Jack and Bobby: A story of brothers in conflict - Leo McKinstry

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know where all this business about Bobby and Sunderland comes from. It’s just not true. Never once was he involved with Sunderland. We all followed Newcastle and I went with Bobby to most of the home games at St James’ Park. I suppose some people might have thought that Bobby modelled himself on Len Shackleton, the Sunderland striker – for they had the same body swerve – but he didn’t. Bobby was always just Bobby.’

      Jack also remembers going to Newcastle with Bobby. ‘Me and our kid would go to Newcastle to see Jackie Milburn. My father put us on the bus, and we’d get off at the Haymarket and go for something to eat at the British Home restaurant. Then we’d go and queue at St James’ Park. We’d always leave it to the last minute so that we could get passed over everybody’s heads in the crowd, ending up right at the front.’ As usual, the difference surfaced between the brothers, for Jack was far more partisan in his support of Newcastle. He once told Mike Kirkup, ‘I’ve always followed Newcastle United. To this day I’m a Newcastle fan and I was brought up black and white eyed. I don’t think you ever change. Even when I was a player, the first results I looked for were those of Newcastle. When you’re a Newcastle fan as a boy, you’re a fan for life.’ Indeed, one writer told me that he was recently in Jack’s home during a Newcastle game which was being shown live on Sky TV. Just before the kick-off, Jack went down on his knees in front of the television screen in a mock act of worship to his beloved Magpies. Yet Bobby never felt the same attraction to Newcastle. ‘I don’t remember him ever being a great Newcastle supporter,’ says Bobby’s schoolfriend Evan Martin, who went with him a few times to St James’. Bobby himself says that after Manchester United won the FA Cup Final in 1948, they became his favourite team, though he always liked to watch good football wherever it was played.

      And no-one played it better than Bobby Charlton. His natural talent was so enormous that anyone who saw him, even as a child, knew that he was destined to become a professional footballer. Ashington locals still speak with awe about the sight of the young Bobby, sailing past opponents twice his age and then producing a deadly shot from outside the box. Walter Lavery remembers: ‘He stood out like a beacon. He was different, far above the rest of the young players, believe me. He was as near a genius as you could get. He was a great dribbler, with a real sense of style, even when he was young. He could run fast with the ball. He had techniques that the rest of us lads did not even realize existed until we went to professional clubs six years later. That gave him this special aura. Now don’t get me wrong, he was a good mixer with the other lads. But, for all that he was in your company, you always had a sense that his mind was elsewhere, thinking about football. He knew that, with his talent, he was going to get away. And he was so passionate, competitive. I remember going to watch a school game one Saturday morning, and I caught sight of Bobby arguing with the referee.

      “What’s the matter over there?” I asked a spectator.

      “It’s young Chuckie. His team is winning seven-nowt and yet he’s been arguing with the ref for the last five minutes that they should have been granted another goal.”

      That was so like Bobby. He wanted to win all the time.’

      Rob Storey agrees. ‘Bobby was always small for his age and went by the name of “Little Bobby”. Maybe it was because of the low centre of gravity that he could control the ball so well. When we were playing in Hirst Park, everyone always wanted him in their team, because he was so much better than the rest of us, even though he was younger than most.’ Evan Martin, who later went to grammar school with Bobby, recalls seeing him in a junior match: ‘Bobby was only seven years old then, but already he was running rings round lads who were 11. He had terrific speed, one-touch skills and lovely balance. My father, who was a football fanatic and was also watching, turned to me and said, “Watch that kid Charlton. He’ll make a name for himself.’”

      Bobby’s talent was in direct contrast to Jack, who failed to shine amongst his contemporaries, as Rob Storey remembers: ‘In all honesty, he was little better than me. Physically, he stood out a mile because of his height and long neck, but, when it came to football skills, though he was a solid full-back, he was so inferior to Bobby that it was an embarrassment.’ Jackie Lothian says their destinies could not have looked more different. ‘We all knew that Bobby would be a footballer, but we never thought Jack would be one. He was no better than anyone else. You see, he had no motivation. The thought of a career in the game had never entered his mind.’

      Jack had the same character on the field as he was to show at Leeds, aggressive, uncompromising. But rather than playing centre-half, he was generally a full-back in his early games. And Bobby Whitehead says that this was his biggest problem. ‘Being tall, he was good in the air but, at left-back, I think he was out of position. I kept him out of our school team for a few games when I was 14 and he was 15. But when we had a Cup match, our usual centre-half was off sick, so Jack moved in there. My father, who was watching, said afterwards, “That’s the lad’s position. He had a brilliant game.’”

      Perhaps the greatest myth about the Charlton upbringing in football is that Cissie taught Bobby how to play football. Folklore has it that, to quote Bobby, ‘Being a Milburn with football coursing deep in her veins, she took me out on the slag heaps of Ashington and showed me everything from selling a dummy to scoring from 50 yards.’ But this tale is untrue. For Bobby was a totally instinctive footballer, with a natural sense of how to play. Moreover, though Cissie provided exactly the right environment for her football-crazy son, she only once gave him direct, personal coaching. This happened when he was already 15, was at Manchester United and had played for the England Schoolboys. After one of these schoolboy internationals, Cissie had been talking to the chairman of the selectors, who said that Bobby’s slowness on the turn was a serious weakness. When she returned to Ashington with Bobby, she decided to give him some specialized training. Adopting the methods that her own father, Tanner, had used when coaching sprinters, she took Bobby to Hirst Park early in the morning and had him running backwards and forwards until his speed on the turn gradually increased. ‘I suppose that to a stranger it may have looked odd to see a 15 year old training like that with his mother, but this was Ashington and everyone knew I was football mad,’ she said.

      Cissie’s own brothers were a bigger influence on Bobby, particularly his Uncle George, who was at Chesterfield. In his summer holidays, Bobby went down to the club and joined in the training with the professionals. The hardened footballers were kind to him, allowing him to run all over the field and even to take penalties against goalkeeper Ray Middleton. After training, they took him to lunch or to the dog track or the golf club. If they went to the pub, Bobby sat outside with a tonic water. What really struck Bobby was the amount of swearing amongst the players. One incident particularly stood out in his memory, when a player who had been dropped had a ferocious, expletive-filled row with the manager. It brought home to Bobby, sitting quietly in the corner of the dressing room, the realities of life as a professional footballer.

      In an interview with the Sunday Telegraph in 1973, Bobby spoke about the influence of Cissie’s family and his youthful approach as footballer. ‘My uncles made a big impression on me. They used to tell me I had a terrific backheel. That probably does not sound much now, but then, there was no-one doing it much, not even in the League. The game just came naturally to me. It surprised me when other boys couldn’t kick or fell over. Why hadn’t they the same balance? I thought they were unusual, rather than me. From watching as a kid and kicking around in the street, my philosophy of the game was always as an out-and-out forward. I never put my foot in – getting the ball was other players’ work.’

      It was an outlook that in later years would delight millions of fans – and enrage some of his closest colleagues.

      Jack and Bobby had been on divergent paths since their earliest years, and the gap between them became much wider in adolescence, when they went to different secondary schools.

      Both of them had attended the Hirst North Primary School, a traditional red-brick building in the heart of Ashington. Like so many others, the sports master of the school, Norman McGuinness, immediately recognized Bobby’s outstanding gifts:

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