Trust and Confidence.....

It was the summer of 1963 and my Dad got a new job that resulted in our family moving away from Cove, near Farnborough, to Chobham in Surrey. I had just one more year to go at Junior School – not the best time for a career move I thought to myself, with the life shaping ‘Eleven Plus’ looming large on the horizon.

But looking back I guess the decision to let me stay with my aunt and live away from home for a year was a good one. After all I was a ‘big grown up boy’. I was in the last year of juniors and captain of the soccer team. The fastest runner in the playground.

Yes, I felt like an adult.

The long days of summer that were surely designed to keep my mind away from thinking about the first day at Grammar School were noticeably absent and September 1964 came upon me very quickly.

The 55B stopped not far from our house and at 8.20am I rather timidly followed my brother up the steps of the Aldershot and District bus. And he was just behind Peter. ‘He can’t be going to the same school as me’, I thought to myself. He was massive. He was like a man. I found out later that Peter was about to commence his ‘O levels’ and was only a 5th former (Year 11 in ‘new money’).

I remember the day vividly. Late summer sun. No clouds. A cool breeze that somehow found its way into the subway underneath Woking Station. Blowing the litter around and throwing up dust that inevitably found its way into my eyes. I was crying as I entered the lower playground….from the dust not nerves. Although it could quite easily have been the other way round.

The 2nd and 3rd formers were already enjoying games of football across the width of the playground. The ‘men’, 4th and 5th formers, were occupying the goals that were painted on the walls, allowing them to play along the length of the ‘tarmac pitch’.

Gosh I felt small. And how stupid I must have looked in my shorts as I walked towards the steps leading to the upper playground and the exclusive domain of the 6th form. Every step taken in fear of one of the ‘big boys’ nicking the shiny new cap that was secured firmly to the top of my head.

The balls were flying all around me and I desperately wanted to get away. How I missed the sanctuary and calm of my old primary school. This all seemed so out of control……so big…..so intimidating.

I suppose on reflection my feelings were probably no different to the ones experienced by referee Gavin Ward, as he lost control of our game at Northampton a few weeks ago. We went on to secure a 3v0 win at the Sixfields Stadium despite the ‘first formers’ pretty feeble attempt to control the ‘big boys’.

I was probably about 20 yards away from the bottom of the steps when he appeared. Dressed in a green dust gown. Red hair poking out from underneath his green mortar board. Eyebrows that seemed to be growing ever upwards. His face ruddy. His manner full of foreboding. I stopped and turned towards my ‘bodyguard’.

‘Is that the Headmaster?’ I whispered nervously to my brother. ‘Oh no’, came the instant reply. ‘That’s Mr Butterworth, the Geography teacher.’- a man who I later christened Captain Scarlet.

With the shock of seeing merely the Geography master I was just a bit late getting up to my new classroom. And by the time I arrived in room 1S all of the desks were full with faces that I had never seen before - save for a ‘space’ at the back, next to a very large boy. We shared the small bench. He took up 75% of the seat and I perched myself on the end.

Our form teacher was Mr Skuse - a tall and upright man with a pallid complexion. He picked up the register and without raising his eyes from the list of 30 names he called out, ‘Alsop’. The boy next to me answered boldly, ‘Yes sir’. ‘First name, boy’.

‘Timothy Nigel Edward Lucian Cameron Miles - Alsop, Sir’.

Again, without raising his head, Mr Skuse asked. ‘And what do people call you, boy?’

‘Most people call me Fatty sir.’

A gentle smile formed across the face of ‘Paddy’ Skuse. A smile that I have carried around with me to this day.

A simple smile that somehow connected me to this man, securing my trust and confidence.

Watching Aldershot throw away a 2v0 lead over Dagenham on Tuesday night, to lose 3v2, was a disturbing experience. The final whistle no more than an invitation for our players to collapse to the ground in an advanced form of group malaise, followed by what appeared to be a well rehearsed skulk off the pitch.

And how portentous it was to observe our players combined failure to attempt just the slightest glance towards manager Kevin Dillon in search of acknowledgement and support.

But then with Dillon fixated by the referee, who had blown his whistle a few times too many in the second half, no doubt for no other reason than his boredom with the proceedings, any prospect of recognition by the ‘boss’ was minimal.

To date Dillon's judgement has been poor and his public statements appear insensitive. Of course he feels the need to be his own man. But such an approach will only work effectively when the organisation shares in the recognition of the need for change, is ‘signed up to the new style’ and when progress is evident.

Without doubt the exposed feeling that our approach before his arrival was unprofessional has been compounded by the mantra that the playing squad was inherited….’it’s not mine’…. Alongside this Dillon has chastised players in public and even questioned the value of the fans opinions. To me this does appear to be no more than the desire for change for change sake. An approach that is certainly not clever and one that will inevitably lead to mistakes.

The public dismissal of goalkeeper Ruiz, to be replaced by a young keeper from Bristol City has predictably been a disaster. The defence has been unsettled. The youngster has made countless errors. Goals have been unnecessarily conceded. Games have been lost. And to what end. Probably the restoration of Ruiz to the team on Saturday…Dillon’s myopia and obduracy combined to destroy the confidence of Stephen Henderson – ‘return him, Dillon, to the Robins before he suffers any more pain’.

Now how does that sound? The advice of a mere fan to a professional manager. The trenchant criticism of someone with a UEFA Pro Licence. Probably of no consequence whatsoever, I guess, to the single minded Dillon as he appears to give little regard to the opinion of ‘amateurs’.

I don’t like the man. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t make the players exude confidence and they now appear insecure.

But then I didn’t particularly like Gary Waddock….and I never liked Terry Brown. I did like Lenny Walker and Jimmy Melia and Tommy Mac….probably because they were exceptional players for the Shots before they took on the leadership of our Club - and I quite naturally carried forward my ‘idolisation’ of them to their period at the ‘helm’.

However the liking of a manager has no connection whatsoever with my respect for the contribution that the person makes to our Club.

In recent years both Terry and Gary contributed to the significant progress of the Shots. An advance that was an appropriate reward for the collective emotions of a passionate group of supporters. And the common denominator in each of our successful seasons has been the exuberance and combined power of our players.

It took Terry Brown just over a year to destroy the power that he unleashed in our Club. A power that was unfortunately beyond his imagination. But how we all loved the experience of the play off final at Stoke in 2004 and then the feeling of community as we shared in the pain of losing the penalty shoot out at Carlisle the following season.

Kevin Dillon has destroyed the team in just a few months.

And the evidence for such a statement? Just the simple, yet oh so telling, demeanour of our players as they left the pitch on Tuesday night.

‘Eyes to the left of him eyes to the right’……but not one look that said ‘please help me boss’. And not for one moment did he in return say, ‘I’m here to help you improve and put this poor result behind US. Together we will advance’.

No, Dillon had more important things on his mind…..that bloody referee needed seeing too…..

‘And the exuberance, confidence and vibrancy of the whole squad more than outweigh the occasional impetuous act……….’

’…….Aldershot came back to life in 1992 because for many, its power was defined by something greater than anything that money could achieve, or indeed destroy. Our Club was recreated by the genuine passion that flows through the veins of us all.’ –

From - 'A Look Back' – A Shot from Wales 4 Jan 2008.

I’m sure most observers of the Shots in recent years would agree that results could be improved with a tighter, more secure defence. But I had hoped that progress could have been made without putting the ball into the same orbit as Sputnik.

And the latest ‘leaks’ from the Club suggest that a big target man is on his way to the Rec….

Julian Alsop….age 36…..back to scoring ways at Cheltenham Town certainly fits the bill.

Now what was the adjective used by my brother when Alsop was last seen at the Rec……..