Carlisle United book: my childhood lie about Paul Simpson

Attending church schools must have left a mark on me as, nearly forty years on, I have a confession to make.

Before I can unburden myself of this guilt and shame, I need to give you a bit of historical background to put my sin into some kind of relevant context.

It all started it 1982 when Paul Simpson was taken on by Manchester City. The Simpson family were neighbours and friends of ours and, growing up, we got to know the family well.

In footballing terms, despite being a small in stature, Paul was head and shoulders above the rest of us, and his performances locally attracted the attentions of several scouts.

City were keen to secure his services as the other clubs’ vultures circled, and they signed him on schoolboy terms at the tender age of fifteen. From there, his progress was swift, and he was soon being talked about in glowing terms – a prodigy, a left-footed phenomenon, a teenage sensation.

Not long after he signed on with City, I was thrown in the boot of my dad’s Ford Escort en route to Manchester with Paul’s dad, his uncle, and one of dad’s friends. Nowadays, it would almost be considered child cruelty let alone a contravention of Health and Safety regulations. However, as they threw in a couple of pillows for my comfort, I'm not complaining.

That morning, Paul was due to play for, or train with, the youth team at Manchester City’s training ground at Platt Lane – a far cry from the luxurious Etihad Village complex City have now. After a visit there, we all made our way to Maine Road to watch the first team play. This was to be my first experience of a big game away from home and I was incredibly excited.

We sat high up in the old main stand, and I remember being in awe of the densely populated Kippax Terrace opposite us and the huge stands wrapping around the pitch. For Paul, who was being talked about as a potential first-teamer, it must have been incredibly daunting but exciting at the same time. He didn’t have to wait long for his first opportunity and, at the age of 16, he was thrust into the team ready to make his debut under the management of John Bond.

United manager Simpson was a teenage star for Man City (Image: submitted)

As if travelling with Paul's family to watch him play wasn't special enough, we were all invited into the players’ lounge after the match. I met City captain Paul Power and legendary manager, Billy McNeill, who even led me down the tunnel and allowed me to sit in his seat in the dugout.

Sadly, after a second full season, Paul was transferred to Oxford United, which was a bit too far to go. It was while Paul was on this upward trajectory that I landed myself in hot water.

It all started with a white lie to impress a group of friends that soon got out of hand. And here is my confession…

The venue: St. Bede's School sports day, July 1984. It was a beautiful summer's day and a group of us sat out on the grass bank near the church as the teachers set up the resources for the running and fielding events.

School sports days are a strange mix - sort of a cross between the Olympics and ‘It’s a Knockout’ for little ones, where eggs, spoons, coal sacks and bean bags rub shoulders with the more traditional sprinting and jumping events.

• READ MORE: New book captures the passion and meaning of Carlisle United

Nowadays, the school sports days are an organisational nightmare for teachers - I should know as I have had to arrange a few in my time! Usually, there are four or five teams of mixed abilities and age groups to ensure everyone has an equal chance of winning something and nobody is singled out as a failure.

Back in the 80s, such considerations were sadly lacking. Generally, if you were athletic, you won the medals, the trophies and the kudos. If you weren’t, you lost and you had to shoulder the blame and shame of your peers as you huffed and puffed over the finishing line, 20 metres behind everyone else.

Anyway, back to the grassy knoll. While my friends and I waited for the teachers to start proceedings, we chatted about everything and nothing, all trying to point-score and elevate our own status. “I bet I can run the 100m in less than ten seconds,” one would say.

“Dad timed me on the street, and I got 9.82!” Everyone knew he was lying but no one could prove him wrong.

“There should be a boxing event. We have a boxing ring in our garden, and I can knock my big brothers out. And my dad.”

Other grand statements were made, and the one-upmanship continued until I felt it was my turn to weigh in. “You know Simmo who plays for Manchester City? Lives on my street?”

I had their attention. Of course, they knew who he was. A local boy made good playing for one of England’s top clubs. And of course, they knew he lived on my street because I had told them often enough.

“I have asked him to come down and officially open the sports day. He said he would!”

They were all suitably impressed, and I felt great. Mr Friend-of-the Stars had trumped the lot of them, and I was top dog. Thinking that was that, we carried on lounging around in the sun until the parents started to arrive to take their place around the field to cheer on their little darlings.

The teachers called us in and explained the running order for the afternoon. The children were then allowed to run back and speak with their parents for five minutes before the action began.

“When is Simpson coming?” one friend asked me. “Soon” I replied, now half-believing my own lie. “He said about 2pm.”

Word spread like wildfire along the sidelines as my friends told their parents, who then passed on the message to others down the line. Inevitably, it was only a matter of time before one of the teachers found out and I was called over for clarification.

Panic set in – I had come this far with my lie, I couldn’t back down now. “Is Paul Simpson coming down to cut the tape get the ball rolling so to speak?”

“Yes. That’s what he said to me.”

I was already hot and sweaty, and this probably hid the red flushes of embarrassment and shame.

"Fabulous. That will be an unexpected treat for the school!” I half expected them to call in the local press.

He didn’t turn up, of course, and why would he? He knew nothing about it. He was probably down in Manchester playing snooker with his new teammates or relaxing after a hard morning on the training ground, oblivious to the chaos and disappointment his absence was causing over 100 miles away on a primary school field.

Pete Scholes' new book on the Blues (Image: Pete Scholes)

The sports day went ahead as planned. My idle boast and subsequent loss of face in front of my friends took a while to live down.

I could imagine Simmo’s name being mud in many households around the surrounding estates. His ears must have been burning that evening as parents consoled their children and fumed over the dinner table. “How can he let the children and the school down like this? Has fame gone to his head already..?"

As if shame wasn’t enough, I admitted the lie to my dad who gave me a roasting and scalded me for pretending to be more important than I actually was. I responded with tears and promises I would never do it again.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. It seems strange now that, after all these years, I have not met or spoken to Paul since – even though he has returned to the club as both a player and manager, and his family still only live down the road from ours.

Did he find out about my lie? Has he been avoiding me ever since? Has he sent me to Coventry for the best part of 40 years?

I am sure if this had happened in the last decade rather than the 1980s, it would have been all over Sky Sports News and I would have been castigated in the tabloid press, hounded by the paparazzi and had my phone line bugged before being sent to The Priory to recuperate.

Nowadays, there would be the inevitable outcry on social media, and I would be vilified and cancelled. But it did happen in the 1980s, and back then nobody really gave two hoots.

I hope my actions didn’t damage his career or his relationship with the good people of Carlisle. Anyway, I’m glad I got that off my chest. One less thing to feel guilty about.

The Place I Belong by Peter Scholes will soon be available in the Blues Store, and can also be purchased on Amazon. Hardback £15.99, paperback £12 and Kindle version £4.99.