Saturday 15 February 2020

Another Champion Hill stalwart passes.Ralph Hopkins Rest in Peace


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

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