The Second Greatest Season Ever

[kushiro]

 

Trophy Presentation

Friday May 8th 1925

De Montfort Hall, Leicester

 

 

Four days before our first major piece of silverware was presented, we played one final game, a friendly at Port Vale in aid of the North Staffordshire Infirmary. Arthur Chandler suggested that the match be played under the new offside rule, due to be brought in next season. The referee agreed, and Channy enjoyed the greater freedom this allowed, scoring a hat-trick as we won 5-3. Johnny Duncan, after his horrific injury on Saturday, was there to watch, his arm in a sling. 

 

Friday's celebrations began with a dinner at the Assembly Rooms on Hotel Street. The brochure from the occasion is currently held by the National Football Museum in Manchester:

 

 

 

Then it was on to the De Montfort Hall, where a 'Cup tie crowd' awaited, the hall 'crowded to its utmost capacity'.

 

The appearance of the players was greeted with such an outburst of applause as would have made a Prime Minister blush. The Band of the City of Leicester Working Men’s Institute, which has played so well at every match during the season, was in attendance. Mr. McKenna, President of the Football League, In handing the shield to chairman Mr. Rice, remarked that whilst congratulating him, the best wish he could give him was that he would never win it again (cheers).

 

McKenna then presented medals to the players, who were seated on the platform, in the following order: Duncan, Bamber, Godderidge, Black, Hooper, Newton, Carrigan, Adcock, Chandler, Carr, Wadsworth. Club Vice-Chairman Mr. W.H. Squires then thanked the Football League for their 'valuable and almost priceless help they had received after the war when the club had to be reconstructed and was in real danger'.

 

The crowd then demanded speeches from the players, and though reluctant, Duncan and Chandler both got up to say a few words, each expressing the hope that another trophy would be heading to Filbert Street the following season.

 

Here's the photo taken after the presentation - Johnny Duncan's sling clearly visible. To his left is John McKenna:

 

 

 

 

You can't see the Shield so clearly there, so here it is in its full glory:

 

 

 

 

 

 In the Mercury the following day, a review of the evening's events appeared.  It's the best piece of writing of the whole season, appropriately, right at the end. It shows us that, four decades before the Beatles played at the De Mont, the venue had witnessed another form of mania:

 

A pretty typist stands on her feet, throws her hat in the air, stamps her feet and yells hysterically at an embarrassed figure standing on the platform.  All around, tier on tier, there are packed rows of cheering people, men and women, boys and girls. Only a soccer crowd can cheer like that. At first it was a polite soccer crowd, a little self-conscious at hearing its voice bounded by walls and roof. Then it forgot everything but the man on the platform. It forgot everything except that now was the time to combine all the cheers of the season into one, and hand it to the hero. It forgot, too, to stop. Sometimes there would be a little lull in the storm, and then the tumult would roll over the hall again.

 

The shoe hand sat next to the solicitor, the miner sat next to the magnate. On the stage the players hid themselves behind an imposing array of directors, wearing blue flowers stolen from the dinner table. Hovering about was Peter Hodge - nobody calls him 'Mr.' - a grey-haired but young looking Scotsman with a sense of humour showing in his eyes. A 'jewel' of a manger he was called, and he looked it. A modest, methodical man  mothering the players as they received their medals like a fond parent at a school prize-giving.

 

Then the players. It was for this moment that the crowd had been waiting, holding their biggest cheer until Hodge signals to Duncan. Then the deluge. Cries of "Johnnie" from everywhere. The real Filbert Street yell enclosed in the De Montfort Hall. The season's cheers in two minutes. "Johnnie", one arm in a sling, smiling face, putting his free hand first in then out of his pocket in an agony of embarrassment. Awkward he is as he waits for the cheers to die down, then he receives the little medal. Later he made a speech, not a good speech, but one that was flattered by Chandler's exact imitation.

 

And so through all the players, with a 'Keep them out!' to Godderidge, and a 'Shoot!' to Chandler. All of them painfully embarrassed, trying to be nonchalant.  The most self-possessed was trainer Dave Gardner. He came forward as if he'd spent his life being decorated. A great night of cheering, a fitting end to a season that deserves to be cheered'.

 

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