School was definitely enough for me as far as that academy was concerned. It was a positive experience and it gave me confidence as a person. Now I have an interest in the front of the newspapers – in politics and world affairs – as well as the back pages and football.

When I was a young professional I looked at players who had more to offer than just the stereotypical image of someone who is not very bright but earns a lot of money. I realized that people respect you if you have a bit more substance, if you are more than just another football player. It’s important to be aware of more than football but unfortunately in our profession life can be very sheltered and being ignorant of the world is easy.

You get some kids who can’t handle those who speak in a different way from them and react badly. I like to hold my own in conversation about politics and have been up until five in the morning with some of my mates arguing the issues of the day like Tony Blair’s policies or the war in Iraq. I enjoy that kind of banter as well as all the football kind and I make no apology to anyone about the fact that I have interests which extend beyond training and ninety minutes of football. When I speak in public I am confident and, I like to think, quite articulate. For a footballer, that can be quite unusual. There is an unfortunate image of footballers – particularly some of the younger ones – as people who can barely string a sentence together. That may work okay in the dressing room but football is an integral part of society and maybe the clubs and the FA could take more responsibility for their younger players and the way they present themselves.

The schooling I had made me more fortunate but I still had to apply myself. My parents were not so lucky, though just as I had Dad as my football role model, he had one also. His grandad was a player in the army and so was his Uncle George. Dad was brought up with football and even as a five-year-old was playing with boys who were nine. It was part of the culture. Where he came from there were only three career options for any lad making his way in the world. You could work in Tate and Lyle’s sugar refinery in the docks at Silvertown, you could live off your wits making money where you could, or you could become a professional footballer. Those were the only ways to better yourself and he decided at a young age that he wanted to be a footballer. He, like me, was frightened that he might not make it. At 15 he signed for West Ham when all his mates went to work in the docks. He earned £5 per week which was the same as those who were carrying sacks for a living.

The single-mindedness and determination which I have developed in my life and career were there in Dad. Even when he was a youth and might have been able to get away with going out for a beer with his friends, he would stop himself from the temptation because football was too important.

I had a different upbringing but we both took the decision very early in our lives that we wanted to make a career in football. He has always impressed on me the importance of doing things right, of being dedicated to achieve success. A lot of professional players whose Dads were also pros would be lying if they said they were not hard done by as children in terms of the way they were pushed.

I was pushed and Dad has never denied that. I always responded to his demands of me, not always in the way he wanted but he has a knack of knowing how to get the best out of me. He has put me through some really rough times. He never shied away from criticizing my performances and there have been occasions when I think he went too far. He admits that too. There have been screaming matches after games – times when he has had to drop me home and then go off to walk around the park near the house to calm down because things got out of hand between us in the car.

The worst I remember was after a defeat when I was about 14. We had a furious argument about the game and how I had played. I don’t recall the detail but when we got back I was in tears. He tried to calm me down and took me to Gidea Park and we walked for about twenty minutes. He could see I was inconsolable and knew my Mum would bollock him when she saw me in that state. I managed to breathe deeply and got rid of the tears and we went back to the house.

Of course, there was no point in trying to hide it. Mum could sense there was something wrong but I ran to the bathroom, locked the door and got in the bath. I couldn’t contain myself and was crying my heart out. I was still sobbing half an hour later. Mum has always been very perceptive in how best to handle me in situations like that. She knew there had been an almighty row and left me to get it out of my system before coming to talk to me. Eventually I emerged and she calmed me down. It wasn’t just about what had happened in that particular match. At that time I was plagued by the insecurity that I might not make it in football.

Being told by Dad that I had played crap was bad enough. But being told every single fault in your performance by someone who had made it and knew what it took was worse. Mum helped me a lot in that respect and however substantial the debt I have to my Dad in helping me in my career I owe just as much to her for picking me up when I was down. She knows what to say and when. When to leave me alone to figure things out for myself and the right moment to reassure me when situations seem impossible. I don’t blame my Dad for what he did. I know it was for the right reasons: for me, to make sure that I achieved my potential and realized my ambitions.

I also think some of what drove him to push me so hard was the fact that his Dad was not around to motivate him in the same way. His father was killed when he was only two years old when the truck he was in was involved in an accident with a bus about half a mile from where they lived. His grandad replaced his Dad as the male figure in his life, aided by his Uncle Ken. The insecurity which he suffered about whether or not he would make the grade came from not having his father around. Ironically, some of mine came from my Dad always being there.

My Mum is the counterbalance. She has a way about her that makes her capable of coping with anything. She has seen me take all kinds of vile abuse from supporters as well as achieve a lot of success but she is very down to earth and calm and has maintained the same level through all of it. When it’s been bad she has been there with the right kind of support. There have been times when I was younger when I would have a bad game and my Dad was too harsh on me – partly because he was such a strong character. Mum could provide balance with the right words and when things were going badly at West Ham she heard a lot and but never let on and always tried to shield me from it.

She is the ultimate proud Mum who is very protective of me and I can only imagine how hard it’s been for her on occasions when people have been slagging me off around her and she has had to bite her tongue and remain dignified. I have needed that in my life as much as I have been lucky to have Dad to teach me and drive me on in my career.

Dad is very thick-skinned and you need that to be a professional footballer. I have a bit of that in me but I have my Mum’s nature which makes me a bit more sensitive in certain circumstances. We have both learned to develop a stronger side to our personality especially through everything that happened at West Ham and that has made the bond between us stronger.

The fact that I have two sisters who have also enjoyed the same levels of support and affection that I have makes me wonder even more at just how Mum achieves it. My sisters Natalie and Claire and I are very close. We had our childhood skirmishes the same as every family but they are both older than me and were very protective towards me when we were teenagers. Despite winding me up and calling me Wurzel Gummidge when I first spiked my hair, they would look after me when I first started to socialize in Essex.

Only four years separate the three of us but that felt like a big gap when I was about 12 and hated everything about the female race. All I wanted was to kick a ball around which was very annoying for two girls who were becoming young women. And they let me know it.

We all lived at home for a long time and while we would get on each other’s nerves at times my childhood was quite ordinary but also idyllic. We did everything together. Christmas is a very special time for everyone and in our house we always had my grandparents round and it just felt right. Actually, it felt like that on any given Sunday when Mum had all of us for dinner.

That was part of her secret. No matter the arguments or fall-outs, and no matter who they were between, Mum knew the importance of bringing us all together. Every night the Lampards would sit down and eat dinner at the same time. Every night. There were some exceptions but no excuses. It worked.

As I grew up I began to appreciate Natalie and Claire more. They were very understanding towards me even though I could often be the annoying little brother. Because of the football and, I suppose, because I was the only son, Dad had always paid me a lot of attention. He was great with them too but there must have been times when they felt a bit left out. Remarkably, Mum would mediate and negotiate through all of this.

I’m glad they persevered with me and I distinctly remember my feelings change towards them when I was 15. There is a time when most boys finally start to appreciate their sisters for who they are. I did and fell in love with them. After that, there hasn’t been a moment when I have not felt their love and support. Not once.

As the youngest in the family, I looked up to them and respected them and I was lucky that I learned how much it meant to have them at quite a young age. Natalie can be quite combative and there were a few instances when she got involved with punters at West Ham when they were slagging me off. It’s not just fans though. She loves football and has very strong opinions and it’s not unusual for her to call me after an England game and say ‘Why did Eriksson take you off when so and so was s***?’

We are lucky because we still spend a lot of time together with our partners and our children and the environment we grew up in has very much continued and grown bigger. Mum has been the central figure in our family life and still is now with the grandchildren whom she is very much involved with.

Life, however, can become quite heated at times in a family which is as competitive as ours but she is a very calming influence. If I have had a bad game then I would always call Mum whereas I don’t want to speak to Dad. He will only tell me the things that I did wrong and I punish myself enough for them. Not with Mum. She might not even talk about football with me but having a conversation with her just helps me get some balance back. It’s not that she doesn’t have an opinion or isn’t passionate about my football. I know that she has had arguments with Harry if I wasn’t playing at West Ham. They wouldn’t be straightforward ‘Why’s my boy not getting a game?’ either. She was more subtle than that. She would just throw in a remark about some other midfielder who maybe wasn’t playing so well and Harry would suddenly pick up what she was getting at. She wasn’t alone. One evening her Dad – Pop to me – was at Harry’s house for dinner at a time when I wasn’t getting a game. Pop had been talking football with Harry and working his way towards the subject of me and why I wasn’t in the team. Eventually, he ran out of patience and asked outright.

‘So Harry, why’s young Frank not getting a game at the moment?’ Pop asked.

‘Because I say so, that’s why. He’s not Maradona, your grandson,’ Harry replied.

I quite liked Harry’s comeback. Hearing those stories helps me better understand the emotion involved for every one of my family when it comes to football. I don’t hold any grudges. Far from it. It makes me proud that I come from stock which is so passionate about football and is not afraid to express it. With Pop I can see where Mum got her sharp wit and she can be equally blunt as Pop when she chooses to be.

We were sitting at a table in the Royal Lancaster Hotel the night I was named Football Writers’ Player of the Year in 2005 and a journalist who had been particularly nasty in print about me during my first year at Chelsea was sitting talking to her. He was saying how well I had done and so on. She listened politely, nodding her head in appreciation until he had finished and then just cut him down with one sentence: ‘You didn’t always say that about him though did you?’

It’s not in my nature to be confrontational. It’s not in her’s either but when it comes to protecting her children she will do whatever she judges to be right. I have only ever had one row with Mum. We were in a shopping centre and I was being a little brat, wanting to do something that she didn’t. We had words and fell out for about twenty minutes until I went crying to her saying that I didn’t want to row with her anymore. And we haven’t since, not even in the worst moments when I have done something stupid or am being stubborn. When the News of the World published the story of me and a few other players cavorting on video with some girls while on holiday in Ayia Napa my Mum didn’t shout at me. Dad did. He came down on me like a ton of bricks though I couldn’t tell you what he said. But I do remember very clearly what happened with Mum.

I was sitting in the bathroom of my flat feeling sick as a dog and sorry for myself. Mum phoned and said that footballers who get involved in stuff like this end up in the gutter with their career down the drain. She was very emotional, not crying but I could tell how upset she was from the tone of her voice. I can honestly say that her reaction had more effect on me than anything else about the whole business.

I am very proud of what I have inherited from my parents. My Mum’s perception, humanity and sensitivity have helped me become the person I am whereas I would never have become a footballer had it not been for my Dad’s ambition, hard work and vision. You need to find the middle ground.

I was always worried that I might not make it and it gives me extra pleasure now knowing what I have achieved. I knew I would never lose the tag of ‘somebody’s son, somebody’s nephew’ while I was at Upton Park. It’s hard enough to emerge from the shadow of other people when it’s just your team-mates and peers.

I was always measured against my own flesh and blood but I feel differently now. I know how proud my family are of me. And, just as important, how proud I am of them.

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