Me and Bobby Moore (A radio play)

SCENE 1

ELVIS PRESLEY'S 'MYSTERY TRAIN' FADES IN, THEN DISSOLVES INTO QUICK EDITS OF THE 1966 BBC WORLD CUP FINAL COMMENTARY. THIS THEN DISSOLVES INTO THE GENERAL NOISE OF FENCHURCH STREET RAILWAY STATION IN THE YEAR 2005. FADE.

RALPH: I met Bobby Moore in the winter of 1986, in a single compartment on the last train from Fenchurch Street to Southend. I was in my early twenties and on my way back to my harsh hometown. Basildon.

I'd been at work that night, sitting in the dark pressing brightly-lit green buttons and pushing faders up and down. I was the sound effects man for an overwrought West End play that the press reckoned would not last a month. They were wrong. It closed after less than a fortnight. The leading actor was a hard man in Hollywood but a pussycat on the screaming streets of Soho. He did a nippy runner back to his swimming pool. I hated that job, but I needed the money. I still need the money, but these days, I tell other players to press buttons and tweak lights. I run my own theatre now. I am a captain.

They don't have single compartments on trains any more. The slashed-up seats have gone, the muddy windows, the sodium, mustard nightlights. The smell of damp. These days, they pack us in like sardines and tell us it's safer. But that night, it was just Bobby and me, rolling into the Essex badlands.

I was fed up and tired, living with a constant, nagging fear that I might never get out of my mum and dad's crumbling council house. My poor dad. Coughing and spluttering all over the place even then. Too many years on building sites, too much dust, too many fatty breakfasts in smoky greasy spoons. He spent most of his days in the bookies, trying to ease the drone of everyday life. He still bets on the horses, but now he does it lying on the couch in the sitting room, phone in his hand, ventilator by his side. He still hasn't worked out it's a mug's game. I don't know how my Mum ever put up with it.

I fished in my bag for my book. I can't remember who it was by, maybe Stephen King or James Herbert. Scaring myself was the only way to stay awake. I'd missed my stop too many times, wound up freezing cold and disorientated in the sidings at Shoeburyness with hours to wait for the first train back in the morning.

SCENE 2
THE SOUND OF A TRAIN SLOWLY LEAVING A STATION, A CARRIAGE DOOR OPENING THEN SLAMMING SHUT.

RALPH: The crack of the door slamming made me jump. I was a bit annoyed, to tell you the truth. These city wide boys with their personal organisers and their computers and their last ones for the road.

I might have aimed a sneer at him as he sat down opposite me. I hope I didn't. He gave me a smile, a shrug and a sigh. I noticed he had good teeth and a smart suit. God, I thought, these banker types earn a fortune, why don't they buy themselves decent watches and get to their trains on time? I went back to my book. It was starting to rain heavily, scoring the windows.

THE SOUND OF THE TRAIN GATHERING SPEED.

BOBBY MOORE: Excuse me, son. Where are you getting off?
RALPH: Basildon.
BOBBY MOORE: That's a shame. I was hoping you'd wake me up before Southend.
RALPH: Sorry.

I tried to read my book, but the words weren't making sense. The harder I stared at the page, the more they seemed to twist about and jumble up. I had mild dyslexia but I'd worked hard at that with reading practice and special techniques. I thought I'd got over that. Maybe it was just tiredness. I rubbed my eyes, screwed them up, opened them wide, but the words went on jumping and bouncing around.

It occurred to me I must look a right idiot and I glanced quickly at the banker bloke to see if he thought I was a nutter. He was dozing, thank God. He gave out a little snore. I looked at him more carefully. He had blonde hair, blue eyes and a leathery tan. The penny dropped and so did my jaw. I became short of breath, cold. That was Bobby Moore sitting there. Bloody Bobby Moore.

SCENE 3

EDIT OF THE 1970 ENGLAND WORLD CUP SQUAD SINGING 'BACK HOME'.

RALPH: Bobby Moore is one of my heroes, one of all our heroes. He lifted the World Cup. 1966 and all that. And here he was, here, sitting in front of me in a black suit, a white shirt, a silver tie loose around his neck. I rubbed my eyes again.

He was a bit overweight, I thought. He always enjoyed the good life to the full, hanging around with Greavsie and his West Ham cohorts in East End bars and clubs in the sixties. The original cockney brat pack. What a laugh that must have been.

He seemed to be having a bit of fun now, as well. Bobby was manager of Southend United. He wasn't doing very well, to be honest. Results were poor, the team limp. The fans didn't seem to mind, though. Bobby was a World Cup Winner. A national icon. He would deliver the goods sooner or later. He was gone by the end of the season.

Bobby Moore. I worshipped him. My first live memory of him was the 1970 World Cup in Mexico. My dad bought a colour television especially for the occasion. I was only six at the time, but it's scrawled on my mind like an Etch-a-Sketch. The pictures being beamed back from Mexico came in luminous hues ' green and yellow, red and white. My dad let me and my brother Roger watch most of the games. We sat on the sofa eating biscuits, drinking pot after pot of sweet tea regimentally brewed by my mum. School did not matter, nor did trying to impress girls with acts of pathetic toughness. This was the World Cup of them all. The ignition of the beautiful game.

I remember the build-up, the mass excitement, the souvenir ESSO coin collection. My dad had never filled up his Vauxhall Viva with so much petrol. Roger and me got the whole set. We had loads of doubles and traded the spares for 'Panini Mexico 70' stickers. We had a whole set of them as well. We managed to complete both sets with over a week to go to the beginning of the tournament. I kept my Bobby spares. I've still got them somewhere.

SCENE 4

SOUND OF SCHOOL PLAYGROUND

RALPH: I'll swap you Jeff Astle for your Riva and your Pele.
SCHOOL KID: Give me your Alan Mullery as well.
RALPH: Nah, I'll throw in Peter Bonetti.
SCHOOL KID: Not Bonetti, he's rubbish, he's only the reserve keeper and he plays for Chelsea.
ROGER: Oi! What's wrong with Chelsea? We've just won the FA Cup! (sings) 'Blue is the Colour. Football is the game.' Give 'em here. It's Jeff Astle or nothing.

RALPH: The excitement and anticipation were terrible. Just days before the kick-off, the papers and the telly said Bobby had been arrested for stealing a bracelet in Colombia. I was upset, heartbroken. Not Bobby Moore, he'd won the World Cup for crying out loud. My Dad reckoned that he did it and that upset my brother and me even more.

DAD: He handed it to Charlton, like one of his passes. You can take the boy out of the East End but you can't take the East End out of the boy.
RALPH AND ROGER: No he didn't, Dad. He's the England captain!
DAD: He did it, I'm telling you.
MUM: Leave it Frank, you're upsetting them.
DAD: They're got to learn that everything in this world ain't crystal clear.

SCENE 5

SOUND OF TRAIN PULLING INTO STATION

RALPH: The train pulled into Barking. Bobby was still asleep, but I'm sure one of his eyes opened as we sped past Upton Park. I was scared that someone else was going to get in our carriage, because that is what it had become, ours, no one else's. It was just me and Bobby Moore.

SOUND OF TRAIN PULLING OUT OF STATION

I couldn't read, there was no chance of that now. The memories came flooding back. That great match against Brazil. Bobby's perfectly-timed interceptions of Pele, Jarzinho and Paulo Cezar, then Gordon Banks's wonder save from the greatest player ever to walk onto a football pitch. That beautifully-placed header had my dad jumping up in the air:

DAD: Bloody hell! That's not natural! How did he keep that one out? I've never seen anything like it.
RALPH AND ROGER: Come on England!
MUM: Anyone want a cup of tea?
RALPH: Although England lost 1-0, it was a great game. Good enough to be the final, they said afterwards. The image of Bobby and Pele swapping shirts at full time is always there.

The quarter-finals were a disaster. We were 2-0 up, then we got knackered. Gerd Muller stitched us right up. Banksie got food poisoning so Peter Bonetti went in goal. Jeff Astle missed a sitter. They were both rubbish.

DAD: Should never have been in the squad, either of them. A bloody liability.
RALPH: None of those Chelsea players are any good. They were lucky to win the FA Cup.
ROGER: (snivelling) Leave him alone! It wasn't his fault! Astle doesn't play for us, we wouldn't touch him with a bargepole.
MUM: Stop it, you two. Stop picking on Roger. Come here dear, I'll make you a nice cup of tea with three sugars.

RALPH: Brazil were wonderful in that World Cup, perhaps the best team ever. The way they played against Italy in the final was like a ballet. The final pass by Pele to Carlos Alberto for the fourth goal was football poetry. My dad was thrilled; he backed them before the tournament and was quid's in.

SCENE 6
SOUND OF TRAIN PULLING INTO STATION AND THEN OUT

RALPH: There were only two stations to go before Basildon. I did not know what to do. I could have woken Bobby Moore up and asked for his autograph, but I didn't. I let him doze. No one got in our carriage. I stared at him. I was lost in the past.

My brother Roger is Chelsea through and through. He's on cloud nine at the moment; Premiership champions, a flash manager and money to burn. West Ham are all right though, promoted. I don't think they will last though. One season and we'll be down again, back playing in the backwaters. We've always supported these teams, plus Southend United, of course.

One Christmas it snowed. We both got football kits as presents. We put them on straight away and went outside to play. It was freezing and the snow was falling around us in great white lumps. We decided to have a one-a-side match with Roger's new leather ball. I had my West Ham shirt firmly tucked into my shorts like Bobby Moore and Roger had his hanging out as a tribute to Peter Osgood. My dad went in goal. We fell all over the place. Brilliant. I lost 6-2.

ROGER: Dad. Ralph was offside for both of his goals.
DAD: How could he have been? There's only two of you.
ROGER: Well he's goal hanging, then.
DAD: Shut up, you prannie. Right then! Who wants a snowball down their shorts?
ROGER AND RALPH: No, Dad! No!
MUM: Oi! You lot, come in, you'll catch your death. Frank, you have to carve the turkey and don't eat it as you go along. I'll make you two cautions a hot cuppa. Look at the state of you both. Ralph, if you throw that snowball at me, I'll force the brussels sprouts down you. Do you hear me? Right. You're getting double helpings. Don't look at me like that, young man, I'm not joking.

RALPH: I had a cold that lasted to New Year's Day.

SCENE 7
THE SOUND OF A FOOTBALL CROWD CHANTING AND SINGING 'I'M FOREVER BLOWING BUBBLES'.

RALPH: I only once saw Bobby Moore play in the flesh. It was a treat for my seventh birthday. It was the 20th March 1971. West Ham against Ipswich Town. I remember the crowd, the singing, the utter excitement and fear. Me, Dad and Roger stood in the North Bank. I could only see little bits of the game. I saw Bobby Moore though, stroking the ball to Clyde Best, tackling Whymark off the pitch, quietly instructing his defenders. It was a 2-2 draw and when West Ham scored the crowd surged forward. My dad lifted both Roger and me in his arms and we cheered and cheered. We sang 'I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles' in the car on the way home and we took Mum out for fish and chips. It was a great day.

SCENE 8
SOUND OF TRAIN STOPPING

RALPH: The train stopped in-between stations. It must have been a red light signal. The rain was lashing against the windows. It was black out there, the wind howling and swooping. Bobby Moore was still asleep, wearing a frown. I looked at him. This man was one of the finest players of all time, intelligent, cool, articulate. Why on earth was he running a club like Southend United? Why wasn't his skill being used on a higher level? He should have been an ambassador for the sport at the very least. What a waste of real talent.

Although I only went to the Hammers once when I was a kid, we used to go and see Southend United as often as we could. The Shrimpers had to play their home matches on Friday nights because they had a market in the Roots Hall car park on Saturdays.

My Dad would come home from work all filthy and ragged. He'd take his time washing, changing his clothes, eating his dinner, opening his newspaper. We'd hover round the kitchen, hoping for the magic words. Dad knew the agony he was putting us through. It wasn't till years later I realised he enjoyed it. He'd fold the paper up and push his plate away. He'd look around the room for what seemed forever and then say:

DAD: Let's go, boys.

RALPH: Our coats were on and we were out the front door into the night.
The journeys to the stadium were great. We had to get there by kick-off and Dad drove like a madman. He'd shout at other drivers who got in front of him:

DAD: Get out the way, you stupid prat.

RALPH: Once inside the stadium he'd buy us a meat pie and a can of tepid cola each. The pies were always burnt. The games were important, but now I realise they were not as important as the three of us huddled together chanting:

DAD, RALPH AND ROGER: COME ON YOU BLUES.

RALPH: Through rain, snow and gale force winds we were always there. Win, lose or draw.

Dad drove even faster on the way home. He'd stop at the local dog track just in time for the last race. He'd get out of the car and vanish for about ten minutes. Roger and me would be left alone with our bobble hats and crumpled programmes. When he returned he'd sometimes be laughing and sometimes swearing. One night he came back and he was crying. After that night we never went to see the Blues again.

DAD: (crying) I'm a useless man, boys, I've spent all the money, all of it.
ROGER: Can we have some chips, Dad?

SCENE 9

THE SOUND OF THE TRAIN BEGINNING TO MOVE AGAIN. EDIT OF THE BBC DAVID COLEMAN COMMENTARY OF THE ENGLAND 1973 WORLD CUP QUALIFIER AGAINST POLAND. ABRUPT FADE OUT ON THE LINE 'BOBBY MOORE, HE WAS TOO CASUAL.'

RALPH: That was a game. England v Poland. They did us 2-0 in Warsaw. Bobby had a nightmare, was at fault for one of the goals. He did not even play in the return at Wembley. He was injured. Some people say he was dropped but I've never believed that. Sir Alf would never do that. We had to do them to qualify. We didn't; it was a 1-1 draw. Their goalkeeper Jan Tomaszewski saved everything that night. He was amazing, as good as Banksie.

DAD: He's got a magnet for hands, that one.
RALPH: Can we do it, Dad? Can we?
DAD: Not if we don't get a move on we won't.
RALPH: We need Bobby, Dad.
DAD: He got us into this mess in Warsaw.
ROGER: Yeah, did a Bonetti didn't he?
RALPH: At least we won something with him. Bonetti ain't even English, he's Italian.
MUM: I'm not making any tea. I'm having a brandy. You'll have to make your own.

SCENE 10
SOUND OF TRAIN STOPPING AGAIN

RALPH: I wanted to wake him up, have a chat with him, tell him he was my hero, but he might have thought that I was just some nutter on the train.

Bobby only played one more game for England, a friendly against Italy. Don Revie took over as manager and that was that. Bobby went to play for Fulham and played in the FA Cup final in 1976 agaist the Hammers. West Ham won 2-0. I wanted Fulham to do it, for Bobby to do it, just to show them. A nothing friendly against Italy. What a way to end it all. Bobby Moore was never treated right, England did not know what they had until it was too late. Pele, Eusabio and Maradona are regarded as saints; why wasn't he?

I broke my leg on a day that England played Italy. It was a different match from Bobby's sad farewell, though. Another World Cup qualifier that we lost 2-0 in Rome. It was 1976 and I was twelve years old.

I'd been at football training at the school sports hall and I crashed my leg on a radiator pipe. I was in agony. I knew the bone was sticking out from my shin under my socks and pads. My dad was there. He always came to training.

ECHO SOUND OF INDOOR SPORTS HALL ACTIVITY

DAD: Get up and walk, Ralph.
RALPH: I can't, Dad, it really hurts.
DAD: Get up, you baby. You're embarrassing me.
RALPH: Arrggghhhh!

Dad made me walk out. I managed a few steps and then I fainted. I was in hospital for a week and I missed a lot of school. He said he was sorry a million times but I never believed him, it sounded half-hearted and hollow. I know different now. It took me years to forgive him.

We drifted apart after I left school and went to work. There were awkward silences and stilted conversation when we were together. We're both ashamed of it. We let each other down.

SOUND OF TRAIN MOVING

My brother Roger went on to have trials for Arsenal and Southend United. He was good, but never had the drive. He's married with kids now and goes to see the Chelsea as much as he can. Lucky bugger.

SCENE 11

SOUND OF TRAIN SLOWING

I was in tears as the train pulled into Basildon. Bobby Moore was sitting right across from me. I put my book back in my bag and got up to leave.

BOBBY MOORE: Is this Southend, son?
RALPH: No it's Basildon, Bobby. It's my stop.
BOBBY MOORE: No worries. Be seeing you then, son. Look after yourself.
RALPH: (Crying) You were the greatest, Bobby. Are the greatest. Thanks for everything. The World Cup, the tackle, all those games. You didn't steal that bracelet and if you'd played in the Wembley game against Poland we would have qualified. We would have, I know we would have. You were even good in Escape to Victory.
BOBBY MOORE: Thanks. You all right, son?
RALPH: Yes, just a bit emotional, that's all.
BOBBY MOORE. Here, have this handkerchief.
RALPH: Thanks, Bobby.
BOBBY MOORE: As I said, look after yourself, son.

SCENE 12

SOUND OF TRAIN DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING

RALPH: I stepped off the train and shut the door. I stood on the platform and waved to him as it left. I walked home and when I got indoors I woke my dad up and told him what had happened. We had not spoken in a while. He came downstairs, and so did Mum and Roger. It was way past midnight
DAD: You never.
RALPH: I did.
ROGER: Did you get his autograph?
RALPH No, but he gave me this.
ROGER: A handkerchief? Is it clean?
DAD: I once saw him play in goal against Stoke City. The goalkeeper got sent off and he had to go in.
RALPH: He was the greatest, Dad, the best we ever had.
DAD: He was the greatest, Ralph. A bit like you, son.

PAUSE

MUM: I'll put the kettle on; make us all a nice cup of tea.

SOUND OF TRAIN

RALPH: And that's where I'm going now. It's the summer of 2005. I'm going to have a cup of tea with me mum and dad and a bit of a chat. I go every week now, even though I live in London. I like them. We have a nice time.

Bobby Moore died in 1993. I think of him every time I get the train back to Basildon. There are a lot worse things you could ponder.

ELVIS PRESLEY'S 'MYSTERY TRAIN' FADES IN.

THE END