A story of soccer in a very different time

Our news post about soccer at Christ College has already brough a flurry of responses. Most are amazed to learn that the game pre-dated rugby football at the school. But there is another element to the story; one that relates to the sporting hierarchy still evident as late as the 1980s – and quite possibly beyond. 

One Old Breconian, who was in school in the early 1960s, has sent us recollections that reveal how the hierarchy manifested itself. David T Ross (Orchard 1963-68) was not a player but someone who showed enthusiasm and determination in learning the skills of refereeing (association) football matches for his Gold D of E award. 

Supported by his Housemaster and the Masters involved in D of E at the school, his story of the response to his perceived affiliation to the ‘other’ game is one for the history books. The abridged version below tells of a very different era and of very different views. It was, as they say, a different world. 

David says, 
“I write this it is almost 60 years since the events described below took place. Some of the dialogue may not be absolutely verbatim, but the words are accurate in their meaning.” 

Picture the scene. I am sitting in a classroom in lessons when a Junior (as we called all Alway boys then) knocks on the door and enters. He addresses the Master: “Please Sir, Ross is wanted immediately in the Headmaster’s study”. 

The Master looks quizzically at me and says: “What have you done, boy?”. 

“Sir,” I replied, “I haven’t done anything wrong, Sir”.  

“Then you had better get over there pronto. Leave your things here and collect them later”. 

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, and left the room.

So I am walking briskly whilst racking my brains as to what I may have done wrong. I could not think of anything that would necessitate being summoned to the Head’s study (or ‘Ogre’s Lair’ as we called it). Minor discrepancies were always dealt with by Prefects or the relevant Housemaster if a bit more serious. But the Headmaster? Now that was very serious. Then the thought struck me that if it wasn’t me, maybe a relative has died suddenly. Oh my God, please not Mum or Dad.

I hurried through the Chapel Yard past the War Memorial, through the gate to the right then stopped dead in my tracks. There outside Alway House stood both of them. Relief flooded through my body like a lightning bolt. As I got near them I was going to ask why they were here but before I could Dad said in a low voice: “Right, tell me quickly what you’ve done.” 

“Dad, I haven’t done anything, honestly. Do you know what this is all about?“

Before he could answer the door opened and the Headmaster’s secretary emerged and said: ”The Headmaster will see you now, please follow me.” A “Good Morning” would have been nice, but I guess the Aristos were not treated with respect as they arrived at the guillotine either. 

Without a trace of a smile, the Head did a sweeping movement of his left hand to indicate to my parents that they should sit in the two chairs to the left of his desk. He then looked at me and said: "Ross, you sit over there” pointing to a solitary chair in the far opposite corner to his right. 

I thought silently to myself: “God, whatever I’ve done I am definitely in the dock in this court”. And I still didn’t know what it was all about. Safe to say my spirits were nosediving at this point. 

Finally, he sat down, carefully pulling his gown up slightly with practised ease and addressed my parents: “Did you have a pleasant journey up from Cardiff?“ 

By now Dad was definitely not in the mood for small talk and ignored the question entirely by coming straight to the point. “Headmaster, with respect, why are we here? What is so fundamentally important that needs me to leave my position as Managing Director of a sizeable company at minimal notice and be summoned here without the courtesy of an explanation?” 

The Head picked up a newspaper from his desk. As soon as he did I recognised it as the latest edition of the ‘Brecon and Radnor Express’, and he held it up with the back sports page facing my parents. Having already seen it the day before I knew what it said.

Christ College Boy Referees Soccer Match!

My feeling of impending doom which had followed me since I left the classroom suddenly evaporated. So that was what the hullabaloo was all about. No problem, I’m off the hook thank goodness.

“Have you seen this?” the Head asked with a noticeable dark countenance. 

Dad scanned the headline and waited a while before answering. “No, I haven’t seen it. We don’t get that paper in Cardiff, but I know what it alludes to. My wife and I are immensely proud of David for doing this.”

The Head replied with disdain, “Mr Ross, Christ College Brecon is a rugby playing school, not soccer.” 

“You talk as though you had no prior knowledge of the whole thing, Headmaster,” he said in an even tone, but I would wager it would not be for long.

“What?” replied the Head. “Of course I did not have any knowledge of it otherwise I would have stopped it immediately. Ross has brought shame and ridicule upon the school and as the Headmaster I must take strong action immediately.”

While the two combatants were slugging it out I had been looking at Mum. Placid, quiet little Mum, all 5 foot 4 inches of her. But I spotted the signs that Vesuvius was about to erupt. 

“Headmaster, why didn’t you do your homework and ask our son himself ? He would have told you all about it and the permissions he obtained from not 1, not 2 but 3 of your Masters?” She paused momentarily but as she did so the Coup de Grace was ready. “And by the way, his name is DAVID”, with exaggerated emphasis on the final word. 

This reminded me of a tag wrestling match on the television. Dad took over and continued the onslaught, while I tried not to smile. 

“Headmaster,” he began in an even tone. “Didn’t you know that David is doing soccer refereeing for his Duke of Edinburgh Gold Award, and has officiated in 4 local matches already? He has another 8 to complete to finish.”

For the first time the Head looked at me and said, with a noticeable quake in his voice: “Who gave you permission?”  

I gave him the answer and explained the stated requirements he had demanded to know. “Sir, I had to find a local qualified referee; study the laws of the game in minute detail with him and pass a written exam with a 95% pass rate. I then had to join a local Referees Association and referee a minimum of 12 matches, 6 at junior level and 6 at senior level, with each one in the presence of a neutral unidentified assessor, and get it all signed off, Sir. I found the referee in Orchard Street, across the road from Orchard House and four doors down. He got me through the exam and acted as my liaison officer for notification of matches and location.”

The Head appeared to have lost his power of speech by now, so I continued. “And of course Sir, I informed my House Master, so he was in the loop, so to speak.” In a rare display of common sense, I decided to stop there.

The ensuing silence was broken by Dad.

“Headmaster, if no one appraised you of what David was about to do, and is doing with a maturity beyond his years, I can only surmise from your earlier stance on the matter that they feared you would stop it immediately. Do you not appreciate the importance his actions are as an outreach to the local community? Matches, rugby or soccer, cannot happen without referees, and it is those matches that help bring communities together. If he, in his role as a qualified referee, is an ambassador for Christ College whilst simultaneously training for, and playing in School matches when required, then he is to be heartily congratulated for his energy, enthusiasm and standard bearer for this great school. He certainly should not be subjected to any form of punishment.” He paused briefly, then added: “I am sure you would agree, Headmaster, wouldn’t you?”

A very odd, and totally unexpected, thing had happened while Dad was speaking (and very eloquently I thought). The Head was a tall man, and was always upright even when seated. But imperceptibly he had somehow sunk into his chair. Before I could enjoy the spectacle of his beaten countenance, he rallied himself.

“I hear what you say Mr. Ross and agree there is perhaps some merit in your sentiments. I will, of course, speak with my staff to ascertain a fuller account, but for now R…” he stopped himself from the surname he was going to call me, “he…” pointing to me “may continue with his required Duke of Edinburgh Award qualification requirements.”

Dad stood up and said with a straight face, ”That is a sensible conclusion, Headmaster. On that note we will leave in the knowledge that David will not face any form of punishment, and will be allowed to continue to gain his Gold Duke of Edinburgh Award. That itself offers the opportunity for more glory to Christ College. We will see ourselves out.”

I wanted to follow but felt obliged to gain permission, so I said: “May I return to class please Sir?” I got a peremptory nod so left quietly with a straight face, even if I was buzzing inside.

I went back to lessons; grateful my parents had come and grateful for what they had said. And I lived to learn another day in CCB.

Postscript
I did finish refereeing my 12 matches, but only by doing more at home in the holidays, as I was needed for some rugby and then hockey matches in the Spring term. I went up to Buckingham Palace and received my Gold Award from HRH the Duke of Edinburgh, with both my Mum and Dad there to see it.