Old style leather balls, with laces, 

Were murder to play with when wet

They soaked in all the water

And, if you tried to head it,

You nearly broke your neck!

And yet, and yet…

Tot Temple and ‘Woodbine Wilf’ Oxendale

The stars of our Rillington team

Would flick it back and forth to each other,

As though it was as light as a feather,

And fire it into the net.

 

In Rillington there was no thought

Of holding back.

Each match was a battle, there to be fought.

In a tackle, leave your foot in!

Get your retaliation in first!

Football’s not just about taking part!

A win is a win is a win!

This was my early learning centre!

 

I was once stood behind the netting

At a Scarborough and District League game.

Near the end, Woodbine Wilf broke free.

He blasted the heavy ball left-footed

And directed it straight at me!

I was protected by the netting

As Wilf’s shot thundered in.

 

I was amazed by Wilf’s poise and power.

Entranced by his skill and grace.

He’d aimed the ball at just the right place!

But mostly I was just dumbfounded

How could he generate any propulsion at all

Upon such a heavy ball?