The visit of Wilmslow was enriched by a large turnout of their members, who are of course long time friends of the Alies, so there was plenty to mull over after the travails suffered by both clubs last season. Regardless of the outcome a splendid atmosphere was generated in the company of friends who go back a long way and have the utmost respect for each other; already the date for the return game has been pencilled in, March 10, a week after the voyage to Douglas, a liver testing week is therefore on the cards!

As a mark of respect and also to honour the memory of Jonty, the Alies wore something red or pink, some were adorned with subtle shades but Gilly’s combination was an eye watering palette that would have given the paint master at Windsor and Newton’s nightmares and had his pupils revolving at 78 rpm. Before the next appearance of this regalia a health warning should be issued in addition to a pair of polarised Ray-Ban’s.

Maximus popped in after managing to free the young mutt from his leg, the Fitter was making a rare appearance but did not tarry long with an evening of “Strictly” coming from his old stomping ground at the Tower Ballroom.

During the course of the early evening the Press Secretary was nonplussed when he was showered with gifts in recognition of his approach to being an octogenarian.

Birkenhead Park proved a popular venue for the Alies with Matron well to the fore despite the Loafer taking the front seat which is usually the domain of the President. However, any rumpus was avoided because the Major quickly ignited the election debate and soon promises were being picked over like a pack of hungry prairie wolves.

Once the dust had settled the Sommelier, who had been rather dragging his feet, was called into action and with much shrugging of shoulders and after complaining about lack of room, started to sort the bottles out with the type of grape influencing the supping order.

Doctor Foster brought along some tasty Scotch Eggs, a brain racking punning session began around the subject of electricity and because Gilly was not aboard it met with little resistance and overall was very positive. The Sommelier broke off from his duties to berate a motorist who cut across two lanes and blew a fuse; thankfully Bill, the driver, calmly dealt with the situation unlike the Sommelier, who was frothing away for a couple of miles.

The infamous “Alleycats” of Birkenhead Park had organised a Ladies Lunch in aid of Breast Care Awareness so it was very busy in the Pavilion, however, President Rich organised the beer, in fact the generosity continued both before and after the game which left Kitty Master, Doctor Foster with little to do, but he did bring along a bundle of unused notes to Broughton Park.

As always the company was first class at Birkenhead, it has always been a club, at least as far as the Vale are concerned where you just sit back, relax and let the beer, humour and banter take over. A sad note was introduced when the Alies heard that the legendry Graeme Marrs had sadly passed away, glasses were raised in memory of a man who embodied the spirit of rugby.

Before departing some of the Alies had the good fortune to become tangled up with aforementioned “Alleycats” but unfortunately they had to refuse their kind invitation to pull up a chair and join them. A beguiling, mind boggling evening beckoned but it would have been a challenge because most of the Alies had left their tablets and other medical aids behind and being so vulnerable it could have all ended in tears.

It was a rather bleary grape infused journey back, Matron was spotted cradling a Prosecco and for some a nightcap was refused back at HQ. The Loafer fell into the arms of his son to be taken home, something of a first here, Doctor Foster and the Press Secretary booked a taxi. As the good Doctor weaved his unsteady way along the promenade he topped up the water in The Bay, while the scribe ended up unloading a load of shrapnel into the hands of a bemused driver. Unfortunately the Platelayer was quite tired and emotional and although he had set the Q Box earlier in the day to record the rugby he dozed off on the sofa but did view the action at 04.00 hours accompanied by a tempting curry that was within reach on the parquet.

Any thoughts that the absence of the Sommelier would cause confusion on the way to Broughton Park were quickly dispelled when Maximus swung into action and with a little prompting from the Platelayer the measures were dispensed. The Loafer quietly slipped his glass to Maximus, conscious that son’s beady eye was logging his every movement because the Loafer was definitely under a three wine whip.

Dwaine made excellent progress down the motorway but the speed dropped when the coach became part of a rolling road block and despite the urging from the Platelayer to contact the driver of the flashing blue light vehicle to inform him that he had a valuable consignment of rugby players behind him who were en-route for their fixture which kicked off a 14.15 hours, his request was turned down by Dwaine.

Progress however, was swift and the Alies clambered up the stairs into the clubhouse just as the shutters were rising and the ale being pulled through. In addition to the Alies, there was a strong compliment of independently travelling supporters including Wally, who demolished a plate of pie and chips in double quick time, before he left to take his place on the balcony to indulge in a spot of verbal jousting with the opposition but despite unleashing a few choice observations the debate petered out.

The Briggs family were out in force with a fine assortment of bobble hats, some pert and rounded others quite floppy. Ross’s mum and dad put in an appearance as did Harm’s, and of course no away fixture would be complete without the coquettish Ann, who always enlivens any conversation.

Naturally spirits were high after the victory at Houghend, it was after all the first win away from home since Warrington in April 2018 and a collection of beatific smiles on numerous faces told their own story. For some of the Alies and players, they had either witnessed or taken part in a catalogue of 16 away league defeats, plus a loss at Leek in a warm up game at the beginning of the current season, since the “uncertain glory of an April day.”
The return journey was not exactly a whistle and bells escapade, there were no high stepping baton twirling majorettes prancing down the aisle, no pole vaulting over seats but there were many beaming faces, it was a time to luxuriate in the achievement and to bask in its warmth, like soaking in a warm, foam filled bath.

This does not imply that Maximus was made redundant but a sensible tempo was maintained, the guzzling of the previous week was not repeated, perhaps the excesses of Birkenhead were seared in the memory. Woggle sent round a tin of Rocky Roads, lips were smacked and glasses topped up and unlike the previous week there were enough Alies left standing to enjoy a drink back at base to celebrate the rolling away of a tiresome boulder from in front of what had been a dark cave.

The Tiler and his two entrepreneurial sons, plus Mint Cake were the principal sponsors for the Burnage game and with a full complement of Burnage officials it was a lively pre-match lunch, only spoilt by the miserable weather and later on by the result that left the Alies bemused after the Vale had enjoyed so much forward dominance and territorial possession only to lose 17-12.

Alies choice of Man of the Match, was Harry Fellows, who after being presented with a bottle of wine, kindly donated by Lady Patricia in memory of husband Peter, another club legend, Harry was persuaded, because he was also named player’s man of the match, to down it in one in the traditional drink off which he won handsomely. Roy of the Rovers would have been so proud of him, as was up the slope and against the wind.

There was a splendid turn out for the bonding session at The Crossing with the Press Secretary having been cleared by the management the only caveats being to stay clear of the fire extinguishers, no wine and have something to eat. He was made most welcome there were handshakes all round from the responders who had come to his rescue when he was flailing around.

Before the serious business began, supping some exquisite bitter beer, the election, the forthcoming fixture at Northwich, which as far as the Alies were concerned, was a non starter, Maximus presented the Press Secretary with a small, plastic, replica fire extinguisher.

It was agreed that “Major’s Tours” should be the responsible for the Isle of Man weekend at the beginning of March, thus relieving the Accountant of a role he had so admirably carried out previously.

Pints were somehow squeezed onto a table littered with spectacles and flashing, pinging i-phones, while the dainty Sue had little difficulty in selling jars of her homemade “The Crossing, Clementine and Cuckoo Gin Marmalade” in aid of St John’s Hospice. Although there were no crackers, hats were produced and Minimus supplied a string of groaning crackers jokes that would have had Gilly’s hands whirling like the blades of a helicopter.

Lunch was taken at “The Shore Café,” where a selection of delicious egg, bacon and sausage baps were eagerly consumed then it was into a squall and back across the West Coast main line for more ale and chat. The Northwich itinerary was again discussed with the Platelayer reeling off train times from Didsbury to Lancaster but after a deep, cerebral discussion it was decided that all would convene the following day for Cocktail Hour without the Platelayer, who was looking on the arrangements for the return from Northwich as a challenge. Doctor Foster also faced a testing time because in the absence of the Press Secretary he had been lined up to provide detailed notes of the game because he was in the area for a family function.

However, all this high powered analysis came to naught because the players rearranged their arrangements when it emerged that the Alies would not be travelling because of the lateness of returning to The Lane. The plan was to stop in Garstang for a session in The Wheatsheaf and be back at the club for nine o’clock. This was a wonderful gesture from the players who had no hesitation in confirming that they all considered the Alies as valuable members of the team, in particular for the away fixtures. All the Alies were quite nonplussed and humbled by the player’s reaction, which was very much appreciated and generated a warm glow, not to say a lump in the throat.

Mr Chips arrived at “The Crossing” no doubt checking if the Press Secretary was still upright, and immediately clamped himself to a radiator to relieve his sciatica. He was all in favour of another Isle of Man venture but before then he has some important gigs lined up with the ukulele band; cue some George Formby impersonations despite the pleas of the Accountant who was warming up the vocal chords for some Christmas Carols.

Eventually half a dozen Alies heaved themselves aboard the coach for Northwich Minimus and Maximus had volunteered for ground duty, to hear the news that the Stockport game had been cancelled because of a waterlogged but that did not deter a group of second team players travelling, it was great to see them.

Of course the number one topic with the Alies was the General Election result, quickly brushed to one side to attract the Sommelier’s attention and remind him that although numbers were down he was still expected to perform his duties. Unfortunately the Press Secretary had grabbed a bottle off the rack that had a cork but Woggle quickly brandished his Swiss Army Knife and with a firm tug from the Platelayer the cork was popped.

A sensible session developed, David the driver, being a rugby player, quickly joined in the banter as the Major introduced a new word into the extensive vocabulary of the Alies, “woke.” Hard to find a definition, but it would appear to be connected to being aware; what you have to be aware of is something of a mystery but it is very popular with media types who might have high jacked it.

On their arrival at Moss Farm the Alies were quickly aware that there were only eleven days to Christmas, the clubhouse was lavishly decorated, Christmas songs boomed out, sweaters flashed away, even eleven pipers piping would have struggled to have been heard. A relieved Doctor Foster was already in situ having left his HB and notepad behind and like the rest of the Alies was subjected to generous hospitality which included a three course lunch with all the festive trimmings.

After the game Joel came over to chat with the Alies, not only about the game but his plans for future and he was intent on “Keeping the Dream Alive” to make sure it was not going to be a “Bleak Midwinter” and another “Winter’s Tale,” hopefully there will be no “sprites and goblins” lurking to spoil things, and it will not be a “Winter of or discontent” and when the sunny green uplands are reached the club will be “Walking in the Air.”

There was something special about the return journey once everyone had settled down and the steeplechase for virgins had been completed, when an international essence was introduced. Benge stepped up the microphone to sing the South African National Anthem followed by Peter who belted out his Italian National Anthem which had the coach bouncing; an element of pop was introduced by Owen, the smiling prop, with a rendition of “Someone Like You.”

By the time Garstang was reached everyone was upbeat, wallowing in the euphoria that swept from one end of the coach to the other. A joyful contingent strode four square into “The Wheatsheaf” and it was there that the Alies began to be made aware of how much respect the players, be they newcomers or old hands, had for them, it was entirely spontaneous and incredibly heart warming and will live long in the memory.

Woggle, who earlier on had handed around the mince pies, had taken over the kitty from Doctor Foster, there was still enough remaining for a couple of rounds in the County Bar as preparations were made in advance of the “200 Club Draw” and the forthcoming Saturday with home games for the Seconds and Thirds.

Only the Seconds and Junior Colts were in action but there was a Festive flavour sweeping through the clubhouse and even though there had been a malfunction in the cellar the Alies adjusted their hoppy requirements with bottled of Blonde becoming their ale of choice.

Major had organised a “picnic”, appetising Scotch eggs, a large pork pie, and floated another word into the conversation, “triangulation.” A three finger ginger etude perhaps? Woggle brought along two boxes of delicious fancies, exquisitely created and baked by Woggle’s talented daughter.

Once again arrangements for the Douglas fixture were high on the agenda, the Consultant confirmed he would be taking his motorbike on the ferry and Maximus was studying the island’s railway timetables with a view to another Sunday excursion. In all the excitement the Press Secretary managed to shower anyone within range when he dropped a glass of beer an accident that produced a volley of abuse; most unnecessary in the season of goodwill.

It had been a year of more lows than highs for the Alies which had begun with a hint of promise in the air following a home win against Kendal but by the end of January the signs were all pointing in a downward direction as the road became more and more rocky, still the vintages were smooth and palatable and helped numb the pain.

Back in North One West the discomfort has been reduced, hopefully a corner has been turned, certainly the Alies are looking forward to a positive 2020 after the first four months of the year had subjected them to far too many rack stretching experiences. The moving finger having writ, or hit the right letter on the key-pad, now moves onto another year.