MICK Henderson refereed the Over 40s League match between Trimdon Vets and Hartlepool Stag and Monkey (a peculiarly Hartlepudlian coupling) on Saturday morning.

In the afternoon he took charge of a Durham University match, together his 41st and 42nd games – “not including friendlies, you don’t count them” – of the 2014-15 season.

Mick will be 80 on November 24. “I’ve no thoughts of packing it in,” he says. “Why stop doing something that you thoroughly enjoy? So long as I get my sausage and chips after the first match, I’ll be happy.”

When he’s not running round a football pitch, he’s walking around a golf course. There are 280 in the north and Scotland, Mick reckons, and he’s played every one. “St Andrew’s is my favourite, then Carnoustie and the Belfry.

“I got the handicap down to 11 but now I’m up to 22 and heading in the wrong direction, but I suppose that really I’m very lucky.”

He lives in Ushaw Moor, near Durham, retired from teaching when he was 54. Among those he taught to enjoy his football was future Boro star David Armstrong, at Sherburn Road school on the other side of the city. Mick’s bag contains a copy of Armstrong’s autobiography – “The Bald Facts” – in which his influence is acknowledged.

For 20 years he’s also been chairman of the Durham and District Sunday League, the bag also holding the citation presented when he was awarded the Durham County Council chairman’s medal.

“A model for the game,” it said.

He qualified as a referee while doing National Service in 1954. “The sergeant said that he needed a good linesman, we have to call them assistant referees nowadays, and I found that I enjoyed it”

Soon he reached what formerly was known as Class 1, was promoted to the Northern League line and to the emergency referees’ list, had a role in three England schoolboy internationals – two as linesman, one as fourth official – and lined the Northern League Cup final to Peter Willlis, himself to become the FA Cup final referee.

Among the many referees he coached is Roy Pearson, Horden lad, who went on to be an assistant ref in the World Cup finals.

His two sons took up refereeing, too, but quickly blew time. “They couldn’t stand the hassle,” says Mick, “it’s the hassle that puts so many youngsters off refereeing..

“I’ve never really considered packing up, never come home and kicked the door down or thrown my kit in the corner. So far as I’m concerned, the worst thing you can be called is a cheat, though that’s usually preceded by a few expletives.”

The weather can be unkind, too. “I remember once up on Stanley Hill Top, the two linesmen just went off and didn’t even ask me. I didn’t really blame them, mind, it was absolutely bitter up there.”

This season he sent off three players in the first week – a goalkeeper for his second bookable offence, a defender for a head butt (“Crook League, Stanhope v Crook Albion, first minute of added time) and, at Lanchester, a player for what officially is offensive, insulting or abusive language but in reality was swearing his silly head off.

“If they’re out of order I giver them a warning,” says Mick. “If they stay out of order I have to do the necessary.” After that red-mist start, he hasn’t shown a card of either hue for 35 matches.

“My eyesight’s still perfect, my old legs are still quite good though maybe not quite as fast as they used to be, I have hearing aids but I rarely use them. I can hear quite enough as it is.”

TRIMDON Vets – which, of course, is a short form of Veterans and nothing to do with lambing and stuff – play at Sedgefield Community College.

Though he still drives, Mick’s come on the bus – “a double decker both ways, great.” Sometimes he rides his bike to matches, too.

The morning’s murky, the Hartlepool lads a few minutes late taking the field. “Their hoss and cart must have brocken down,” says an opponent, unkindly.

Mick’s kit’s immaculate, his shorts 70s brief. The boots were a present, second hand, from someone at Framwellgate Moor, though it cost him £19 99 for new soles. “I wouldn’t care,” he says, “they don’t make me run any faster.”

Players and referee also wear “Respect” arm bands. The Respect initiative is what might be termed the FA’s max factor, a cosmetic exercise with no real foundation and no lasting attraction. Swearing still disfigures football.

The Veterans live up to their name, the oldest player 68-year-old John King and quite a few more awaiting the bus pass. “Mick will get round a lot more of the field than I will,” someone says.

His shorts pockets contain spare coin, spare watch, spare whistle and a few sweets. “You never know when they might come in handy,” says Mick

“I always tell players to go out and enjoy themselves, that if they smile at me I’ll smile back. When I have assistants, I tell them the same. “

He checks himself in the mirror – “My hair’s not quite right” – walks the foggy 150 yards to the pitch, essays a few golf swings with the linesmen’s flags until the hoss and cart turns up.

Sometimes he’s been known to take out his clubs, too, chip a few balls before kick-off. Earlier this season he refereed three games in a day. “Mind,” he adds, “my swing wasn’t very good next morning.”

FORTY-FIVE seconds have gone when one of the Vets wonders if it’s half-time yet. Half an hour has elapsed when a visiting player is quite dramatically fouled, the Stag baying for blood and the Monkey on the referee’s back.

Mick contents himself with a lecture. “That’s a hell of a bollocking,” he tells the ranks of the dissatisfied. “A hell of a bollocking from Mick is like a yellow card.”

Old Adam, it has also to be said that there quite a few on both sides who put the eff into Forties. Their approach is more 60s: twist and shout.

Though he’s by no means centre-circular, there are inevitably times when – without assistants Mick’s not level with offside calls.

“You’re guessing ref,” someone shouts.

“You don’t have t guess when he’s four yards off,” says Mick.

Trimdon lead 1-0at half-time but in the second half lose both goals and composure – dogs’ abuse, as might be supposed of the Vets.

Mick still smiles. “You’re not a troublemaker are you son?” ne enquires of an arriving substitute.

“Just sometimes,” smiles the sub.

It ends 2-1, the referee still smiling, too. “I’m happy because I’m still able to referee a football match,” says Mick. “All I need now is that plate of sausage and chips.”