It was just so satisfying. We bought 6 point of lay hens from a poultry farm in Silsden; put them in a lovely big run with a warm, dry shed and sat back and waited for them to lay egg after egg. This they eventually did and we had no worries about them falling ill because an expert said don’t worry hens don’t get sick – they just die. Anyway he said, you can always ring up the Little Hen Rescue Centre if you do find a hen with a dripping vent, an infected oviduct, an impacted crop, or just plain lethargic.
(For more information on hens look up www.littlehenrescue.co.uk this is a wonderful group to which you can make donations and even adopt a hen. )
Once the production line began the eggs were delicious with lovely runny yellow middles and the surplus we always sold cheep. These hens were always well behaved; in fact we trained them to lay the eggs straight into the egg box every night. Down we’d go the next morning and collect the boxes from the hens and pat them all on the head. They’d all hop up and down with excitement when they saw us and knew that we loved them very much and this made them happy hens and happy hens lay happy eggs.
The saddest bit was every three years when they were past laying. We couldn’t bear to kill them ourselves so got the local butcher to do it. The first occasion was so traumatic we decided that the next time we’d just give them to a farm and ask the farmer to let them run around in the woods and enjoy their final years as a thank you for all the lovely eggs. The first batch that got the chop after they came back from the butchers; I can remember sitting in the garage plucking them so we could make chicken casseroles with them. We didn’t do that again either. Three-year old chicken has the texture of an old boot. Only once did we have intruders pinching the eggs so we contacted henterpol.
I tell you all this because I want you to understand that Mrs T and I do have some empathy with the esteemed Venkys our fellow hen lovers. In just the same way that I like anyone who has a Scottie, (Jimmy Adamson was one) I like anyone who has hens. People who have hens in their back garden can’t be all bad… a bit weird perhaps… but always hentertaining.
And what did I do at the beginning of the week? I spent a happy hour at Burnley Cem in the freezing cold, the coldest March for 50 years, eating a big bacon sandwich. Boy was it good, with crispy well done bacon in a big Bap. It was from the Pig-out at the top of the hill. It was the first time I’d had a picnic in a graveyard since the Cup quarter-final at Watford in Stan’s time when we had our sandwiches in the graveyard opposite the ground. What I was actually doing at Burnley Cem was a bit of sleuthing work, looking for Jimmy Adamson’s mother’s grave to confirm the year of her death. Writing a book is not all about sitting at a computer; sometimes you have to get out and about, put yer old Colombo raincoat on, and ferret things out. 1954 as it turned out, not exactly crucial to the JA story but just one of the little snippets that make up all the jigsaw pieces that you like to put together. Jimmy had only been married a couple of years and he’d bought his mother a little house on Mizpah Street near to Lill and Bill May where he had been in digs after he came down from the Northeast. At the moment there’s a bit of an effort going on up in the northeast to try and track down any remaining relatives. Publication is due August 1st with a Jimmy Adamson evening on the cards.
What a week for news though… Michael Owen retired from football… big announcement… Ferdinand announced he wouldn’t after all accept his England selection having first said he would… yawn, yawn who cares… and Leeds United having just lost to Huddersfield have been put up for sale by the owners who have barely been there weeks… is this because Colin has accepted and announced that promotion is off for this year… and they want to get shut of a lame duck? We grumble at dear old Burnley but compared with so many other clubs… is BFC a textbook case of a well-run club. Not a spit away is currently the most shambolic club in the land.
But in amongst all the news it was the Appleton bombshell that was totally awesome. It was something we might have expected after a few more months perhaps… but so soon… totally, utterly awesome. Whoever gets the rights to the first Venky book will have a stunning bestseller. ‘Carry on up the Khyber… or Carry on down the Khazi’.
Nevertheless I have decided to apply for the Rovers manager’s post. I offer the following qualifications:
I know where the ground is.
I know where India is. Well, I can find it on a map.
I have a blue and white T-shirt. I’m sure I can get the stains out.
I used to be a headmaster and there are similarities between this and a football manager. The manager has his players; the headteacher has his teachers. Both have to be told what to do. Neither a manager nor a headteacher are there to be loved. I had a staff of six teachers. Two thought I was Mr Wonderful, two I never knew what they thought and the other two thought I was a tw*t. As a headteacher I could never tell staff to f*ck off, much as I wanted to; I’d have been up against a grievance committee. But I understand that you are allowed to do this with footballers. I shall enjoy this, especially Dunn. In fact he will be the first on whom I will practise.
You can tell I am clever; I know the correct way to spell practise.
I used to do Saturday morning football every weekend with U11s Junior School kids so I know a lot about kick and chase and falling over a lot.
When I moved to a little school as Head I was the first to have girls in the team. I understand there are a lot of big girls in the Rovers team.
Although I have never been to India I am more than happy to visit every month to get my wage packet and instructions; and to let you know how things are going backwards. And of course we can spend many happy hours talking about our common hobby - hens. My favourites by the way are Silkies. I just love the fluffy plumage. They also have five toes on each foot whereas other hens only have four – much like the typical Blackburn supporter. The tiny ones are called Silkie Bantams, very popular in Bradford. Silkie soup is very popular in Singapore – but as far as I am concerned – they can keep it
I envisage raising income streams at Ewood by using the pitch on weekdays for rearing hens. We can call this additional hencome. On match days we simply round them up and take them to the training ground. If we miss an odd one and it gets on the pitch during a game it won’t matter. The players are used to this anyway. I would recommend Rhode Island Reds. You have one Rhodes already. This is a start. We could give vouchers with every programme sold and for six vouchers you get a box of eggs.
 |
| A poultry accessory for the club shop |
I can advise on matters regarding the club shop. I would recommend the introduction of a whole range of poultry accessories. The Grandpa Chicken Feeder would be a perfect example. This is a device that allows the chooks to feed but deters foxes and vermin such as squirrels. Chickin Lickin Nutri Peck Blocks are very popular. Biolink Liquid Egg Wash is excellent for washing eggs but is also a good shampoo for the players and is handy to have in the dressing room. Verm-X poultry zest pellets are self-explanatory and can also be slipped into players’ tea mugs. Battles Poultry Spice – need I say more - you may already be familiar with this. The Diatom Puffer Pack is very good for getting rid of fleas and mites and you can puff into places that the ordinary person would never dream of.
And of course there is a whole range of rubber chickens to sell to supporters.
One of my specialties is knowledge of Mycoplasmosis – a common chicken disease. Symptoms are wheezing, swollen eyes, cheeks and face, lethargy and a hunched appearance. Many footballers I have seen display the same symptoms. I would be happy to instruct on treatment though in Dunn’s case and at his age the prognosis is probably not good.
You will be well aware that to keep the hens happy you need some prize cocks. I understand you have one or two of those already at Ewood.
I would recommend and be happy to advice on the introduction of new fast food outlets round the ground – McVenkys. The new burgers would be known as The Big Venk.
I am an esteemed author and will be happy to write the definitive history of the Venkys at Ewood covering agents Kean, Berg and Appleton. Of course I will portray them as idiots, but your good selves as having the club deep in your hearts. My biography of Willie Irvine was top of the best sellers in Bacup and Ramsbottom for nearly a week. Let me know if you would like a copy. I have a garage full.
My good friend Winston was once a tough, tip-top tax inspector. He was very high up, with an office on the 9th floor in Bingley. Then he left and became a van driver for reasons he could never fully explain. He will be happy to offer guidance on dodgy deals, tax avoidance, loopholes and allowances you can claim for all the new planned hen huts at Ewood.
The one and only snag I foresee to my application is that whereas agents Kean, Berg and Appleton were all hairless and shiny on top, and not the best-looking blokes in the world – I am extremely handsome, ladies (mainly those over 60) have been known to swoon when I sweep into a room and say “well hello girls”. I also have hair although it is thinning on top.
Finally: may I say I am confident in my ability to work with Mr Singh and keep a straight face and will be quite happy for him to pick the team, whilst I concentrate on increasing egg production.
I hope all this is helpful and my application will be considered by your eminences in a favourable light.