Mixed Emotions

Olly Wicken, creator of Hornet Heaven, offers us another yellow flavoured tale...

He lowers himself into his easy chair. Next to him is the large cardboard box he asked his grandson to lift down from the loft. 

Joseph is 91 now and he’s having a clear-out — to reduce what his family will have to deal with when he’s gone. But this box is something he won’t send to the dump or the charity shop. It’s his collection of old Watford stuff. 

A lot of Watford fans keep items from the past. Some people are serial hoarders; some are serious collectors of antique memorabilia; some instinctively tuck away keepsakes of the greatest moments in a life of supporting the Orns.

 But Joseph has always taken a different approach.

 Like plenty of others, after thrilling and famous wins, he’s kept newspaper cuttings. (He knows that, inside the box, he’ll find match reports from the 1992 cup win over the league champions Leeds, and the 3-0 despatch of the unbeaten champions elect — Liverpool — in 2020.) But he’s also made a point of keeping mementoes of the bad days too.

 He opens the box and picks out the rosette he wore to the FA Cup quarter-final win over Liverpool in 1970 — and also picks out the ‘Bonser Out!’ silk scarf he wore to the home defeat to Walsall five years later that sent Watford back down into Division Four.

 He finds a ballpoint pen that jubilantly commemorates Watford’s 7-1 win over Southampton in 1980 — but only by lifting up a flag he took the 2013 Play-off Final defeat to Palace.

 As any music fan will tell you, a greatest hits collection isn’t a true reflection of a band’s output. As any football fan will tell you, the highs are better because of the lows. That’s why Joseph has kept what he’s kept — to reflect the mixed emotions of supporting Watford. He’s always wanted the box to give a balanced account of a lifetime’s support.

 But now — as he delves further into the box — he sees something that brings back particularly painful memories.

 *     *     *

The object is from nearly eighty years ago — just after the Second World War. It’s grey and metallic. No one would ever describe it as a thing of beauty.

 He puts it on his lap and gazes at it — remembering what it means to him and why he kept it. He’d rather not remember, but feels he should — in the spirit of balance.

 A moment later, he’s grateful to be interrupted when his grandson Matt comes back into the room.

 Matt smiles when he sees the rosette, the scarf, and the ballpoint pen.

 “Old Watford stuff!” Matt says, genuinely excited. “Can I take a look?”

 “Of course,” Joseph replies happily, and he explains the idea behind his collection — how he keeps both good things and bad things from his time supporting Watford.

Joseph watches Matt looking through the box. It warms his heart. Joseph was the first in his family to support Watford because his dad wasn’t into sport. After that, Joseph’s children and grandchildren became fans too. They’re an established Watford-supporting family now.

He reflects how supporting the club has made his family’s relationships much stronger and deeper than his relationship with his dad ever was. It has made for a lifetime of continual connection and shared emotion. And, if the idea of a Hornet Heaven proves to be true, as he hopes it will, there’ll be an afterlife of more of the same.

 After a while, Matt points at the object on Joseph’s lap and says with a grin: “Most of the stuff in your box looks great, Grandad. So did you keep this for balance — because it looks rubbish?

 “Something along those lines,” Joseph replies. He doesn’t want to talk about it because he doesn’t want to re-visit the memory of how he came by the object.

He looks into the cardboard box to find something else to interest Matt.

*     *     *

It’s 1947. Joseph is thirteen. He’s in the sitting room at home — just back from watching Watford with his mates. Watford lost.

 His father comes into the room and, a little awkwardly, puts the object on a side table next to Joseph.

“Well,” his father says anxiously, “what do you think?”

 Joseph isn’t in the mood. Watford were thrashed 7-0 at Port Vale last Monday, and today they lost at home to Aldershot.

 Joseph grunts: “What is it?”

 “It’s… er… Well, it’s Meccano, obviously...”

 The thing on the table is ten inches long and eight inches tall. It’s all metal panels, metal strips, and metal brackets.

 Father says: “Don’t you… um… recognise what it is?”

 “No,” Joseph answers bluntly.

 As far as Joseph can see, it’s pretty much the same as everything else his father has built to try and interest Joseph in model-making. Usually, it’s a bridge, or a crane, or a ship. But this thing has a sloping roof.

“It’s the Main Stand at Vicarage Road,” his father says.

Joseph would never have guessed. He feels like pointing out that Watford’s main stand doesn’t have circular holes on every surface and isn’t held together by oversized bolts. But he holds his tongue. 

His father adds: “You see, I… I read in the newspaper that the stand is 25 years old this year… So I…”

Joseph waits for his father to complete the sentence, but it hangs unfinished. 

“Why have you built it?” Joseph asks. It comes out sounding like an accusation. “You don’t like football.”

“You do, though. So I thought—”

“I like watching the game. I’m not interested in where people sit,” Joseph snaps.

His father looks abashed and says: “I see… I just thought you might… No… I can see why you… Yes…”

Joseph’s father disappears back to his study with the Meccano Main Stand. 

Joseph won’t see the thing again until — years later — he finds it in his father’s study after his father has died.

*     *     *

Joseph reaches into the cardboard box and pulls out two things for Matt. 

The first is a train ticket to Watford’s abject FA Cup exit to non-league Northwich Victoria in 1977. The second is a match report of the 2-1 win over Liverpool that, just six years later, meant Watford were runners-up in English football. The two objects tell a story by themselves, but Joseph enjoys embellishing the story with his own recollections. Matt laps it up.

Then Joseph pulls out a Watford Observer supplement that previews Watford’s first season in the Premiership — in 1999. Joseph tells Matt how, originally, he kept it in his excitement at the back-to-back promotions Graham Taylor had brought the club on his Second Coming, and how — looking back — it now seems to symbolise the futility, in modern football, of smaller football clubs even bothering to dream.

Matt nods and says: “Good and bad in one object.”

Joseph smiles that his grandson gets it. He’s grateful that he’s had the chance to spend time with Matt bonding over Watford like this. 

After a while, they start packing the box back up together.

Briefly, Joseph hesitates over the Meccano Main Stand. He doesn’t really want it in his collection of old Watford stuff. It feels too potent a reminder that although supporting Watford brings you closer to people, it can also distance you. Not everyone in a family goes to Hornet Heaven.

In the end he decides to stick to principle. The collection was always intended as a box of mixed emotions: the Meccano Main Stand must go in. 

But to soften the blow for next time he’s opening the box (if there is to be another time) he decides to add something else to his collection. It’ll be a counterpoint to a reaching-out from father to son that failed.

He asks Matt to fetch a framed photo that’s on the mantelpiece. It was taken at the 2019 FA Cup Final 

Matt brings it over and Joseph smiles at the shot of himself, his two sons, and four grandchildren. The three generations of his family are wearing Watford scarves. 

Matt says: “This goes in the box because it was taken on a bittersweet occasion, right?”

Joseph nods and says, once again, “Something along those lines.”

Then he places the photo inside the Meccano Main Stand and finishes packing the box, happy with everything he’s handing down. 

THE END

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