Drop ten, turn and face.’ Quilty’s Football Yarns 32 Leeds...we are Leeds

Drop ten, turn and face.’ 

Quilty’s Football Yarns 32

Leeds...we are Leeds

Leeds was a great place to go to university. Awful place to watch football but overall a fine city to spend four years studying. I was 24 when I started up there. Older than most students but I always thought that was a good thing. Having been seven years out of school it let me appreciate the opportunity more. In 1979 if you won a place at university in the UK, your local Education Authority paid your fees as well as a small living grant. Being someone who had worked gave me ‘independent status’ whereas most youngsters were ‘means tested’ through their parent’s income. At Leeds there was a whole range of campus and external accommodation available to its 22,000 students. I was certainly fortunate when they placed me in a university owned  ‘share house’ at 60 Brudenell Mount around the corner to the Hyde Park cinema, in Headingly. It was a big old place amongst streets of similar houses. At the time I speculated that if you had the cash it could be redeveloped to reflect its original five bedroom splendour. 

University back then was truly a smorgasbord of opportunity for students. The ‘freshers’ open week certainly offered choice. Parachuting, learning to fly, horse-riding, all manner hiking / orienteering based activities and all the major sports were catered for. In my four years up in Leeds I played Football for the University, worked on the Leeds Student Newspaper and ran marathons for the Athletics club. I really didn’t time for anything else, especially as I was also supposed do some study. 

Whilst up there I met and made friends with two blokes who have remained lifelong friends. Brian Beacom, a Scot from Glasgow and Brendan McLaughlin from Manchester. In my second year in Leeds these guys actually moved into 60 Brudenell Mount with me. That in itself was a weird thing. You are only supposed to have one year in University accommodation. The authorities must have believed I was a calming influence in that house because they let me stay for all four years!

A funny story looking back was how I had had a change of heart about what to study. I went to the Law faculty and asked ‘what was the possibility ‘of joining them. Surprisingly they told me that if I was willing to wait two weeks there was a chance of switching to Law. Apparently, four or five students failed to turn up as planned, each year. In event I stayed with Economics, History and Politics. Looking back waiting two weeks for an answer was not significant in the bigger picture. Who knew?

In truth I wasn’t the typical student. I only remember going to the library four or five times in four years. My week was full of football. A Wednesday and Saturday game and training twice a week. My day consisted of everything but study. Running, walking around campus, watching or playing football and reading the newspapers. Then, about 11.00 o’clock at night I’d actually settle down after all the distractions to work and would go on until 4.00am. Of course this meant I often missed Lectures, no online stuff then. I tended to make Tutorials but soon learnt there were many students actually doing less than me. An example was in John Schwarzmantels’s Political Doctrines course.  There would usually be about ten students in there and two would be responsible for a presentation. There we sat. Waiting. And waiting. Waiting for the two to actually say something but no just silence. This happened quite regularly but Schwarzmantel would just sit there and say nothing. One day I had had enough, stood up and started laughing before saying “This is ridiculous’ before walking out. Of course the students were useless in not preparing something but he was the adult in the room and chose just to sit. Gormless in his inaction. This upshot of this episode was to be called to his office. I went. Once in there Schwarzmantel started some faux rage at me claiming I was rude.  After about thirty seconds I stopped him saying “Get down off your high horse. Who you think you are talking to? Get your tutorials in order if you want me to attend them!”. And he did. For the rest of the year students were told that failure to prepare meant that the tute would have to be made up at a later date.

Leeds had a good reputation as a University. Unfortunately, some of the lecturers were total planks of wood. So much so that they would walk in, read from a script and walk out without once engaging with the audience. Many did their best work in the Uni bar. Personally, I was never much of a drinker and have probably been a tee-totler for much of the past 27 years. However, there was one Friday night in Leeds when I had a few more than usual. Not really an issue but I actually had examination in the Great Hall the next morning, Saturday. The examination was on Economics. Feeling rough I didn’t take too much notice of where I was and a few familiar faces were in there with me. At the time it did go through my that the paper was a bit different to what I had anticipated but kept writing through the splitting headache I was suffering. Then it was all over and I could make my way home for a few hours sleep. Then, as we all filed out of the Great Hall I saw another crowd of students emerging from a building about 100 yards up the road. Yes, it was my Economics class. I had gone in and done the wrong examination. Fortunately, I had not realised my mistake half way through the test, I would have surely panicked then! In the event I was called in by the Dean of the Faculty. The conversation went something like this.

“Ah, Mr Quilty, I just need to ask you a few questions. The main one is, Why did you sit the ‘Specialist Economics’ test when you actually do General Economics?”

Embarrassed, I came back with. “It was all a mistake, I was running late and didn’t realise I was in the wrong Hall”.

“Its not a problem, you actually passed anyway, we just were just puzzled as to why you came to sit the wrong test!’

This probably explains why my attitude towards student misadventure has always been empathetic. I know anything can happen.

As you can imagine, life was good as a student in 1980. Terrie came up regularly to visit. I was surviving in the cold harsh north and it was almost time to go away again for three months, returning one last time to  Israel. Terrie had actually gone back to her Kibbutz Rosh Hanikra in April, it was on the Lebanese Border. I was returning to Tel Katzir for a third time in June. 

The luxury of long University breaks meant that I had a good three months to spend away in Israel.

I went with Finsbury Leisure Centre mate, Dave Jennings and Terrie actually came to meet us in Tel Aviv. Terrie had no time pressure to return to the UK but we agreed that we would might meet up in a while down south in Eilat, when we both had time off. As it turned out she travelled down before me with a group from her Kibbutz. With no mobile phones the communications we a bit random. The evening I arrived in Eilat the sun was already setting. I had no real idea where Terrie would be. Along the beach were lots of giant umbrellas where groups of travellers bunked down for the night. With thirty or forty people together, it was a safe way to sleep on the beach. Throwing a sleeping bag down I settled in for the night planning to go look for her next morning. The one thing I remember in the night was turning over to see this pretty girl looking at me. Even in a sleepy state, I was respectful enough not to stare at what was possibly someone else’s partner. I rolled over and looked the other way. Next morning my fellow travellers were making plans for moving on further down the coast. I would tag along with them. Then just as we were about to walk off I saw Terrie walking towards me. “Where have you been” I asked. ‘Where? What do you mean? I slept next to you last night. We actually looked at each other!” Embarrassed, I told her of my ignorance and also that we were just about to leave! Terrie told us that she had just popped off to the shower block to freshen up and I was just about to leave her.

We spent a few days in Eilat. She actually nursed me after I’d cut my foot open stepping on the razor sharp coral. We both had to return to our own Kibbutzim but agreed to travel to Egypt together.

We travelled from Israel to Egypt in late 1980. Having just finished on Tel Katzir and Rosh Hanikra. We were among the first to get visas allowing us to do so. Fortunately, we had two wonderful Egyptian families to stay with up in Alexandria, people Terrie had worked with in Stamford Hill Salt Beef Bar.

In 1980 the crossing was at El Arish. We just swapped ‘sheroot’ cabs at the border. A place we got held up for four hours was the Suez Canal. Some big ships were going through. The bridge across was actually a ‘swing bridge’ that could be moved. Our driver actually sat us down, whistled across the dunes and ten minutes later a waiter carrying a tray of black tea and cakes appeared. Surreal times

We were fortunate enough to have two lovely Egyptian families to stay with up in in Alexandria. A few days in Cairo were brilliant but it was a difficult town to leave on any form of transport! In the end we exited when a café owner sent his son at five in the morning to get us bus tickets. Our hosts in Alexandria were brilliant. They actually had to register as foreigners staying at their house. Every day a full feast of chicken, fish, rice and mango juice was laid out at 1 O’ clock. The only problem being that exactly the same meal was also prepared to be eaten at 5 O’clock! The old mum asking in Arabic “Why does Terrie eat nothing?”. Traveling between the two houses just a few blocks apart was nigh impossible. As we walked, neighbours would come to greet us. “Who is this”. “Our friends from London” “Good they must come to my house right now!  And we did. Every time to sit in their reception to drink mango juice and eat biscuits. Magdi one of the teenage sons, knew everyone and got us in everywhere. Agami Beach was beautifully untouched. He also pointed out a government building his ‘friends’ had burnt down. One day he took us to a ‘teachers private beach”. Him, his two brothers and us. We were with locals. As we walked along the beach it was as if time stood still. People stopped mid-bite in their sandwich. Although I was an obvious Adonis in all respects, the crowd were mesmerised by Terrie who was ‘a European lady in a bikini’ and beautiful she was! We eventually found a spot to sit but when we looked around there was an audience of ten, looking down on us from above.

Egypt in 1980 was indeed a place undergoing change. One day on the TV, Sadat came on,(a bit like a modern day Trump) and made a proclamation that no beef should be killed for a month. This was to reduce price racketeering. He obviously made a few enemies because he was assassinated a year later in1981.

We intended to catch a ferry to Athens but it was too expensive. Instead we flew from Cairo to Athens for 33 pound Egyptian. Having changed some local currency we needed to change it back. Unfortunately, the bank at the airport refused to do it. Desperate we told a policeman who knocked on the bank door, entered and threatened to arrest the bank manager if he didn’t help us! We found at that time the Egyptian ‘tourist police’ were excellent.

Unfortunately, our Athens plans hit a snag. The ‘Magic Bus’ was not running for three days, we had very little money and just $1 a night for very low level accommodation. A 68 hour bus trip eventually followed across Greece, Yugoslavia, through Italy and France and back to the channel. Only to suffer another five hour delay because of a naval strike worker strike. Arriving in London we had 50p between us and called Terrie’s mum for a lift home to Islington. We were back.