• In Part One, the Annesley Reds were nearly thwarted by an over-heating Ford Escort before they even reached Folkestone. How would the car cope with the sweltering Autobahn on the way to the European Cup Final?

About to leave English soil again on the quest for European glory, but this was the big ‘un! At Folkestone I was a bit puzzled. We were going on a Hovercraft; clear enough, but were we taking the cars on? Now that puzzled me. The fact was I was thinking the hovercraft was still in the stages as I had seen on a 1960s BBC TV Tomorrow’s World programme. Bloody hell, these crafts are big, I dreaded what happens when the big fan packs up over the Channel.

Anyway we drove on and got out of the central part of the hovercraft to be seated in an aeroplane type area, all excited if truth be known as we tried to peer out of the windows. The rest of the journey was similar to a plane journey with the chance to buy overpriced, so-called duty-free watches, perfume and jewellery. We rode gently over a wave or two, not enough to spill your drink, but I’m still thinking, ‘Will this float if the engines pack up?’

We had heard Calais was a doss hole. First sights as the two carloads progressed: it was a doss hole.

Rube was driving our car now and Nobby giving directions. Stuart, Teada and I were enjoying the sights, albeit like rural England so far. I suppose there was the odd French Marigold blooming somewhere. They seemed to know which direction we were going and we relaxed on the back seat like sardines.

It was twilight and we hadn’t lost Cumbo now driving Pip’s treasured Ford Escort. I swear you could see him cringe as Cumbo put it through its paces every now and again to catch us up. As night came we decided on a stop. So somewhere in the middle of France heading in the direction of Germany, we pulled in at a small village where a neon sign told us there was a Bar and that meant BEER. We were still eating our sandwiches from home and now it was time for a drink or two.

There were a few locals in there who took little interest in us as we took over the pinball machine and occupied the bar stools. The barman spoke English well and the beer was okay. Pip and Teada had to be careful as they had to drive the next leg through the night so they didn’t have much to drink. After a jotty or two we were back in the cars and away. By the way, a jotty is a mining term for a half pint. Ask your granddad, he might have worked down the pit.

The backseat passengers cat napped through the night until we were about to leave France and daylight made us rub our bleary eyes. Drivers had changed in the night and we missed Teada navigating for Rube. Now Teada was back at the wheel and I was feeling guilty so I volunteered to navigate for a spell. Our next big place was Strasbourg which was more or less on the border. This was a place of historic beauty and culture, but we were the Annesley Reds on tour – all we wanted was safe passage.

As the sun came up I folded the map to the section of the border and we were headed for a big intersection around Strasbourg where the signs were in French and German, Deutschland or Allemagne for Germany. Before we knew it we were on this big roundabout and I spotted the Allemagne sign and alerted Teada as to which lane we should be in; well I gave him about three seconds notice! All at once we were plunged into darkness by a large single decker luxury coach in the inside lane. It looked like a coach carrying a load of French OAPs. The driver showed no mercy as we backed off and let him go in front until it became light again and then all of a sudden we saw the exit for Germany, as I pointed trying to say “NEXT TONN OFF YOUTH” Teada spotted it and headed for the exit. We might have caused a driver or two to swerve but Pip’s Escort was on our tail and we were headed for West Germany. We hoped. I couldn’t drive but I could read a map, even if my directions were a bit delayed.

The well known Autobahn was our next hurdle and down through the Black Forest. We were travelling along and the weather was really summer weather. In fact, come mid morning it was scorching. The Ford Escort was still keeping up and at times when Pip was asleep Cumbo would thrash the nuts off Pip’s pride and joy and overtake us. So we just let the old Maxi gather some speed and breeze back in front, usually flicking fag ends at their car as we passed. The sleeping Pip would have died if he knew Cumbo was hammering the pistons to the max! I’m not sure he knows to this day. Probably does now.

They did overheat once more but this time we had water on board and it was good to have five minutes to stretch our legs. As we waited for the car to cool a little, more Reds fans passed us on buses and in cars. We saw lots of supporters, but none we knew until a bus from Kirkby came by us. The driver shouted out, “How’s it goin’ Pip?” Bloody hell, the only non-regular fan among us was Pip Barratt and he was the one that got noticed on the Autobahn!

I took a back seat to sleep a while (not much chance). As we tried to get a bearing on our journey, we passed a turn-off for Ausfart. Further down the road the next turning was Ausfart; and the next one. I said it must be like the Sheffield turn-off on the M1 back home, they have about three, don’t they? Most of the carload nodded unsurely at this remark, but no one disputed it. Then the brains of the outfit clicked on. “I bet it means exit,” said a confident Rube.

Come early afternoon we entered the city of München. “Flipping hell, we’ve got the wrong place!” I was only joking this time.

Continues here…

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