What’s the story behind the first clubhouse?

Well, we had to have one didn’t we? . . . . Of course we did.

With our typical rugby lads copious alcohol consumption and good natured bawdy sense of humour drifting towards rough house and tendency towards the licentiousness, we always started off well but it was not long before either the host landlords sense of humour or his proper customers tolerance wore thin, soon were to be the cause of our being politely reluctantly, asked to move our bar turnover elsewhere.

I had a little garage business in Lake and a customer and friend John Teageman, the owner of Channel View Hotel Shanklin, known to support good causes, was persuaded that we and our clubhouse were a worthy cause. The Club Ledger bears witness with some of the tickets pasted within its pages, that several times each winter we packed his ballroom to the rafters with our prancing followers for a few shillings per head. We steadily built up our little nest egg.

It should be said that whilst we did not have a very formal Rugby Club structure, there was an organising / manipulating forceful dictator who ‘ran it’. This management style usually referred to as “A typical Connelly ultimatum” OR ELSE. They were definitely not to know how much money there was in the bank. Mick Brightwell was our treasurer, and we decided to keep this info tight, as we were afraid that if the lads knew our bank balance they would find all those “must-have” things, they needed the Club to buy, like new strip etc, etc.

Our shirts at this time (see photo above) were courtesy of The Royal Navy through their cost supplemented sports issue. Purchased for a few shillings each, via our now retired Clearance Diver Lf’t Com Michael Critchley, who enrolled the purchasing power of his course mates assistance, as only one item per naval rating was permitted. A length of white upholstery webbing from Holbrooks furniture store served for the stripe and the ‘whirly’ for the badge was screen printed in the school art dept. All sewn on by Bob’s sister Peggy, who also laundered our shirts and painstakingly repaired them weekly, sewing back on the webbing strips badges and occasional collar etc. She even ironed them, bless her.

This little bit of well intentioned deceit heralded my ‘fall from power’, for at yet another A.G.M, yet another move to buy a proper set of shirts, received my customary thumbs down, was swiftly followed by a move for a “democratic?” Vote! Up to this time it had been customary for us to discuss democratically, the pros and cons then I would get my way, “Not Tonight Josephine”. Some Bastard had found out about our bank balance, and that we could afford the shirts, . . . . it was not just new shirts, yet!

We then democratically elected Roley Webb to Transport Manager. No more waiting for busses for us, we now went by coach, everywhere! We now travelled in style with what became known as, “The Roley Webb Coach Company”. One cannot describe the mental suffering that Mick and I sucked up, as we watched a couple of years pushing, scrimping and organising only to see it all spent in less than a season on our luxury-coach transport, it was hard to bear. I grudgingly allow that they probably deserved the shirts. And further more it did show that they were very soon to be ready, to be running themselves.

Then at our next A.G.M. the treasurer announced that we were stony broke, and some. This was followed by a move to chuck the towel in, and go to Ryde Airport, and play for the Island followed by a pregnant silence. Slowly and deliberately followed my ‘Last Last Ultimatum’ and it went like this ……………………... O.K. I’ll do it all again. The usual conditions will apply, 100% support…………………. 99% WILL NOT DO.
With an additional condition “The money will be held ring fenced in-trust” for the Club House alone……. Unanimous.

Next we purchased two X-Army Billets at auction, from Golden Hill Fort Army Camp, at Totland, just like the two that Havant R.F.C operated out of at the time, I think that we paid £140-00 for them. This plan did of course have one drawback, somebody (i.e. us), would have to dismantle and bring them back to the Fairway from Freshwater and rebuild them. Everybody agreed that the idea was great, and with one of his mates, Michael Phelps an Architect had agreed to do the drawings and help with the planning etc. We were home and dry?

Well the commitment required here to actually achieve, was never really appreciated by any of us, unhappily including myself, being the accepted ramrod for this little project “that failed”. Not quite totally, for we sold the huts, in what was now kit form at the fairway pitch, at a technically handsome profit to the trust fund, to the father of our player, Tim Howard to build a “Club House for his Holiday Park” at Appledurcombe.

THEN WE FINALLY BUILT THE FIRST ONE

We now had a proper chairman, Tom Vose, a teacher at the Fairway, an excellent level headed conservatively minded well organised “belt and braces” chap. Mick and I continued, to raise funds and squirrel the money to the bank. Tom was quite firm, we would not build until there was enough cash in the bank to satisfy him. Then we could go ahead to completion financially secure.

This waiting did not feature as one of our character assets but Tom was adamant, NO BUILDING. He then went walking in the Pyrenees’ for the summer with his lady friend! Leaving us impatiently mulling over our corporate frustration at the entrenched position of our Chairman. Grabbing the mood, Len Harvey suggested well ‘If we just put the concrete slab in, that would not really be building would it?” We all grabbed that one with both hands……………………………….…Unanimous!!!

Tom returned from his sour-jonne in the Alps with the Art Mistress, to find us finishing the concrete raft and having it passed by ‘his mate’ the Building Inspector Harry Adams. Some of Tom’s reticence to allow the build was absorbed by the differential between prices quoted to install the raft, and what we thought, and then proved that we could do it for. We had completed within our estimate. And this exercise proved to Tom our competency, and we quickly moved forward with our build.

That summer Moreys delivered and the lads assembled ……… BBoom! Well nothing of this sort goes without a hiccup or three, and ours was not to be an exception.

The Moreys kit, did not include a floor! Well our funds could not run to floor boards? ...............No money! NO DRAINS …. . . . . . ..…. NO ALCAHOL LICENCE…….. ……NO BEER SALES!!! We just had to bring our not inconsiderable bar turnover in-house . . . . . . . . . . . . . NOW! A long time school mate, fruit machine operator, night club owner, keen cycle racer, off shore power boat racer, etc. ‘Jack the lad’ Derrek Smith. Who, I persuaded to stump up the cash for floor for a share in the fruit machine take.

Our planning permission was for the drain pipes to pass under our goal posts at the fairway, indent here being “18feet”, and the last quoted price being greater than that of the entire club house project to date. Arriving late as usual to the committee meet, I asked to see the plans, to be informed quite correctly “we’ve dealt with that”. The guys, had it seemed given up, and were resigned to return to yet another round of fundraising. Reluctantly Tom allowed me the drawings. I happened to know the local building inspector and the local council architect, Tom Josey and his second Jimmy James’ Dad personally. Taking the drawings to their office I asked for their advice.

Their advise was, “don’t pick up the main sewer here it’s 16ft deep, go over there, not only is it just Six feet to indent, but we will let you enter our existing council inspection pit there free of charge, relieving you the cost of a major highway opening. If you do this, we will lend you a man and a compressor to break open the road to our pit and resurface for you when you finish. . . . . . . . . . DONE!!

We needed to get the drawings changed, but Rowland Smith one of our second team lads, was studying at evening classes to be a Draughtsman at the I.W Tec College. Having ‘been there’ he knew that the lecturer would see our little project as acceptable class work, ‘he did’, Rowley did the job in his Evening School the next week and building inspector Harry Adams promptly stamped it passed.

Negotiating extended credit with Moreys by ordering supplies on my own account, then after delivery, telling the manager that ‘this order’ was really for the Rugby Club and could they please have a bit of credit, kindly allowed the Club six months, for the Pipe, Cement, Blocks, Drain Covers etc. A local contractor Don Mosdale dug the trench for nothing.

An unscheduled committee meeting note arrived on the doormat. Arriving late as usual I asked what was on the agenda? Well, we all thought poor old Tom was going to explode as he was brought in the loop, mystified as to just how we had got to this point in just two weeks. They were then all invited to join in, the next weekend, and they did, to a man.

One must give everybody their due. The photos on the walls in the Club Room speak for themselves. We all got stuck in, the bar opened, and the Hoolies rocked on to where they are today.

Click here for some early build photos from Terry Connelly