They say I'm the John Bull of Football. They are nearer the mark than they know. I am not only an outspoken man: I am a John Bull because I have actually risen from a butcher's boy, a barrow boy crying his meat for sale as he went around the town. I have risen from the bottom to the top. I was brought up in a working-class home and family and I'm proud of it. Now they call me 'Lord Bob', and Burnley Football Club "The House of Lord's".

But let us kick-off with the inspiration of it all. This was when I stood as a youngster amid the mighty mass of people assembled near the Town Hall of Burnley to cheer home our Cup winners of 1914. That vast crowd was there, together with the City Fathers, to welcome the Cup to Burnley for the first time. The team came out on the balcony, and there was Tommy Boyle, the captain, holding the Cup in triumph as high above his head as he could in order that all those people should see it. Even I, a nipper of six, could see it. How I thrilled!

Now step forward to May 1960. Then I was privileged to return from the Manchester City ground with the Burnley team and officials to be greeted as the chairman of the League Champions, and there was Jimmy Adamson, the captain, holding the trophy high above his head for all the thousands of people to see and cheer. This after an interval of forty-six years. The kid in the crowd, and later barrow boy, had become the boss.

I was just the son of a barber in Parliament Street, Burnley. (The great Stanley Matthews - he, too, was a barber's son.) The main topic, I remember, in that hairdressing saloon while the men's hair was being powed - that's the word we use in East Lancashire for a haircut - was the wonder win at glamorous Crystal Palace. Let us never forget that the Cup on that occasion had been presented to the winners for the first time by Royalty; in fact, by the King himself. But the Cup was almost everywhere described that year as the 'English' Cup. So in effect Burnley are the only winners of the 'English' Cup, as I understand the medals were so inscribed, instead of the correct term: Football Association Challenge Cup.

All the talk in the barber's chair was of the winning players. And especially of one unlucky lad from Cliviger, Jerry Dawson, who had been unfortunate enough to miss the final owing to injury. Dawson was one of the game's greatest goalkeepers. In that respect he was also one of the unluckiest. But that's the way it sometimes goes in football. The halfback line of that team - Halley, Boyle, and Watson - was not only famous in Lancashire and the North but also throughout England. They were one of the greatest half-back lines of all time. They were contemporary with the celebrated middle line of Manchester United: Duckworth, Roberts, and Bell. These were half-back lines of tremendous merit. Remember that the centre-half in those days was a real pivot. He attacked as well as defended. So it was something to have a man at the heart of the battle so gifted as Boyle, who was spectacular as a player and attractive to watch.

My next real interest in football was to arrive after the 1914-18 war. In March 1919, when it was not, shall we say, fashionable for boys to attend football matches - let alone girls - I contrived by various, means to find enough money to get through the turnstiles at Turf Moor and see my favourites draw with West Bromwich Albion. I even remember the score. It was 2-2.

One of the outstanding events of my life followed. In 1921 the Burnley team had matured, and it was now to reach the greatest heights. The team played thirty First Division matches without a single defeat between September 6 and March 25. No club has ever equalled this performance and, unless it is Burnley, I hope none ever will. Of course, they won the First Division Championship, finishing up five points ahead of Manchester City, whose career runs in curious ways alongside ours. At any rate, the City often cross our trail at important moments.

That 1920 team was one of the best of all time, and consequently I do not hold with those, notably in London, who, because of the play of a season or so, hailed Tottenham Hotspur in 1961 when they performed the Double Event as 'The Team of the Century'. How many of the people - newspaper writers and others - who made this tremendous claim saw the Burnley team of 1920-1?

Here were some of their players: Joe Anderson at centre-forward (twenty-five goals); Bob Kelly at inside-right (twenty goals in thirty-seven matches). These were the leading scorers. But Halley, Boyle, and Watson were still there as the foundation stone. It was a side which was called in one paper 'a set of cunning monkeys'. They were far greater denizens of the jungle for me. They were lions. But, for my money, one man stood out. Bob Kelly was my special favourite. To this day he remains my top-of-the-bill star. This in spite of all the top players I have since seen at home and abroad. Kelly was the daddy of them all. Maybe I thought this because I was young, but there it is.

How did this great performance by Burnley affect young Bob Lord? It lit the spark of my enthusiasm. Yes, and ambition. I made up my mind to become a ground season-ticket holder, whatever work I had to put in in order to secure the modest half-guinea this would cost. How did I raise that ten-and-sixpence? By collecting empty beer bottles and taking them back to the various public houses for sale. Wives didn't visit public houses or inns so much in those days, so I saw the opportunity and by returning these bottles at a ha'penny or a penny apiece I raised nine shillings. I was still one-and-sixpence short. So I asked my brother if I could do odd jobs for him, and in this way I mustered half a guinea.

I was one of the proudest boys in East Lancashire, never mind Burnley, when I got that ticket, and now considered myself part and parcel of Burnley Association Football Club. This was the spur; this was the electric spark that set me going in the football world. Inside me, although only a youngster, I vowed that some day I would take an active part in running the club. During 1920-21, when Burnley had this record run, it was Manchester City who eventually halted them at Hyde Road, on March 26, by defeating them 3-0. The City were runners-up, but they were five points behind Turf Moor. The trails crossed again when in 1960 Burnley won the League Championship by beating Manchester City 2-1 at Maine Road in the last match of that desperately exciting season.

Back a bit, though, to the barrow boy. All my life I have had to work for a living. In June 1921 I became a humble butcher's boy. While still having twelve months to serve at school, I helped the family budget by this work to the extent of half a crown a week. And I attended night school in order to get what you might call an average education. This lasted until I was nineteen. In fact I started work on my own account before finishing at night school.

I left school altogether in 1922, fully prepared to face the world. I recognised, inside me, that I was a bit of an awkward fellow. I have enjoyed having my own way in life because I have had to start from the bottom and find my own way through the jungle. I have resented frustration, and have more or less always pleased myself. Thus I was now an apprentice butcher and, although only an apprentice, I used to think I nearly owned the place. So, whether I was ready for it or not, in September 1927 one of my many differences with the boss came to a head when I asked for a rise. I was earning thirty shillings a week at nineteen. Not so bad in those days. But this didn't satisfy Bob Lord, especially when the boss said I wasn't worth even thirty shillings. So I left at once.

I had never spent a lot of money - by this I mean that some proportion of what little I earned I contrived to save. So in this 1927 crisis I had fifty pounds in Burnley Building Society. This I withdrew, and organised a business of my own. I put the full fifty pounds into this business. First I asked my parents for the use of their spacious basement cellar in our house. In this I placed a butcher's block and tables and equipment, including an automatic refrigerator - the third of its kind in Burnley. Then I got hold of a horse and cart, and started on my own, hawking meat round the streets.

It took a bit of doing. I started like the rag-and-bone men. "Any rags, any bones, any bottles today?" You know the old song. My cry was, "Anyone want any meat today? All prime and juicy." Round and round the streets of the town, with bits and pieces for sale. That's how I started my career. I was fairly successful. The bits and pieces went off very well. At the end of a year I could show a profit of �130. This was encouraging so I looked for advancement again.

I went back to the old shop where I had been an apprentice, had a good look at it, and through the help of one of my pals, Leslie Tout, and his father, who made the necessary contacts with my old boss, I bought that business for �300. What do they say in Gilbert and Sullivan? "I polished that handle so carefullee that now I am the ruler of the King's Navee." I had to work hard, think hard, and look always to the future. That door-to-door-salesman stuff stood me in good stead. The people on whom you call extolling the virtues of your goods, however humble, know of the heartaches, the frustrations, and defeats. While hawking meat for a year in this way I also had moments of joy in gaining the friendship of customers who have remained with me ever since. I believe the seeds of success were sown in fertile soil during street-work. That was the beginning of the firm of Lord's Butchers, now possessing fourteen successful shops and a very large wholesale and contracting business as well.

"Any meat today?" You have to put your pride in your pocket when you start in the bottom row. Even thus early, while so busy with meat, football was still in the butcher boy's bones. But, unfortunately, the way football is governed and run in this country does not satisfy me. Anyone who enters the administration of a club in the Football League must have plenty of wool on his back. He must have 'brass' behind him before entering the game. Perhaps this is a matter which may be remedied in years to come, especially as we have been finding clubs in financial difficulty recently. But I think it's true to say that after seventy-four years of the Football League any man joining a club directorate must be able to make available a considerable proportion of his time, and not a little money, to the game.

I have slaved to do just that - to get in a position to be able to afford time and money to devote wholehearted effort to the workings of Burnley Football Club. I was still an ardent fan among the people on the terraces when one of the saddest days of my life arrived - the last Saturday of the season in 1930 when Burnley were relegated. Only by goal average, but nevertheless relegated. This after they had beaten Derby County at Turf Moor by 6-2. I seem to remember that any of half a dozen clubs could have been relegated that day if two of them had lost their closing matches. But they didn't, and so Burnley slipped into the Second Division again. During succeeding years, until the Second World War, I remained a supporter, but had less spare time, owing to pressure of business. This was a lean time for the club. Disappointment followed disappointment, and it was all uphill, mainly through Lancashire's cotton-trade depression.

But in 1938 Burnley signed on from Hetton-le-Hole, in County Durham, a player named Harry Potts. This started his Burnley career, which has been memorable. He graduated through the junior teams, but his career in football, like that of many others, was interrupted by the 1939-45 war. He served his country, with so many other footballers, and returned in March 1946, playing for Burnley's senior team on Good Friday. He had arrived in England only that week, and his enthusiasm was such that he played that special day. Potts stands out in my mind. He looked to me head and shoulders above them all - clean and immaculate. He wasn't physically fit for first-class football that day, but his enthusiasm for the club made me think. Before the match had finished I was thinking, "This young chap's above average type," and soon after I met him and these impressions were confirmed. First impressions have proved absolutely correct. The friendship I formed at that time has remained ever since. Today he is our manager, but I must tell you how I became a director.

Now, at the age of thirty-eight, I thought about entering the back-stage of football. In the first post-war season Burnley qualified for the First Division (in 1946-47) and also reached the Cup Final, only to be beaten by Charlton Athletic. This was the first Final after the 1939-45 war, and Burnley had gone there 'on the ice', that is, playing most of their Cup ties on snow or ice, in terrible wintry conditions; yet I attended the lot. I also watched most League matches, home and away.

I remember that in June 1947 - yes, June, as the season was extended - when Burnley played West Ham United in sunny weather we were leading at half-time by five clear goals. This at West Ham! And needing two points for promotion! In the second half a strange thing happened: Burnley started taking the mickey out of West Ham by playing every member of the team at centre-forward, one after another, except the goalkeeper, Jimmy Strong. There I heard the slow hand-clap for the first time in my football career. Being green, I thought it was because the Mayor was arriving! To my horror and disgust, I found it was a form of barracking. Any supporter or alleged supporter who descends to such derision should be turfed out.

At the end of this match at West Ham I was invited, as a stalwart supporter, into the Burnley dressing-room by Cliff Britton, the manager, to congratulate the players on their dual achievement. I was getting nearer to officialdom. I had developed a sincere friendship with the manager after some earlier experiences that could not exactly be called cordial. This friendship with the astute and likeable Cliff Britton - a man of the highest principles, who would suffer personally unless they were fulfilled to his satisfaction - has continued ever since. I was grieved when, wrongly in my view, he decided to return as manager to Everton, where he had been an international player. Equally, it was a sad day for me when, some years later, he disagreed with Everton and left Goodison Park.

This 1946-7 season can be included in Burnley's red-letter days as, with little team change, they finished third in 1948 to Arsenal and Manchester United in the First Division. Cliff Britton, Harry Potts, Alan Brown, and such back-room boys as Billy Dougal and Ray Bennion were the architects of promotion and of this period, which re-established Burnley among football's leading lights. Late in 1948 I finally decided to put into operation a plan to strengthen and, if possible, clinch their position. But I had to secure the necessary number of shares to qualify for a seat on the directorate. The first three shares I bought from an old friend, Samuel Farrer, and after about two years I was fully armed and prepared for nomination. This arrived in May 1950. Now the kid in the crowd, the lad with the meat barrow, was the man ready for action in Big Football. For me another world had opened.

THE world is full of snags. Mine came in abundance. To get on the Burnley board of directors I had to fight a double battle; indeed, a treble battle. My dear old dad was for ever pumping into me that I must give up this idea of becoming attached to a football club, because it would interfere with my business. This was poppycock. I knew what I was about, and had it all planned. My father was a friend of the reigning chairman of the club, Mr. E. D. Kay, an upstanding man of forceful character. Indeed, I regarded him in Burnley football as a dictator, although he was a personality I held in the highest respect and regard. I knew he stood for the interests of the club through and through, but my father talked to him in his Edwardian way, not realising that the world was changing and that ambitious young men like myself had more progressive ideas.

Anyway, the upshot was that the chairman grew to think I should be discouraged, and he even opposed my election. As I say, he was a man of strong ideas and did not take kindly to interference. As he and his friends held the controlling number of shares in the club, I was up against it. If they stood together the board was constituted as they wished. I knew I hadn't their support, but went ahead. I contested the election. Indeed, I went so far as to spend many hours canvassing shareholders. What's wrong with that? Some, I know, thought it was 'not done', and this didn't help matters. But I regarded their attitude as snobbish, and do so to this day. I canvassed because I knew of what had gone before, of how directors who had spoken their minds had lost their seats. I was told that this renegade Lord would be kept out, that the hard word had gone round: "We must not let in this man Lord whatever happens." And it was so. I received about 300 votes against a matter of 1500 by the next man. A rebuff? Not to 'Lord Bob'. This may sound high and mighty but that is my make-up. It had made me only more determined to win through.

In 1950 came a bolt from the blue. An experienced director, Mr. William Thornber, resigned, leaving a vacancy on the board. It had been the policy of the club to fill any such loss by co-option, and it was reasonable to assume that this opened the door for the candidate who had failed. But it was that man Lord, and the door remained closed until 1951, when the club made a tour in Turkey.

Around came the time for nomination and I was the only one. What they thought in Turkey I would not know, but there I was, as good as elected. The barrow boy, the recalcitrant person, was in! Election day I shall never forget. The vacancy was proclaimed, and from the platform the assembled shareholders were publicly told: "Under the circumstances, gentlemen, there is nothing we can do. We shall just have to put up with him!" It was the cold douche from 'The Cabinet'. And my father was still pumping into me: "I know you! If you go into football you'll be the same as in everything else. You'll be heart, body, and soul in it and that will mean neglecting your business." Never did he give me credit for having planned my way and being ready to enter management in football.

So here we are, in the seats of the mighty. Before the first meeting of 'The Cabinet' a director strangely overflowed in extolling my election to me, and another told me of intrigue to change the chairman; indeed Mr. Kay later asked me for my support. (This I promised and faithfully adhered to for fourteen months, when I had the sad duty of telling him I disagreed with club policy and could no longer support his views.) But my first meeting as a 'Cabinet Minister' was startling, to say the least. A change of chairman was proposed. A stormy scene followed, and the first time I spoke at a board meeting it was to pour oil on troubled waters. The meeting ended in confusion, with nothing decided about the resolution to change the chairman. We wandered on to the playing pitch, where the atmosphere was still more than sultry, until a member who, strangely again, had arrived late and missed the battle, now turned up and suggested a second sitting.

Mr. Kay was re-elected, but the proceedings left on me an impression that was far from good. It stood out a mile, even to any kind of newcomer, that the discord was a drag on Burnley Football Club. There you have the atmosphere in which I entered official football, and this in a First Division club. This situation had to be tolerated for several years. But I honestly believe that my entrance helped to start a new era. This was to arrive slowly but surely.

The first transaction of note regarding the team was the transfer of Billy Elliott, outside-left from Bradford, at that time one of the strongest players in the country and possessing all the thoroughness and enthusiasm of Willie Cunningham of Preston North End, a player I have always admired. At the board meeting the fee to be paid of round about �20,000 - any such figures in this story will be only approximate, as required by League regulation - was agreed, but there was another hot debate as to who should go to Bradford to settle the transfer. If one went, another would not. We were off again.

Next day Burnley played at Middlesbrough and lost 5-1, and that is the only time during my connection with 'The Cabinet' that we have been at the bottom of the First Division table. The disappointment must have shown in my face as I met a former director of the club (Mr. Jim Pickup) and he read my thoughts in these words: "Bob, th'art in it! Ah know th'art big enough to tek it, but tha's summat on!" Lancashire dialect again. Being interpreted it means: "Bob, you're in for relegation. I know you are big enough to take what's coming, but you've something on your plate!" To hear this from this source was the right medicine for me. In my future dealings and experiences in football, which have at times been dark and sullen, I have always remembered those words.

A day or so later I was called to Turf Moor to help finalise the financial arrangements about Elliott, and the club completed one of the best transactions Burnley ever made, as Elliott always gave all he had got and became a full-blown English international. In contrast, not long after, two directors with instructions to watch a player in Scotland at an Inter-League match went so far as to sign him for a matter of �5000 without any further consultation with the board. Although he was as game as they came, I could never understand this action, especially seeing that we had secured the services of a star like Jimmy McIlroy a year or so earlier for no greater sum. The point is this: Doesn't this prove that directors are not the men to make recommendations, let alone actually sign players? Surely this part of the business should be left in the hands of the manager. That's what he's there for. He should be allowed to stand on his own feet and be judged accordingly.

This brings me to my first experience of scouting for players. Late in 1951 the usual instructions were given by the chairman as to where various directors were to go to watch players at the weekend. I received my initiation at this job by being appointed to watch Bradford play at Crewe. I could have told them I didn't know the first thing to look for in a player, and that if ever a man was sent on a mission which spelt failure this was it. I regarded it as a sheer waste of time and money. I had every desire to find out the way to ascertain the qualities of a player, but was no less sure this was the wrong method to employ to gain that knowledge. But I was only the beginner on the board. I had to do as I was told and had no intention of shirking my instructions.

So I pondered the position for a day or so and decided to find out something before I joined the noble army of football scouts. Then, for the first and certainly not the last time, I went to two of my staunchest friends in football - honest, capable friends - to the then first-team trainer (Billy Dougal) and the second-team trainer (Ray Bennion) to ask them how to go about it and what to look for. Yes, what a confession! But there are plenty of directors who should do the same. Well, I went to Crewe. The man I was supposed to be weighing up didn't seem to me to be the man for Burnley, and so I reported, and that was the end of that.

During my earlier days on the board I was asked to scout about half a dozen times in four years, possibly because the remaining members now knew my feelings about members of 'The Cabinet' looking for talent. This suited me down to the ground. The only people to judge a workman in a job are the people who have done that job. In Big Football this is vital. Scouting by directors was cut out at Burnley immediately I became the chairman of the club, and has been carried out by the experts ever since. This accounts for the good youngsters we pick up? This accounts for the fact that Burnley cost about a fortieth of the amount of money poured out by some of our leading rivals in the First Division today? You, Sir, can supply your own answers.

I am not wishing to indicate that no football director is competent to judge a footballer. That is not strictly true. There is, for instance, Mr. Stanley Seymour of Newcastle United, who is considered one of the finest judges in the country. He is ex-chairman of his club. But the reason for his success on scouting missions is that he himself was a first-class professional player. And we have on our board at Burnley Mr. Wilfred Hopkinson, whose experience through the years has given us every faith in his judgement. But we do not employ him on these missions because there are so many other things in the working of a football club tied up with signing players that can tend to upset good relations. It has been known for directors to boast about the number of players they have recommended to their clubs, and about how much profit has been made eventually on the transactions. I could name six persons who say emphatically, "I was the first to recommend Tommy Lawton, the international centre-forward, to Burnley when he was only sixteen years of age." (Loud laughter.)

But back to Billy Elliott and 1951. 'Twas Christmas Day, peace on earth and goodwill to all men. Burnley played Preston North End at Turf Moor. Elliott, outside-left, versus Cunningham, right full-back. Greek meeting Greek. The pair had hectic tussles and I always thought it was a wise captain's move when Tom Finney saw the red light in time and parted the pair by moving the right-back to outside-left-as far away as the game would allow. Now there was peace on the earth of Turf Moor. This game was full of life and go, as the careful scribes say, but as usual Tommy Cummings, now chairman of the Professional Footballers' Association, entered the visitors' dressing-room at the close to say all's well and cheerio.

In 1952 I was called to Turf Moor by Frank Hill, then Burnley's manager. I had not always seen eye to eye with Frank, but knew him to be a charming person. Confidentially, he produced a letter from Southampton saying they would like him to be their manager. At that time he was not on a good salary and indicated that unless it was increased he might leave for Southampton at something like �2000 a year. We were well up in the League table and in the last eight challengers for the Cup, so I told him I would do my best. Although the junior member of the board, I took it upon my shoulders to urge a more progressive policy and did so in plain English. It was the first time I allowed 'John Bull' to enter 'The Cabinet'. We fixed a �250 increase and were surprised when the chairman returned later to say he had agreed approximately to double Frank Hill's salary. Everyone looked amazed, but no one spoke. I certainly didn't, because I agreed with it. Otherwise, I think, Mr. Hill would have gone to Southampton and we should have been high and dry. And there you have my first experience of fixing football salaries. It has always been my policy to get the best men and pay the highest possible wages.

Back to Index page	Forward to next article

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws