SINCE the age of eight, pride for my hometown has run through every fibre of my being, like letters in a stick of seaside rock. I might sometimes criticise Barnsley, but I always fiercely defend it from outside attacks.

“Penny for your thoughts?” says Janet, as I day-dream.

“Just thinking back to our 1966 family holiday in Blackpool.”

I explain that every morning before breakfast, me and my dad would go for a Daily Mirror and he would sit on a bench above the sea-wall, reading, whilst drawing on a cigarette. This gave me an opportunity to engage in my passion: juggling a football on the moist sand.

However, on one occasion I abandoned my mania to indulge in some harmless graffiti. I wanted to write a message in the sand using my feet, which would hopefully be read by hundreds, if not thousands, before the tide washed it away.

Off I went, stamping my feet, to create letters six feet high and two shoes wide.

“Come on then, let’s get back to the guest-house,” said Dad, folding his newspaper. “Time for brekkie.”

“Notice owt unusual about the beach, Dad?” I asked. He looked down and saw my giant letters:

B-A-R-N-S-L-E-Y

“Eee, thar a warm ‘un” he said, smiling and swiping me fondly with his rolled up newspaper. “You’ve allus been a warm ‘un and you allus will be!”

My love affair with Barnsley became even deeper when I was at teacher training college in Retford. All my new mates were sports fanatics from every corner of the UK, and we all liked to boast about our home-town whilst teasing others about theirs.

One Saturday in January 1976, when returning on the coach from a football match, the Grandstand theme music came on the coach radio. Everyone went quiet. “Here are the football results,” said the announcer, as we all sat in fear that our team would lose and we’d be the object of ridicule. All my mates’ teams seemed to be winning. There were victories for Derby, Spurs, Forest, Liverpool, Wednesday, Mansfield... Oh no! it’s going to be a tough week ahead if the Super-Reds lose today.

“League Division Four” said the broadcaster. Everyone on the coach fell silent again. Mischievous eyes were focussed on me like lasers, willing a Barnsley defeat. They’d received enough ribbing from me in the past, perhaps this was time for sweet revenge.

“Who are you playing, Ronnie?”

“Northampton Town, away. Shush!”

When the announcer said, Lincoln City 3 Hartlepool United 0, I thought, this is it. Northampton versus Barnsley must be next. Win or bust. Come on you Red Boys!

“Northampton Town 5 Barnsley... “

It was too obvious, even for an eternal optimist like me, that we’d been thrashed that day. So, I didn’t wait for the Barnsley score. Jumping out of my seat I utterly drowned out the voice of the BBC broadcaster by bawling:

“Six! We’ve won six-five,” and I ran up and down the aisle, celebrating.

No one had heard the real Barnsley score but everyone knew that the Reds had probably been trounced. However, my timely intervention had snatched a fake victory from the jaws of defeat (at least in the short term) and derision was replaced by raucous laughter.

(Later that evening we learned the true result was 5 – 0 to the Cobblers.)

Many of those same former student-teachers meet up with me in Barnsley, at least once every year, for a fish and chip lunch, a couple of pints and a match at Oakwell. All of them have had glittering careers in education but I love it when their jaws drop at the sight of our amazing and continuous town centre improvements. On first seeing the Tommy Taylor Bridge, their eyes were agog.

Nonchalantly, I said, “Hmmm... I suppose it is rather spectacular. But we Tykes hate to brag.”

Last week, I, along with about half a dozen other locals, were voted onto the executive of Barnsley Civic Trust (BCT). The group has been going for many years and is independent of the Civic Hall and Barnsley Council. It puts on regular events such as visits, walks, unveiling blue plaques, local history films/talks, readings by Barnsley authors, etc.

There are literally loads of activities to enjoy for people of any age, gender, or race whilst promoting our beautiful borough.

Come and take the plunge and join us – the water’s lovely.

For more information, contact me, or BCT, on Facebook.