Harry Ward

Why Blue?

My parents saw City win the Cup in the 1930’s. I was never aware that they forced their views upon me, but it just didn’t occur to me to be anything other than a true Blue. Dad had a season ticket for the main stand and my earliest memories were of me waiting impatiently for his return on match days to find out the score.

He used to tell us, a family of 6 children, tales about his youth. He reckoned he played for a team called ‘Debdale Cinderpath Warriors’. The goalkeeper was called Dizzie, and the story goes that when the ball went one way, Dizzie would always be going the other way.

I think my first visit to Maine Road was made when I was about 11 or 12. After nagging my dad for weeks on end he allowed me to use his season ticket to go and watch City Reserves – the second best team in Manchester. They were playing Wolves. I can’t remember who won but one memory from that game remains with me. The stand was sparsely populated and my seat was only about 10 rows back from the touchline. The ball eventually came within reach of me. I picked it up to toss it back and I was amazed at the sheer size of it. It must have been at least 3 or 4 times larger than the ball I kicked around the local field with my mates.

I reckon I repaid my dad’s kindness some years later when he had me queueing up at the ground on a Sunday morning for FA Cup Semi Final tickets – I don’t think City were involved but Maine Road was to be the venue. After purchasing the allowed “… 2 tickets per person …” I would race round the ground to join the end of the queue again to buy 2 more. I went home with a fistful of tickets that day and my dad was very popular in his local (The Hanging Gate, Audenshaw) with an abundance of tickets for sale. He gave me one for my troubles and that was the first time (but not the last) that I would be part of a 75,000 crowd at Maine Road.

In those days (1950’s) I just couldn’t get enough of City. I would watch the ‘A’ team play at Hatters Park in Denton if the seniors didn’t have a game. For one year, I attended school at Ducie Avenue in Moss Side, and often I would walk to Maine Road at lunchtime just to look at the outside walls of the stadium and in the hope I might see one of the players entering or leaving the ground for training. It was on one of these trips that I scrounged an autograph from the legendary Frank Swift. I think this was after his retirement though because I never actually saw him play.

In 1961 I joined the navy and my opportunities for watching City became fewer. I got married and started a family, and, after leaving the navy, I just had enough time to introduce my son to the sheer joy (and sometimes the sheer frustration) of being a City supporter, before we migrated to a new life in Australia. I now have Australian born grandchildren who show a great deal of passion for the sport of Aussie Rules Football but who equally have a spot in their heart for City. They wear City shirts when out to play and I have promised them that one day I will take them to watch the mighty Blues. I believe they will hold me to that promise.

In conclusion, through the medium of this article, could I thank my nephew, Tony, for introducing us to McVittee, and for sending us a video of that amazing play-off final from Wembley. These have gone a long way to filling a void which absence from Manchester has caused.

First printed in: MCIVTA Newsletter #549 on