Good
Old Bert
Of all the supporters
I have known at Rainham Cricket Club nobody stands out clearer than
Bert. Usually one of the first people to arrive at the ground on
match days he was clearly recognizable. A pensioner who lived in
Ivy Street, his character verged on the Dickensian. Bert was short
with a large head, a permanent bright red face, an upturned nose
and when he laughed, which was loudly, after almost every sentence,
his smile exposed a mouth of gums and sporadically placed crooked
teeth which he sucked when his mouth was closed. Seated rigidly
outside the changing rooms in a 1940s suit with unpressed trousers
holding a walking stick and an official R.C.C. cap perched on one
side on his head, he became part of the furniture throughout the
1990s.
Although Bert
had never played cricket he had had his fair share of exercise working
for 'The Heavy Gang' in Chatham Dockyard for the duration of his
working life. I once remember working there for a short time as
a student in the holidays of 1970. It was here that I had my first
glimpse of Bert. His working day was of general toil mixed with
playing tricks on fellow workers, making animal noises aloud and
grabbing hold of fellow workers from behind. I once remember directing
a crane to lift a heavy crate from the dockside but as it lifted
from the ground heads suddenly popped over the top and who should
it be but Bert and 'The Heavy Gang' having been in the process of
playing a game of cards.
Bert was a friendly
person, always willing to converse but his lack of teeth, strong
local accent, grunting and simultaneous laughter sometimes made
him barely understandable. Therefore, conversations tended to be
short and simple while philosophical debate and analysis of the
finer points of the game were avoided. However, good old Bert had
his place at the ground, was known by all and regularly joined the
players in the bar after matches where he was supplied with beer.
He usually sat on his own, as after several drinks his laughing
became more regular, his speech became even more unclear than usual
and conversation with him became more than difficult.
After a fire
in his house in Ivy Street Bert moved into old people's accommodation
and disappeared from his regular place at the ground. However, he
reappeared several years later dressed in a clean suit of a 1940s
style, a new cap, walking stick and his mouth was fitted with a
brand new set of choppers. After offering everyone a drink he passed
kindly words in his own way and left the ground never to be seen
again. Although he has since passed on his memory still lingers
and as I walk across the pitch towards the changing rooms I still
instinctively look out for the figure of good old Bert seated rigidly
outside in that same old position.
David Wood 2004
