Happiness, Hopes and Dreams!

As the years advance and we all sink into the golden era of our lives, I`m probably not alone in sitting in my favourite armchair in a pensive mood.

With nothing more sinister to do than mull away a few hours, my mind often drifts back to when, as a youngster, my dad used to take me to Kenilworth Road, on a regular basis.

The first season I can really recall is the year we stormed to the old Fourth Division title, a year where the side was captained by Terry Branston and managed by Allan Brown.

It was an era whereby my dad and I used to stand in the Bobbers Stand, a stand that back then was nothing like the stand it is now what with its corporate boxes and corporate facilities.

Our journey used to start at the bus terminus in Limbury Mead, we`d hop on the old green double-decker, bound up the rear stairs and perch ourselves on the upper deck.

It was an era when smoking was allowed and as the bus meandered down Neville Road, towards Limbury Road and up to Biscot Road, the blue fug produced by the smokers used to make your eyes hurt.

As the bus approached the bottom of Biscot Road, we`d disembark at the stop nearest Waldeck Road, walk down under the rail bridge, cross the road and enter the old FW Woolworth shop on Dunstable Road.

Approaching the sweet counter, I`d stuff a bag of the ‘pick-and-mix into my pocket along with a packet of Rolos as we headed up Kenilworth Road, along the alley that runs behind the Bobbers Stand, before being pushed through the creaking turnstiles used to access the smallest stand at the ground.

Once inside, we`d shuffle along to almost the halfway line before those gentlemen in front of me would usher me forwards towards the front where I`d join all the others of my age group. Once at the front, I`d peer through the gaps in the bars and wait for the teams to come out, occasionally dipping into my supply of confectionary.

With the emergence of the teams, the eyes were wide open with excitement as the heroes I`d worship in those white shirts went for the victory. I remember watching the crowd in the Oak Road surge forward every time Luton attacked that end. I recall the smell of the various ointments used to keep the muscles warm and almost getting to touch them as the action almost came to the very spot where I was stood.

On many occasions, during those youthful years, I arrived home, via that same bus route I`d already mentioned, Saturday tea ready on the kitchen for consumption and a head full of happiness, hopes and dreams waiting for the next fixture to come around.

Oh, the joys of being so young!