Bobby Moore: By the Person Who Knew Him Best - Tina Moore

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about was table manners, as I knew to my cost. When I was young, should I offend, I was despatched from the table. Bobby, who was dazzled by her, set enthusiastically about brushing up his style. He so wanted to be correct in everything he did. He also began to be aware of formal etiquette that he hadn’t experienced before, but he really watched and learnt. He was naturally polite and courteous, but now he was adding polish to his manner.

      Soon we graduated from the Spaghetti House in Soho. Our next discovery was the 21 Club. Johnny Haynes, Bobby’s old childhood hero, introduced us to that. Not only was Johnny very attractive, he had a great personality. He was set to become part of football history - the first player to earn £100. He was captain of England from 1960 to August 1962, when a car accident put him out of the game for a year. It would have made a poignant twist in the tale if Bobby had been his direct replacement as captain, but Jimmy Armfield had a short spell in the job first.

      Johnny was also the prototype one-club man. He went on to stay with Fulham for all eighteen years of his career, even though he could have made fortunes more if he had accepted all the opportunities offered to him by other, higher-placed clubs. He was commercially shrewd, though, taking advantage of his brooding, Italianate, Forties film star looks to become an early icon for Brylcreem - with his trademark dark, slicked back hair, he obviously believed in the product he endorsed.

      He was a regular at the 21 Club. This was really elegant and exclusive, although the diners sometimes fell short of expectations. Johnny ordered an amazing starter for the three of us - a large silver bowl lined with ice and so full of prawns that they hung over the edge. The prawns were so utterly delicious that as soon as I started eating them, I just got carried away. The next thing I knew, I was looking down at a mountain of empty shells. I couldn’t believe I’d eaten so many. I was overcome with remorse. ‘Were they very expensive?’ I stammered to Johnny.

      ‘Enormously,’ said Johnny. ‘They’re so expensive they have to charge by the prawn.’

      ‘Oh no,’ I gasped. ‘How do they know how many you’ve eaten?’

      ‘They count the shells and tails,’ said Johnny.

      Quickly, I emptied the shells and tails into my handbag. Bobby and Johnny kept straight faces. I had no idea they were winding me up - and did they pull my leg afterwards!

      1962 was a big year for us. Bobby turned 21 in April, made his England debut in May and married me in June.

      Getting his first full England cap wasn’t completely unexpected. He had been doing well in the England Under-23s, which was managed by Ron Greenwood, now his manager at West Ham. Ron was also a good friend of Walter Winterbottom, England team manager at the time, and had been singing Bobby’s praises.

      In those days it was traditional to have an England v Young England fixture the night before the Cup Final, and Bobby was pleased with how he’d played because there was still a chance of him making the squad for the 1962 World Cup in Chile. But he’d heard nothing and was resigning himself to go with the rest of the West Ham squad on their close season trip to Africa. Then Ron called him into his office at Upton Park. ‘You won’t be going on the Africa trip,’ he said.

      Bobby was startled. He thought he’d done something to offend Ron. Then he saw that Ron was smiling broadly. ‘You’re off to Chile instead,’ he added.

      I was absolutely delighted for Bobby. I knew how much it meant to him just to be selected. He warned me not to get my hopes up on his behalf. ‘The chances are I’m only there to make up the numbers in training,’ he said, ‘but at least it’ll be good experience for the future.’ In fact, he became a fixture in the team from the first match, making his England debut against Peru on 20 May. He was bowled over and so was I. It’s every young footballer’s dream, and here he was, the man I was about to marry, fulfilling that dream.

      Bobby’s absence on England duty also gave me the space I needed to organize our wedding with the help of my mother. I’d managed to save around £100 and ended up spending the lot on my wedding dress and accessories. Before the wedding, I had a perm. According to dear mama, it wasn’t curly enough, so I was despatched back to the hairdresser to have it re-done. My hair was fine on the day, although later, on honeymoon, Bobby and I had an argument that he won by ducking me in the sea. When I surfaced, I had an Afro.

      We were married on 30 June 1962 at St Clement’s, Ilford. Noel Cantwell was best man and the Dreaded Eddie gave me away. I wish my mother had given me away herself. After all, she had been mother and father to me, she had always been there for me and it was a shame that a man who had come into my life relatively late ended up taking the limelight.

      When we arrived at the church after the customary slight delay, I was amazed at the crowd of well-wishers, as well as all the reporters and photographers waiting to preserve the bridegroom in his navy mohair suit, white shirt and silk tie for posterity. If I’m honest, I suppose I was rather excited to see them there. All the West Ham team were there and after the ceremony we walked out of the church under an arch of football boots. People plied us with England and West Ham banners along with the more traditional blue garters and black cats. The reception was at the Valentine’s public house in Gants Hill. We opened the dancing with ‘Blue Moon’ - what else?

      Afterwards, we were chauffeured to the airport by Budgie Byrne, one of the West Ham lads Bobby used to go gambolling through the night with. It was a wild drive and after being thrown around in the back all the way from Ilford to Heathrow, I staggered into the Skyline Hotel battered and bruised. Bobby and I were starving, so we had beef sandwiches and a pot of tea. I had a white nylon nightie and negligee trimmed with blue daises - looking back, they were revolting. The next day, I changed into my going away outfit, a red Polly Peck suit with a pleated skirt that I’d bought in a sale. Eat your heart out, Victoria Beckham.

      We’d booked our honeymoon in Majorca, the Isle of Love. Coincidentally, Malcolm Allison and Noel Cantwell were due to be in Majorca at the same time as us, as my mother was horrified to find out at our wedding reception. ‘Look, Tina’s only young,’ she said, taking Malcolm’s arm and drawing him to one side. ‘I really do think it would be better if you didn’t make any contact with her and Bobby on their honeymoon.’

      Malcolm nodded solemnly. A few minutes later, I overheard him telling Bobby, ‘I’ve booked the Astor Club for later.’

      It was like a knife through my heart, until I realized he was only joking! Malcolm was a tease.

      But my mother was one hundred per cent right about the honeymoon. She knew it would be a disaster if Malcolm and Noel showed their faces in Majorca, because they always led Bobby astray. True to form, they showed up within a week. The three of them got plastered. Bobby was violently sick and spent the night in Noel’s room and I ended up sobbing with his wife, Maggie. Can you imagine being on your honeymoon and ending up in bed with the best man’s wife while the best man and your husband of one week are together down the corridor?

      After we returned home to Gants Hill, Bobby bought me a Hillman Minx for £100, and a Siamese cat. We called it Pele and it quickly became famous when it attacked John Bond. It was a real hard cat, was Pele.

      Our first home was a three-bedroomed terrace house in Glenwood Gardens. We’d wanted a slightly grander one nearby but couldn’t stretch to the extra £600. It was a shame Brylcreem didn’t seek out Bobby’s services earlier. Later that year they paid him £450 to appear, with strangely tamped down curls, on an advertising poster. That was a one-off, quite possibly because, unlike Johnny Haynes, Bobby was not a credible Brylcreem man. He didn’t have the kind of hair you could slick back. No Brylcreem jar ever graced the bathroom shelf at Glenwood Gardens.

      The house had French doors at the back which opened onto a pretty garden where Bobby and I planted a magnolia tree - our favourite. Indoors, the lounge had a green carpet patterned with pink roses and a plate rail going round the walls where we put Bobby’s memorabilia.

      We were especially proud of our hostess trolley. One Christmas morning, after I’d prepared the turkey and all the trimmings, we went to a drinks party where we met up with our friend Lou Wade. Lou was 6ft 6in tall, thin and Jewish, and he adored Bobby

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