The Legend of The Green Trunk

It is just a green metal trunk.

It is in fact the storage box from an old car owned by my Uncle Harold, one of those that will have been lashed onto the boot which dates its origins to the late 1940's at least. In large figures stencilled on in old school style is the vehicle number plate DOB 674.

I will have acquired it, or rather commandeered it after Uncle Harolds passing for the sole purpose of stashing away my personal treasures.

Since 1979 it has been in various positions in the bedroom that I occupied as a teenager and from time to time until I left home for Polytechnic and thereafter to make my own way in the world I would carefully place in it anything that I felt should be preserved for posterity. I may have vainly thought with youthful certainty that when I was indeed famous the items would go well in a museum or archive or be revered by my fan base.

I have been a bit nervous about retrieving the trunk from the old family home and have put off doing it since at least 1987 when I had space to transfer it into the first house that I purchased in my own name. There were  frequent requests from my parents to come and pick it up, after all they had plans for the room for their own use or to accommodate the ever increasing numbers of grand children that were being prolifically produced but a combination of circumstances and that nagging anxiety somehow prevented me from complying.

It must have been close to being disposed of on a number of occasions but I kept the idea alive that one day I would be reunited with it.

Well, that day was today.

It was a spontaneous thought, almost a throw away comment to my Mother that I might as well take it away with me. She was, frankly thrilled at the positivity of the statement but nevertheless rolled her eyes as if to say "about flippin' time, son".

It took myself and my own strapping son to even ease the trunk from the established rut in the carpet in the middle of the room. The handles at each end were thin and painful to grasp and even more so when taking up the strain and physically manhandling it down four flights of stairs. I regretted parking the car well down in the next street as we struggled along the pavement. We had to set the trunk down a few times on the pavement to revive our cramped and red marked hands before finally managing to heave it up and into the back seat.

Upon returning to my own home I did not rush to expose the contents but rather went out for a long walk to mentally prepare for what would be a blast from the past. It was not until four hours later that I let my son drag the dead weight archive into the living room for the big reveal.

The contents covered the period in my life from 1969 to 1987.

The earliest item was a Blue Peter Annual, the sixth edition with the classic and best line up of presenters of Singleton, Noakes and Purvis. The most disappointing, a large collection of Chartered Surveyor Weekly Magazine some still in their cellophane wrappers. I would not hesitate to commit these to the recycling plant but was unsure if the paper on which they were printed was a pre-recyclable type.

There was my swimming certificate from 1974 (aged 11) although I must have completed the single width of the pool doggy stroke because the assessor had crossed out "in good style". I remember it was still a triumphal moment for all the critical acclaim.

A section of the trunk was taken up by my collection of football programmes.

I had been taken by my Father to my first proper league game in the 1971 to 1972 season at Scunthorpe United and that slim and monochrome programme brought back all of the memories of excitement and mortal fear on the raucous and ever-shifting terrace amongst the pall of cigarette smoke. At subsequent games I always made a beeline for the club shop, or rather a small kiosk crammed with club merchandise and collectables. Nestled in the trunk was a red vinyl pennant for Liverpool FC, the type that respective club captains always exchanged on the centre spot before a big match. The latest date displayed was a league or cup title in 1965.

I went to the old Wembley Stadium twice in the mid 1970's and saw Malcolm MacDonald score all 5 goals against Cyprus. Rather, a far off distant figure kept scoring and I found out who it was in the next day's newspaper. Other programmes I sent off for by post or managed to buy from WH Smith on FA Cup Final Day as they always had a small stock in the magazine racks.

My cycling interest was well supported in documentary form with copies of Cycling Weekly and a few editions of L'Equipe which I got on school exchange trips or holidays when the Tour de France was on. There were a lot of loose cut out pages of Hinault, Fignon, Sean Kelly and Robert Millar stained with spots from dried out blu-tac where I had them displayed on my bedroom wall.

Pop music was also represented by extracts from NME ,Melody Maker and Smash Hits mostly reviews of The Jam.

I was getting through the layers of memorabilia like an archaeologist on a dig.

School Day items included old blazer badges from The Grammar featuring the politically inflammatory Red Hand of Ulster from the illustrious 17th Century founder who chopped off his own hand just for the kudos of being the first Protestant invader of Ireland under Cromwell. A few exercise books from Form 1A were cringeworthy, particularly my essay on my very first day in senior school. My obviously swotty and geeky character was somehow countered by a huge collection of beer mats testifying to my later fascination with under-age consumption of alcohol.

Pride of place, however, was taken up by my meticulously assembled and full compliment of Speed and Power Magazines for boys. 87 issues bought at 10p and later 12p a month from 1974. The publication featured all aspects of transport from military to civilian, sports and to the downright wacky prototypes many of which are actually commonplace today. I was distraught when, upon short notice, the magazine merged with Look and Learn. I boycotted the takeover as only a 12 year old boy can. Withdrawing my hard earned pocket money will have hit them hard.

My wife and son were overcome with hilarity at the photographs of the haircuts and fashion sense of my youth but I could tell that their interest was waning very rapidly. I carefully returned my personal archive to the green trunk but was mindful of searching out a good and strong padlock after being informed that individual Speed and Power issues were going for about £1 each on E Bay.