MOSSLEY 1 BARROW 2 HFS Loans League Premier Division 13 February 1993 by Graham Murphy
Once again my efforts to get to a match proved more action packed than the match itself. I'm getting really p¡$$£¶ off with it. If it wasn't for the fact that I'm writing this on Valentine's Day and listening to some soothing romantic music (Motorhead), it would really be getting on my tits. Yes, it happened again. For the third time this season I missed the kick-off and failed to get a programme. On a day when I really needed a navigator, Gazza didn't come. In fact, he wasn't anywhere to be found. I phoned all morning, but there was no answer. Even his car wasn't parked in its usual spot. Gazza, where are you? Come back, I need you before next season. So on arriving in Mossley, I was a little apprehensive of finding the ground, even though it was the third time I'd been there. My memory told me that it was on the side of a hill, high above the town behind a fairly large pub. So there I was perched high on the side of a hill overlooking Mossley scanning the horizon for a familiar landmark, a floodlight pylon, or even a pub. A little geography may help here. Mossley is on the Eastern extremity of Manchester as a long finger of old cotton mills and terraced houses thrusts its way into a narrow winding Pennine valley (guess where this imagery is leading?). It crawls up both sides of the valley like some primæval amoebic creature stuck in its own slime. And there I was, looking at it, and then at my watch. Ten to three already. At ten past three I'd driven down almost every street on that side of the valley and in the valley bottom and there was still no sign of the sodding ground. No floodlights, no signposts, no sound from the game; nothing. I was thinking I'd have to ask somebody. But I hesitated. No-one in Mossley will know that there is a football ground. And what is it called? Seel St, that's it! Ask where Seel St is. So I look around for a suitable person to ask. Now this is a skill all in itself. You don't want to stop some weirdo who'll ask you to give him a lift so he can show you where to go, which just happens to be down the road from his destination. What a coincidence. Neither do you want to ask some halfwit who couldn't direct his way up his own backside, let alone to a football ground somewhere across town. So you look for someone with a reasonably intelligent face, aged between 25 and 65, and on their own. Alternatively, any attractive woman who takes your fancy. There was a dearth of these in Mossley on this particularly Saturday afternoon. They'd probably all gone with their boyfriends to the Conference game between Stalybridge and Kidderminster (att. 702). Stalybridge to go down and Barrow to go up in 1994? Let's hope so. I chose my target, a chap in his thirties standing alone on a street corner. "Excuse me, but can you tell me the way to Seel St?" "No. Where's that... is it in Mossley?" "Yes, of course it is!" Me, thinking I've picked a right one here. "What is it you're looking for?" he enquires. "Is it a house?" What sort of question is that supposed to be? He doesn't know where Seel St. is in any case, so if I were looking for a house, what was he going to tell me? Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound! "No, I'm trying to find the football ground." He looked at me blankly. "Mossley football ground?" I offered tentatively. His face changed. Oh no, what have I said? "Eeee lad," he lapsed into local dialect. "Tha's meels away. See up there. Top Mossley." He pointed up to the opposite side of the valley and in between two chimney pots I could make out the top of a floodlight post. "How do I get there?" "Tha' goez dowent Manchester Road, turn right, left up Standard Hill, then..." his voice trailed away and the arm he'd been excitedly waving around dropped to his side. I glanced at my watch. 3.17pm. "So I go down there, turn right onto the Manchester Road, then left on...?" "...Stamford Hill." Oh! I'm sure he said 'Standard' first time? "It's by t'station. Then ask summat else when 'e gets thur." Well, that was as much as I was going to get from him. So performing my eighteenth three point turn in twelve minutes, I sped away towards Manchester Road before I was mistaken for an eleven year old joyrider. Fortunately, from the top of Stamford Hill the ground is signposted. And there it was behind the 'Highland Laddie'. I'd just spent the last twenty minutes or so looking for the ground on the wrong side of the valley. So Gazza, please come back. I need you. Never mind the prawn dinners, the directions for Mossley in the Non-League Directory are about as much use as a bat is to an English cricketer in India (i.e. not much). 'Off M62 from West via Oldham, From East via Saddleworth. From Manchester via Ashton-under-Lyne.' Brilliant. I'd have got straight there with those, wouldn't I? It was much later that I realised why my request for Seel St. was met with such a blank expression. My erstwhile guide had been right. There is no Seel St. in Mossley. The football ground is called Seel Park... and it's in Market Street! Mind you, the much-maligned Non-League Directory does sometimes have its uses. Try this for Frickley... 'South Elmsall from A1 and A638. Left at Superdrug, right at T-junction, down hill, right at junction, immediate left up Westfield Lane, left into Oxford St. opposite Westfield Hotel, ground on right.' If it'd had half as much detail for Mossley, I might have made it. Maybe next time. Originally appeared as 'Into the Valley' in issue 016 - April 1993