Saturdays

Growing up, a Saturday was always a very special day. 

It was the only day that could really be enjoyed by a child. It marked a school week that be ticked off as having been endured. Another 5 days done out of, well, from Infants school to being a leaver at age 17-18, at least 3500 days of full on education minus genuine sick days or those when fast persistent breathing can cause a light headedness which persuades your mother to let you stay at home. I did this trick often until I was about 13 years old. 

Unfortunately, I cannot now watch a black and white film without feeling sympathetic anxiety from those days when a skive off usually involved watching Miss Marple movies just before my siblings burst in and took over. 

By contrast, a Sunday was not to be enjoyed. Smartened up for Church, usually people around for lunch or out visiting family or friends and then  preparation for the next days return to school. Bath, hairwash, Nit scrape (seasonally optional) and recovering the contents of the satchel which had been enthusiastically dispersed about the house after getting back on a friday. 

In the 1970's I remember the saturday morning TV. Champion the Wonder Horse, The Flashing Blade, Marine Boy. Then along came Swap Shop which was a revolutionary concept for a Kid's programme. The combination of a Live broadcast and interviews with children was highly risky for the BBC but became an important part of the schedule. 

Following the chaos of Swap Shop was the order and procedure of Grandstand. The sports coverage started with a whistle stop summary of what was on during the day. Horse racing, rugby, the one off annual coverage of the Boat Race, boxing, athletics, rowing, cross country running, very infrequent and poorly reported cycling and of course, Football. 

I avidly watched the forerunners to Football Focus as it previewed the days main games and from not just the old First Division. In the pre-satellite TV days any football action on the small screen was extremely rare, usually the FA Cup Final and some England or the Home Internationals. The short snippets of action from the previous weeks games was all that was available. There were features on new managers and the best players, all of whom seemed to drive a Ford Capri and have a hairdresser girlfriend or wife. They were easily on at least £100 per week but even at such a high level of earnings they were somehow approachable, literate and articulate. 

After the football section and faced with the prospect of horse racing from Chepstow it was time to do some activities outside. Perhaps a trip to the shops, a play out at friends, kick about or just up to mischief generally. Somehow, and without a watch, clock or timepiece I always sensed when it was time to get home for the next TV session. Play-Away. This ran from about 3.30pm to 4.30pm. A mix of singing, nonsense, sketches and all round entertainment usually accompanied by the smell of cheese on toast from the kitchen. 

Then, the pivotal part of saturday. The chattering of the ancient teleprinter with abbreviated latest and final scores and then the football results read on the BBC by Tim Gudgin. Actually, his name was rarely mentioned or at least not at all noticed by me as I lined up my slotted league table from the pre-season Shoot Magazine and prepared to meticulously write down, for posterity, the days scores. 

Tim Gudgin had that sort of familiar voice that gave a great feeling of calm and well being in the world. The results were never hurried or mis-delivered. There were hints in the tone of his voice of a score draw or a surprise away win even before he gave the facts. The big scoring games were always reported with style and with great emphasis on the second teams heriosm if retrieving a draw after being many goals to the poorer for much of the game. He gave no hint of where his allegiances as a fan lay which showed exceptional professionalism and a very thick skin. 

The reading out of the results would always, however, drag on. A full league programme extended into the Scottish second division or, if there were Cup matches, even some non-league results to make up the fixture on the Pools Coupon. We did the Littlewoods Pools for a short time but my maths was not that strong on small numbers and fractions and I must have given false hope to my family of a massive pools win by adding up with great innacuracy. 

I saw the coverage of Tim Gudgin's last broadcast and I was sad. Change is a disturbing thing. It was the same when the Speaking Clock changed sex, when John Peel died and sherbert fountain packaging went plastic.

I await to see the pedigree of the next incumbent of the institution that is reading the football results. 

I hope it is not some automated voice or a regional accent that would require sub titles. The BBC will have asked, no doubt, that Tim Gudgin pre-records a number of announcements to cover all future eventualities. I would not at all be phased or distressed by a voice over the airwaves announcing, for example, "  And now for the final moments of the world threatened by meteorite impact read by.........................." 

As a footnote, the ultimate football result almost came true on the 1st of November this year.It was amazingly, East Fife 4, Forfar 3.

I would have like to have been at that game for the last few moments of unprecedented expectation. 

Perhaps Tim Gudgin felt it was a case of so close but no cigar and faced with insurmountable odds against it actually ocurring this may, I speculate, have led him to think about retiring, oh, and he was 82 years old.