I’m reading on Jack Charlton, the tall, gangly centre-half for Leeds United and England in the sixties up to his retirement in 1972 when Leeds won the FA Cup 1-0 against Arsenal.
‘Ashington hero Jack Charlton says he is losing his memory - but will never forget World Cup win. The 80-year-old Geordie icon says he “hasn't got a memory” as it was revealed Martin Peters, Nobby Stiles and Ray Wilson are battling Alzheimer's.’ This must be an old article I’m reading, since old Martin Peters died 22nd December, a week after my dad. It’s not been a great time for me, so many things are just memories now, and all the more vivid for being that.
When everyday was like Sunday
That’s how you remember it with the golden glow of nostalgia. Of course, Sunday was always the strangest of days. It was the day after Saturday, for one thing, which really was the fun and free day of the week. Saturday was the day of pop, crisps, and football at 3pm. My dad would work in the mornings and then have the afternoon off. At least in the seventies. Sunday was still time doing things, Church in the morning, or dad taking us to the park to do some golf, just putting, really, or park or a walk over the fields with the dog in the afternoon, then a nice tea, with fruit and cake. Then ‘Sing Something Simple,’ a bath, and the misery of knowing that the weekend was over and it was horrible school in the morning. So Sunday was a bit of everything.
I’ve just been listening to Jack Charlton singing “Geordie Sunday.” This song is described as a ‘treacly, spoken tale of an Ashington childhood – Telly Savalas meets When the Boat Comes In. (Harry Pearson, The Far Corner: A Mazy Dribble Through North-East Football).’ Thankfully, not many people will have the first idea what any of that means, so won’t be put off having a listen for themselves.
I really wouldn’t knock it! This song seems to have been the inspiration for Morrissey's hit single, Everyday Is Like Sunday. Whether that is a recommendation or not is dependent on taste, of course. I much prefer Jackie Charlton’s song and, let’s be honest, unlike big Jack, Morrissey has never met the Pope.
To say that this song is not well liked is something of an understatement. In fact, it seems to be universally loathed by all who have ever come within earshot of it. I came across journalist Shaun Keogh making a reference to the song in his Boro Connections (Jack Charlton was manager of Middlesborough in the 1970’s). Record Collector magazine had had a light hearted dig at Jack Charlton for his ‘awful pop single’ of 1972, entitled 'Simple Little Things,' which had “A nursery rhyme-style chorus: Jackie’s spoken verses have an eerie, hymn-like quality, complete with Stars on Sunday organ, church bells and brass band.” Heck, that good! The B-side, the song I’m really interested in, 'Geordie Sunday,' is said to feature “incredibly banal lyrics.” Whilst that’s probably true, on paper, I think it somewhat misses the very obvious point by a very wide margin. The lyrics might be banal, but they evoke memories that are etched deep in the heart. The song is all about evoking a sentimental and nostalgic mood, a universal feeling. It does it in a rather obvious way, it is true. The opening line dives into the nostalgia at the deep end, head first: “do you remember when …?” You can while away many an hour with a question that begins like that. We all remember something or someone from the past, a fond recollection we’d like to revisit. That’s the point of the song.
“It would make a good quiz question I suppose,” writes Keogh. “Has anybody ever compiled all of the official and unofficial Boro releases in the style of Harry Glasper?”
That’s described as a “meaningful question” for some poor soul. That’s my cue, of course.
As it happened … the song was a subject of a question and a bet … Read on.
My mum loved this song and tried to have it played on Liverpool’s Radio City, in 1978 if my memory serves me correct. The DJs there said they had never heard of it and thought she was winding them up. The idea of a big burly old footballer like Jackie Charlton singing a sentimental song like that! The very idea. Or they pretended not to know, so as not to have to play it. So my mum wrote to Jack Charlton himself, at Sheffield Wednesday football club, where he was manager, and the big fellow wrote a nice letter back. It’s still here somewhere, I’ve been trying to find it. But I remember its contents. He confirmed that my mum had won her bet, that he did indeed record this song, but doubted that Liverpool radio would have it. They never played it, anyway. I have a feeling they didn’t want to.
Ed Stewart used to play the song on Junior Choice a lot, I believe. I don’t remember hearing it ever. And my poor mum went to her grave never hearing it again. She loved it. Or she remembered loving it. Or remembered the way the song encouraged remembrance of happy memories past, cloaked in an ever warmer glow by the passing of time.
Geordie Sunday contains the immortal opening line (spoken); "Do you remember when, we used to sit on Grandad's knee, and how we used to love, the jam and butter we had for tea.” We call that a “jam buttee” up north.
The B-side was a staple of Anne Nightingale's Sunday afternoon show. It's not half bad, in a "Men Of Oats And Creosote" kinda way. Again, I suspect that only a few will have any idea what that means, and so will have to listen for themselves.
I read one unkind critic on You Tube commenting:
“This record sounds worn. Somebody must have played it a lot.
Probably belonged to a member of the Charlton clan since I don't know who on Earth would possibly play this more than once!”
My mum would have played it, a heck of a lot.
“I managed the first 40 seconds ... then I suffered some sort of fit and my laptop exploded,” says another. Gee, I am wondering if these are young folk who take their good times for granted. One day, they’ll come to cherish their memories the same way as big Jack.
“lol... yes. I hadn't heard this before until tonight and even then, I couldn't get halfway through this...”
“Oh dear oh dear ..... what the hell was happening in the 70's ..”
I won’t hear a word against “Geordie Sunday.” “Simple Little Things” is good, too.
I uploaded a very nice home video onto You Tube, our front and living room with Jack Charlton singing “Geordie Sunday” in the background.
I write in my description:
'My mum loved this song by Jack Charlton. "Geordie Sunday." She asked Liverpool's Radio City to play it in 1978, but they claimed they had never heard of it. She had a bet with them that there was such a song, and wrote to big Jack Charlton himself, who wrote back to confirm that she had won her bet. He doubted that "Liverpool radio" would have it. I suspect they knew it existed all along and just didn't want to play it. And my mum never heard it ever again. Which is a shame. The video is from home, now empty of all the folk and dogs and birds and noise. Just me and my memories now. The present that is wrapped under the tree contains a box of the Hartley's jam jar lids from 1971, twelve of them containing the images of famous footballers of the day. There is no Jack Charlton on there, but his brother Bobby, another World Cup winning hero, is. Also Bobby Moore, Gordon Banks, Alan Ball, Martin Peters, my own boyhood hero Billy Bremner, Jimmy Johnstone, Georgie Best, Peter Osgood, Ron Davies. All of them, apart from Bobby Charlton are no longer with us. Then there is Colin Bell and Geoff Hurst who, with Bobby, are still with. These were the big stars of my childhood, and they are nearly all gone now. I had a little collection of these jam jar lids at the time. The one I wanted above all, though, was wee Billy Bremner, captain of Leeds and Scotland, 10 st of barbed wire, the man who played football like a commando. He was an all action firebrand. Let's be honest, people considered him a "dirty" player, but I loved his abrasive style. He reminded me of the dog we had, Cindy, a little orange terrier, whippet quick, with a temper. Small of stature, big of heart. We could never ever find that jam jar with wee Billy on the lid. Every Thursday the family would go to Krazy Kuts, and I would be impatient to get to the jam section. We never saw Billy. I'd have my mum and dad climbing to the top, on their hands and knees at the bottom, my brother too, checking every jar of jam to see if Billy was there. He never was. And now, years on, I found a very good deal online and bought the whole lot. This is me, with my memories, finishing some old unfinished family business. My dad would have been .... if not pleased exactly, intrigued and amused. We all have our own little foibles. I have some big ones. Nearly fifty years on, I finally got my Hartley's jam Billy Bremner lid. Am I happy? I am incredibly happy. I haven't opened my little present yet, mind. I have waited nearly fifty years. I want to savour this moment a little longer. The anticipation is a delicious joy.'