We were sad to hear of the
passing of Ralph Hopkins aged 86. Ralph had been ill for some time and attended
only a handful of matches in the past decade. Ralph was a real gentleman
and a very interesting person to talk to. He was a voluntary DJ on a hospital radio
for many years as the picture below shows.
On matchdays at Champion
Hill Ralph always arrived early to collate the programme alongside John
Lawrence and Bill Kirby. He also contributed regular articles to the Hamlet Historian
magazine, from which the following is taken.
A Babe In
Armed Combat
by
Ralph Hopkins
Hamlet
supporter since ...way back!
I had
quite a shock when reading my own finished article in the first issue of the
Hamlet Historian. Especially when I saw the introductory heading “A Hamlet supporter since the thirties”
staring up at me in bold cold print. ...Boy, am I that old!?
I guess the bit about coming to the
ground when still a babe in arms could have had a ring of truth about it, but
on reflection I think that most of the memories that I wrote about in issues
one and two must actually have happened much later than the thirties. Maybe
almost a decade later!
As my arrival on this planet
coincided with another Hamlet glory period it is very much likely that I would
have been dressed up in a pink and blue romper suit plus matching nappy in club
colours. No doubt I was proudly paraded around the terraces thus making my
Champion Hill debut.
Round about this time the Hamlet
were once again the proud holders of the Amateur Cup (Winners three times in
six years - 1932, 1934 & 1937). Well, at least I can say that they won it
in my lifetime. Unfortunately I was far too young to appreciate it, and sadly
it is a feat that will never ever be achieved again in my lifetime. That
particular piece of silverware and competition are long since defunct so the
hopes of winning it in the future are definitely nil. Still, we live in the
hope that we will all enjoy a Wembley beano one of these days, and I can
fulfill an ambition in stepping onto the lush turf of Wembley ... with the rest
of the Rabble.
Getting back to my story. Maybe the
reason for my memory clock being somewhat out of sync is because for very many
years time stood still at the club. The club was enjoying successful times but
it was beginning to drift into the start of a very lengthy period of years when
it tended to rest on its past glories. The golden age of football was still in
its heyday, the crowds were still rolling up at every match, so why change
anything?
Mostly through old traditions and a
strict code of conduct to the true amateur spirit, the club became firmly
entrenched in a time capsule that remained totally closed over the next couple
of decades. The intervention of World War Two no doubt played some part in this
age when time - and even normal every day history - stood still somewhat.
At the start of the 1939-40 season
an uninvited but more serious and deadly opponent entered the sports arena and
threatened to wreck the British workman’s weekly ration of the beautiful game.
The season had barely kicked off when a rather officious looking Ref, complete
with tash and dodgy haircut, named A. Hitler from Germany blew the final
whistle on it. The league programme was abandoned until further notice. (At
this point I would hasten to add that I had to delve back into the history
books myself to check this bit of the script. I am not actually old enough to
remember anything that far back!) It would appear that the ban on
entertainments and sporting activities where large crowds of spectators would
gather was short lived.
The early days from the outbreak of
hostilities became known as ‘the phoney war’. Very little happened in the way
of hostile action in either direction, so after a brief period of anxiety the
general public being British gradually
returned to some form of normality.
Saturday afternoons without football
was totally unacceptable to all concerned, so slowly but surely it was not too
long before the ball was rolling again. Informal kickabouts soon developed into
full scale games. At first it was just friendlies but after a while a number of
short term competitive matches were arranged to spice things up a bit.
Sometimes these had the added attraction of being played to raise funds - with
proceeds going towards the war effort.
Although Isthmian League football
did not return until after the war, at some stage it was decided to form a
league competition comprising of some of the clubs in South London and the
fringe areas of Kent and Surrey. I don’t know if this came about in the first
season of the war, but if my cobweb memory serves me correctly this was
operative in the later wartime seasons. I believe it was known as the South
Eastern Combination League. I’m pretty certain that both Dulwich Hamlet and
Bromley played in it, as well as the London Fire Services, who at the time,
shared our headquarters at Champion Hill.
I recall visiting the ground for
matches at various stages during the wartime years but unfortunately cannot
remember very much about the League itself. Due to wartime restrictions we were
not encouraged to record any written details of matches, so sadly that part of
my Hamlet memories remain blank. If there are are any elder and more senior
Dulwich stalwarts that have any results or information on that period of the
club’s history I would very dearly love to hear from you. I’m sure there must
be somebody out there with some info tucked away among your old treasures. If
so please, please contact me.
Who knows, there may even be some
old programmes laying in your attics and lofts that can throw some light on the
situation. There was paper rationing at the time of course, but I’m fairly sure
that a single sheet proggy was issued even in them days.
Getting back to the plot. I have an
idea that the new wartime league actually got underway in 1941. Strangely
enough the early blitz was then at its height so there was the real threat of
matches being interrupted at any time that the Luftwaffe decided to visit our
airspace. But by this time the British Public had become acclimatised and
readjusted their lives into some form of normal everyday routine.
Although most of the bombing air
raids took place during nighttime hours the days were not entirely free from
enemy action. Indeed some of the fiercest ‘dog fights’ and air battles took
place over Kent and South London during daytime hours round about this time.
At the outset of the war the normal
procedure was to head for the air raid shelter as soon as the warning siren
sounded, and stay put until the "All Clear". These regulations had
now become more relaxed and it was left to the individual to decide for
themself what precautions to take.
So that everyday life could continue
as near to normal as possible it became the norm that you took cover only if
there was immediate danger in the near vicinity. For crowds attending such
things as sporting occasions this was only considered a definite option if
enemy aircraft were overhead. In any case, if there was an exciting game in
progress and the siren sounded spectators were in no mood to remove themselves
from the terraces unless it was absolutely necessary.
The nearest public air-raid shelter
was situated well away from the actual playing arena. The brick built affair
was roughly about 150 yards away down on the main appraoach pathway leading to
the ground. Built on the edge of the rugby pitch on what was then the Kings
College Sports Ground, the shelter was just off the main road and located very
near to the old main entrance. It was only capable of holding about 40 or 50
people at a sqeeze, so there was little chance of accommodating the crowds of
several thousand that we attracted even in those dark wartime days. If any
danger did occur there was very little chance of making it to this so called
safe haven. It made more sense to stay put and just lay low if things got bad.
I doubt if too many matches suffered
the fate of being rudely interrupted by the German air force. Football being a
world game I was naive enough to assume that the enemy would not waste their
Saturday afternoons on bombing raids over London. Surely they would indulge in
a game themselves - wartime or not! I can't recall any such major incidents
myself although no doubt there were times when it was a matter of ‘Raid stopped
play’.
I wonder if the Germans had reckoned
with the good old British bulldog spirit. Just imagine what would have happened
if the Hun had dared to show his face during one of our Saturday afternoon
recreation periods. I'm pretty certain he would have soon been shown the red
card, indignantly and firmly told, “Oi. Naff off Jerry. Can’t you see we are
right in the middle of a very important cup tie!” Then swiftly sent on his way,
perhaps with a few two fingered victory signs to bid him Auf Wiedersehen. There
is a ring of truth in the title of that old Noel Coward song “Mad Dogs And
Englishmen Go Out In The Mid-day Sun”.
Yes, I am fairly certain it would
have taken a bit more than the might of a few enemy aircraft buzzing around to
drive these locals into taking cover. Well, I’m going to dive for cover now so
that I can raid my archives for some more of my Hamlet memoirs to include in
the next edition of the Hamlet Historian. Now, where’s me tin hat and gas-mask?
This article first appeared in Hamlet Historian No.5 Winter 1999/2000
