Vase Railroad ends in glory

A richly rewarding exercise, it had begun in front of a crowd of just 25, Eccleshill United v Norton and Stockton Ancients in the FA Vase first qualifying round, and ended, Whitley Bay v Wroxham, in the royal box at the national stadium.

Between all those lines we’d ranged from Brighton to Bridlington, from Congleton to Leeds Carnegie and sundry stations – action stations, inevitably – elsewhere.

Most readers will realise that there is a vested interest, a bonus point. I’m chairman of the skilltrainingltd Northern League, at least one of our clubs always involved.

On Sunday we travel mobhanded, another five members of the League management committee – all but one entitled to a senior railcard, such the way of the world – on the 8.30am out of Darlington.

They include Mr George Courtney, the league president, who’d refereed the Arsenal v West Ham FA Cup final 30 years ago, will speak at a reunion dinner in London this weekend and still reckons that Brooking’s celebrated header went in off his shoulder.

The train’s also filling with Chelsea fans, blue shirts with Samsung on the front.

Didn’t Mr Neil Diamond sing something about Samsung Blue?

Tension’s rising. Near Peterborough, the poor league chairman is discordantly censured for singing The Church’s One Foundation, the plea that it’s Sunday morning sadly unavailing.

Mr Joe Burlison, old enough to know better, spends much of the journey texting for England and passes without rebuke.

Everything’s punctual, time for a couple in a Wembley pub called Mannions – not named after The Golden Boy, apparently, something about which the late Wilf would have been quite pleased – before the pre-match lunch in the Wembley banqueting suite.

Mr Burlison’s texting something about two chairs and a microwave oven.

“Transfer business,” he says.

The FA, which must hire Wembley like anyone else, is greatly to be commended for sticking with it for the Vase final, though the crowd’s not expected to top 10,000.

The fixtures in the previous day’s Independent – “FA Vase final, Whitley Bay v Wroxham, Hillheads Park, Whitley Bay, 1.30pm” – may yet further diminish the attendance. It’s a fair hike from Whitley to Wembley in 90 minutes.

Economy measure, there’s no starter, a minor disappointment soon forgotten when FA vicechairman Barry Bright makes a welcome speech describing the Northern League management committee as “superb.”

One member, who’d best remain anonymous, is so taken aback that he spills a glass of red wine all over the table cloth.

I attempt a photograph of the president, that gentleman anxious to know when it’ll be in so that he can buy a paper. “There’s twopence off in Ken Warne’s supermarket in Spennymoor,” he says. Mr Courtney has a reputation for being careful.

It’s a great atmosphere, always is, though Whitley Bay secretary Derek Breakwell is worried because wide man Chris Fawcett has injured himself in training the previous day.

It’s their second successive final, Mr Bright also anxious to point out that they’re still the only North-East side to appear at the new Wembley...

It’s a place where familiarity will never breed contempt. Whatever the occasion, we’re treated like – well – royalty.

UNUSUALLY for Wembley, it’s overcast, as if to make the North-East coast folk feel at home, and just 21 seconds have elapsed when Whitley Bay take the lead.

The scorer’s Paul Chow, placed courageously to remind opposing keeper and central defender of all that folk say about he who hesitates. The ball crosses the line almost apologetically, nonetheless, as if trying to ensure that everyone’s taken their seats and can see what’s going on.

Wroxham – Norfolk side, Broads-based, known as the Yachtsmen – equalise after seven minutes following uncharacteristic dithering by Terry Burke, Whitley’s admirable keeper. Soon afterwards it’s 2-1 to our lads, own goal.

The play has lasted 15 minutes, and could be subtitled A Comedy of Errors.

At half-time it’s still 2-1.

They’ve changed the table cloth in the banqueting suite. A different member of the Northern League management committee spills orange juice all over it.

The phrase about not being able to take some folk anywhere comes to mind.

“It comes out easier than red wine,” he pleads.

Within a minute of the restart, the shaven-headed Lee Kerr has made it 3-1, the league chairman’s vision more than usually impaired by the tardy return of the row in front.

After 58 minutes, Adam Johnson – inexplicably known as Gnasher – makes it four. “A Jimmy Greavesstyle goal,” says Mr Courtney.

It’s beginning to feel as comfortable as the royal box, and – sadly for the grounded Yachtsmen – every bit as threatening.

Inclement conditions notwithstanding, the Whitley Bay fans attempt a lukewarm Mexican wave.

Relaid for the 11th time since 2007, the muchcriticised pitch seems OK, too, though there are those who still say they can see bald patches. The FA Trophy final, Barrow v Stevenage, had been played the day previously: it still beats the hell of the Horse of the Year show.

Whitley score twice more in the last three minutes, Robinson and Gillies. It is a particular delight for Mr Tony Golightly, the Northern League secretary, who secretly has placed £10 at 30-1 on a 6-1 win, though it’s still the chairman who picks up the taxi tab.

The trophy is collected by Leon Ryan, the skipper, and – as revealed in last Saturday’s column – by Mark Taylor, 27, who’d appeared in last year’s final but subsequently been diagnosed with motor neurone disease.

They’d expected Mark to have to take the lift to royal box level. Instead he gallantly climbs the stairs, moist eyes everywhere.

Back behind the scenes, five o’clock, Sky Television’s breaking news service reveals that at half-time it’s 3-1 and that Burke, the Whitley Bay goalkeeper, is the third scorer.

Syd Cope, the winners’ wonderful 85-year-old president, sits in a wheelchair with tears in his eyes. The only disappointment, he says, is that after the final whistle the year previously the Wembley PA had played Rocking All Over the World and he’d enjoyed a bit of a jig. This year they hadn’t.

The 7.40pm from Kings Cross is rocking, nonetheless. The Railroad to Wembley has come to a memorable halt.

Calling points: some highlights of a nine-month journey

WEMBLEY way begins at Eccleshill, a suburb of Bradford which actually is Wrose by any other name. “Like holy matrimony,” the column observes, “the Railroad to Wembley should not be enterprised nor taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly or wantonly.” Norton win 7-0, the opposition desperately weak. “We’re a sleeping giant,” says Mark Holstead, the Eccleshill secretary, though the giant sleeps on double-Horlicks. Some other stops along the Railroad:

September 19 2009: Hall Road Rangers 2 Bishop Auckland 0. The ground’s just outside Hull, the greater attraction a Motor Cycle Action Group gathering in the next field. Bishops, awful, lose 2-0 in front of a crowd of about 50. “At one time,” the column observes, “they used to have more than that queuing for the lavvy.”

October 3 2009: Bridlington 2 South Shields 0, Seasiders v Mariners. The Northern League’s considering an FA appeal on the grounds of misuse of the apostrophe. “The way things are going,” the column adds, “there’s a danger of this whole thing being derailed by Christmas.”

October 4 2009: Leeds Carnegie 2 Shildon 3. Shildon’s fifteenth (or possibly sixteenth) successive away tie and still far from home. They’re saved by Keith Finch, the former Darlington goalie.

November 17 2009: The rainy season’s started, games off all over, eventually to Congleton v Shildon. Congleton’s in Cheshire, known as Beartown because n the fourteenth century they sold the town bible to buy a replacement dancing bear. Though the pitch resembles something on which Uncle Ben might successfully have grown several rice harvests, Shildon win 2-0.

December 5 2009: The big disappointment, Spennymoor Town lose 1-0 at Gresley, in Derbyshire. It’s the part of the world where everyone’s known as “duck” or “ducky” and, yet again, it’s lovely weather for them. The hosts have a mascot called Elvis Gresley. Tigger, the Moors mascot, has been left on top of a wardrobe. Tigger Woods, says the column, might wish he’d stayed on top of the wardrobe, too.

February 6: Perishing up home, it’s a glorious winter day in Brighton, the longest leg, Whitehawk v Marske United – the last 16 come around faster than the super waltzer at Culine’s funfair. Marske draw, lose the replay.

March 6 2010: Barwell’s in Leicestershire, near where they fought the Battle of Bosworth Field. The battle with Norton, heroically in the quarter-final, is more one-sided. It’s the village where, on Christmas Eve 1965, the biggest meteorite ever tio hit these shores came crashing to earth. The British Museum offered 7/6 an ounce.

March 13 2010: Shildon 1 Whitley Bay 5, again unscheduled. The railroad’s just the eight miles from North Road. If ever there’s a match of might-have-beens, it’s this one.

April 3 2010: Easter Eve. Paul Robinson’s last-minute goal sees Whitley Bay through to yet another final fling, the club’s third in nine seasons. “Robinson joins his team mates in prostrating themselves in the Everglade swap that was once the penalty area.”