Sheffield: pictures for Ricardo

It's true, Ricardo. 1977/9 were my Sheffield University years, when there was that great bookshop on West Street, the Moor was still thriving pre-Meadowhell and t'Oil in t'Rooad was still in place.

Still familiar with Sheffield now because my lad Greg lives in Nether Edge. As for Crookes, the Closed Shop still exists on Commonside and Beanies' wholefood shop continues to sell top notch fruit and veg. There does seem to be a lot of Japanese Knotweed about the area though. BD tells me that the Crookesmoor Building is fenced off and boarded up but the Arts Tower has had a clean-up and still stands proud on the skyline.

In this week's Private Eye there is letter, on the subject of Latinate diphthongs, from Richard Thurlow. That has got to be the same Richard Thurlow who taught both Barton and I the rudiments of social and economic history, for sure.

Are you an Owl or a Blade? This is a question Deedahs are always asked when they are in other parts and they are always one else t'other, aren't they? I met one in Totnes last year and asked him that very question. He were a Blade.

I had no choice other than to be a Spireite because Saltergate was where my dad took us to our first matches. A Chesterfield fan cannot officially like either Sheffield club but (and please keep this a secret) as a youth I was actually a part-time closet Owl.

I once went to a Steel City derby in the early seventies at Bramall Lane and cheered for t'Wednesday. And, like your reaction to John Lennon's death, I had a quiet roar to myself when they threw away a 2-0 lead in the 1966 Cup Final. Most shameful of all, I had a letter printed in the Green 'Un which said that Wednesday should buy Alan Woodward!

Of course, all this nonsense ended for good when the Owls joined the Spireites in Division III, and their fans battered down the gates at the Cross Street End before crossing the pitch in attempt to "take" the Spion Kop, in 1975. "We" beat "them" 1-0
and any lingering affection I had for the Wednesday disappeared for ever that night.

Wednesday have always been the more charismatic club but these days I find that most neutrals come to prefer the Blades. Certainly Bramall Lane seems a more welcoming place than Hillsborough, while United's long years of under-achievement seem quite endearing. It's easier for proper football fans to indentify with failure than with success, after all.

A deedah is a person from Sheffield or Rotherham and refers to the local accent, as in, for example "Ayup, dee, wat dah doin'?" Bobby Knutt and Sean Bean are fine examples. Neil Warnock's rougher edges have been worn away since he has lived in Cornwall but there's no disguising his essential deedahness.

Deedahs are not to be confused with Tykes, who come from the heart of Yorkshire (Leeds, Barnsley etc) and whose dialect is not as funny to the rest of us.

Given the direction of that Castle Square picture, that's an extremely optimistic shout claiming those hills for Derbyshire!

What about those wonderful old buses? If only m**s* was here now!

A gracious apology, which I gladly accept! I remember the fighting but not Malcolm Darling's goal from 39 yards, which must be a misprint because it would have been pretty unforgettable. The match itself is a blur, though, because, in common with thousands of others who were there, my over-riding concern was about getting home again in one piece.

The closure of the Kop end came about during 2000/1 when tubby chairman and massive fraudster Darren Brown reneged on a promise to carry out essential safety measures. Saltergate was in such a neglected state in the summer of 2009 that it was the perfect choice to play the role of the 1970 Baseball Ground in The Damned United, having hardly changed at all in the intervening 39 years.

The old place, which was at the top of my street, was still intact in June this year but you'd never know that now. I can hear the sound of houses and flats are being built as I write*

My first trip to Hillsborough was on 28 December 1968 and was supposed to be a Christmas present from Uncle Fred, who almost certainly got the tickets for nothing because he was far too stingy to have bought them and, besides, he preferred United to Wednesday. It was a day so cold that Southampton goalkeeper Gerry Gurr couldn't cope and threw up in his penalty area. Peter Eustace missed a penalty, the game ended 0-0 and Uncle Fred had a big row with another fan after trampling on his seat at the end of the match. He then told me and my brother that he had "some business" to do and disappeared for an hour leaving us to freeze in the back of his van. I've been back a few times since then but never with Fred.



* Actually journalistic licence. It's a public holiday and the builders have got the day off. Besides, all I can hear outside today is the traditional August Bank Holiday wind and rain. Thank goodness for the internet and these forums in particular.

OK, I give up. That's Angel Street straight ahead so those hills are in Yorkshire. I thought they looked too bleak and unattractive to really be in Derbyshire