A working man trying to provide for a family might find the pace of change bewildering. His grandfather had been a farm labourer in the hills. So had the generations before him. Certainty. But poverty. Now, in a growing town, new industries were developing and new opportunities presenting themselves ... but they came with dangerous hours, and with bosses willing to outrageously exploit. Queen Victoria was about to be proclaimed Empress of India. A Viscount ran the United Kingdom. And the distant halls of power were controlled by a clique of other aristocrats. No-one who had to go out and do manual work for a living was allowed to vote. Yet change was in the air. As the working poor in Britain heard tales about the American Civil War raging across the Atlantic; as they heard about President Lincolns latest proclamations, the foundations were being laid for change in this country. Maybe our man was in the brewing trade, or working on the newly established local railways. He may have felt exploited, without a voice ... or he may just have been thankful for work and a wage. But one thing was certain; this country was not run for him. Not the politics, not the culture. But then something happened. Among the leaders of his town, was a man called Edward Manners ... a genuine pioneer. Manners had heard about the start of a properly organised and codified form of football in South Yorkshire just seven years earlier. There were hardly any Association Football Clubs in existence. But he recognised the potential. Edward Manners gift to a town - so often down at heel - was an important one, and a fragile one. The proud working people of a proud working town now had something. A diversion, a chance to take part, a symbol of identity. But one which could so easily be lost with changes in fashion or finance. But it survived and it took deeper root, year after year. The working people of the town won the right to vote. Many became richer. But many perished - in two world wars, or underground because of disgusting negligence. Some survived poverty and felt a boom in living standards, only for another recession to tear away the old certainties once again. Through all this. Through four Kings and two Queens. Through twenty-nine Prime Ministers ... that football club has continued to be a source of pride, of entertainment and of identity. The schoolkids in the stands tomorrow can draw a straight line back to those Wrexham folk who turned out to watch the first match against a bunch of local firemen. More than a football club, this institution has helped to bind the town, the region, and the community over a century and a half. A common history. It is something visiting entrepreneurs - whose only currency is hard cash - simply could not get their heads around. And its why they were so emphatically defeated, despite the overwhelming odds. Its why former players still remember their time here with fondness and even - whisper it - emotion. A proper club. And its why we keep coming back. The British dont do raw, public displays of pride. But I know that tomorrow, the people of Wrexham will make an exception. Sing for the great memories. Sing for the working men and women of 1864. Sing for the eleven in Red and Black on the pitch ... that they might know just how privileged they are to wear that shirt on this day. And sing because, today - as back in 1864 - this club is a pioneer. Back then we were among the very first to show the world what a beautiful sport Association Football was. Today, we are on a journey to show the world that a new way - community ownership - can succeed, and can do so spectacularly. A rich history. An even richer future. Tell the world, we are just getting started Atticus Finch, 2014 [REPLY] [Report]
Posted on: Sat, 11 Oct 2014 03:26:43 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015