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in the Premier League. Sometimes in a career, even if you think you know what you need next, you have to be ready to make the best of what comes along.

      It wasn’t every day I got called in after training to see the manager in his office:

      ‘Preston North End have asked if they could take you on loan for a month. I think it’s a good idea.’

      Straight away, I put two and two together and made five. I was nineteen. Nicky Butt and Gary Neville were already getting games on a fairly regular basis. I’d been involved with the first team, but I wasn’t progressing as quickly as them. Had United decided I wasn’t going to be strong enough to make it? Was this a way of easing me out? I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. They don’t rate me. They want to get rid of me.

      It might have been an overreaction, but that’s how I felt. Of course, the first person I spoke to was Eric Harrison and, because of the conversation I had with him, the boss had me back in to explain.

      ‘This isn’t about anything else but you getting first-team experience, in a different team, in a different league.’

      I’m glad I had that chance to talk to him because it meant I went to Preston in the right frame of mind. I could have stayed in Manchester to train and just gone to Deepdale to play in the games but, because I knew now it was something United saw as part of me developing as a player, I decided to join up with Preston full-time for the month. If I was going to do it, then I should do it properly.

      When I turned up at their training ground for the first time, I was pretty nervous. I went into the dressing room and all the Preston players were sitting there, as if they’d been waiting for me. I don’t know if they were thinking it, or I just imagined they were. Here’s this big-time Charlie from United, and he’s a cockney as well. Either way, it was a really awkward morning. Preston were in Division Three. It was a world away from the life I’d got used to at a club where everything was taken care of for you, where only the best facilities were good enough. At the end of the first training session, I threw my kit down in the dressing room before taking a shower.

      ‘Not on the floor. You take it home and wash it yourself for tomorrow.’

      It didn’t bother me. I just wasn’t prepared for how things were done at Deepdale. The manager, Gary Peters, didn’t waste any time by way of introductions. On that first day, he got all the players and me together in a circle:

      ‘This is David Beckham. He’s joining us for a month from Manchester United. He can play. And he’ll take all the free-kicks and all the corners, which means you’re off them and you’re off them.’

      He pointed to the lads who were usually on dead balls and didn’t even wait for an answer. What a start. It must have annoyed some of the other players. It would have annoyed me. Things were a bit embarrassing to start with, but once we were working together and got to know each other, I had a great time with all the lads at Preston. We had a few nights out the month I was there. It made a real difference that I wasn’t just turning up for the games. They knew I’d chosen to be at Preston every day for the month of the loan.

      Amongst the players, David Moyes, who’s now the Everton manager, was the top man. He was a centre-half, the kind of player who’d throw himself into any tackle possible. Even into some that weren’t possible. He’d be shouting, geeing people up, and was passionate about winning games. He was club captain and he talked to me, got me involved, right from the off. It’s not just hindsight: you could tell then that David was going to make a manager. He knew straight away what I was about, that I’d be quiet, keep myself to myself and just talk when I needed to. He put himself out to bring me into the group, to look after me, and I really appreciated that.

      Gary Peters, the manager, was brilliant as well. It probably helped that he was a Londoner too. He made it clear what he needed me to do and gave me the confidence to do it. He seemed to really believe in me. He must have watched me playing for the reserves at United and I found out later that he’d asked about taking me on loan almost as a joke, not thinking the club would agree. He couldn’t believe it when the gaffer said yes. I understand Preston even put a bid in for me after the loan spell, but Gary knew that really would have been pushing their luck.

      It all happened very quickly. I trained with them on the Monday then Gary put me into the reserves on the Wednesday, which felt quite strange. Preston played in the Central League, like United’s reserves, and beforehand it almost seemed like I’d fallen on hard times. But once you’re out there playing you forget all that. I did all right, set up a goal and scored one myself. So, come the Saturday, I was on the bench for the first team against Doncaster at Deepdale.

      It was a bit of a surprise when Ryan Kirby, who I’d played alongside for so many years with Ridgeway, lined up for Doncaster. My dad was up for the game, of course. And so was Ryan’s dad, Steve, who’d also done some of the coaching when we were kids. For me and Ryan, though, it was more of a quick hello and then we had to get on with it.

      One thing I wasn’t really looking forward to was the tackling. I’m sure that’s part of the reason the boss sent me to Preston in the first place, to harden me up a bit. I was a lot more fragile then than I am now. That first game, I sat on the bench for the first half and, every time a tackle flew in, I was cringing. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting on. When I did, though, almost straight away we got a corner. It was a really blowy afternoon, with the wind behind us, and I remember thinking I’d just whip the ball in to see what happened. A goal. Not a bad way to start. We ended up coming from behind to draw 2–2.

      The next game was against Fulham, who had Terry Hurlock playing for them. Now, I knew Terry by reputation and I’d watched him play: here was a bloke who liked a tackle and I was worried about getting a whack off him. As it turned out, I didn’t and got a few challenges in myself. You soon realise that, if you’re playing for Preston in Division Three and they need the points, you can’t afford to be ducking out of the physical side.

      We won 3–2 and it was during that game I scored my first-ever free-kick at first-team level. It was just outside the area and I fancied it. Gary Peters had put me on the free-kicks, and this one couldn’t have gone better. I don’t remember the goal so much as the celebration. I ran away with my arm in the air and one of the Preston players grabbed my head and started pulling my hair so hard I thought he was going to pull a handful out. Absolutely killed me. It might seem obvious, but I think a lot of people don’t realise just how much goals and results matter to players. For the lads at a club like Preston, back then anyway, it was about playing and trying to pay your mortgage and keep up with the bills like anybody else. It gave the football the sort of edge I’d never experienced. The looks in the other players’ eyes just told me how strong their desire was, how badly they wanted, and needed, to win the game. It was the same with the crowd at Deepdale. The club was the heart of the town; it had this long, proud history and people absolutely lived for Saturday afternoons and the match. I was lucky. They were great and took to me right from the off.

      I’ve had some amazing experiences since but, truthfully, that month at Preston was one of the most exciting times in my whole career. I remember thinking then that if the boss had been looking to let me go, I could have been happy playing for Preston North End. When it came time, at the end of the loan, to go back to United, I didn’t want to leave. How worried had I been beforehand? How nervous had I been when I got to Deepdale? Just four weeks later and here I was, asking Mr Ferguson if I could go and stay on with them for another month.

      The answer was: ‘No’. No explanation or anything. By the end of that same week, I understood why the gaffer wanted me back. There was an injury crisis at Old Trafford and the teamsheet for Saturday’s Leeds game had my name on it: I was about to make my League debut for Manchester United at Old Trafford. After five really competitive – and physical – first-team games for Preston, I felt ready for the next step forward. More to the point, the boss thought I was, too. I was more prepared than I had been for those games against Brighton and Galatasaray, for sure. For an afternoon, at least, I could put any doubts to one side. It seemed like United and Mr Ferguson thought I did have a chance after all.

      I knew that, for all the excitement

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