The grass pitch was wet and a wee bit muddy in parts and I found myself caught up in the performance of one particular laddie. In my state of nostalgic emotion and lumpy throat, the wee lad reminded me of me at the same age. Socks at ankles, shorts and shirt hanging too big, the glaur collected in his desire to play, to run, to tackle, like his life was dependant. He took me right back to the 1960`s, to fitba everywhere, in streets, school playgrounds, parks and any space that could accommodate anything from 2 to 200 players! It was his muddy legs and the joy of his participation that done it.

Football was enormously popular in the 60`s and it was rare to encounter anyone who didnae play. Take-ons` were the heartbeat of Leith`s fitba populus as districts and street communities challenged each other for the bragging rights of a win. Public parks like Victoria, the Links, Pilrig and Keddie were host to scores of young boys gathered spontaneously in the knowledge that teams would organise from the throng in a selection process assumed by the two recognised best players or the boy who owned the ball. They`d toss a coin or tick-tack-toe for first pick choosing eagerly to assemble best squad. I recall the disappointed faces of the last two boys selected. Sympathy wisnae an issue.

Any late arrivals would always be welcome to join in by asking `cock or a hen` in pairs, by previous secret arrangement of course! No one was ever refused. Goalposts were jackets or jumpers and could gather into huge mounds on big game days. Hidden inside the `posts` were the ubiquitous bottles of Tizer and American Cream soda. A staple accompaniment if you could afford it. Arguments exploded regularly as to goal no goal, on the basis of the imaginary 3 foot thick upright! The crossbar was much less contentious. If the ball was above the goalies outstretched arms then it was over. No need for VAR. Games were not timed but concluded when either 10 half time and 21 the winner was achieved or the ball owner departed for his tea!

Of course not all football pastimes were team games and `three goals and your in` manifest in confined areas that offered garage doors, two trees or access gates as the target. The game needed a minimum of three players, a Goalie, a Centre Forward and a Winger to cross the ball in.

On scoring 3 goals the Centre went in goal as the triangle spun round to form the new set up. These events were often played under street lights and would last until you were `called in` for sustenance or sleep! Particular streets were designated as `No Ball Games` but everyone ignored the signs and played in them anyway.. Very rarely, the local Bobby turned up and everyone would scatter and, other than one incident I recall, no one was ever arrested.

Myself and two friends did however fall foul of the Ball Games Law and were scooped up by a Policeman who escorted us into the Police box just outside Leith Docks main gate. I will never forget the Bobby`s restricted laugh when pal Norrie Fraser gave his name under interrogation. “Is that with an S or a Z son?” Norrie replied “an F!” We were dismissed with a warning and returned to brag of how big we were.

One park in particular, Keddie, on Largo Place would get locked off late afternoons but football prevailed nonetheless by climbing gates or somehow bending fence spikes enough to squeeze through. Keddie was very small and often infested with dogs dirt. It was common to take some home with you. We thought nothing of it.

There was organised football under the banner of `Boys Clubs` and the games were played on Saturdays only. School and Boys Brigade football were high profile too but not all schools favoured football. I hated my school.

Games were rarely postponed, even on bone hard ice bound pitches, played with brown leather balls known as `fillies` or worse still… The dreaded plastic Mouldmaster, a ball with little give, lifeless bounce, and dealer of catastrophic welts when struck onto bare thighs!

Over the years, youth football has changed immeasurably but remains the joyous game it has always been. One wonders if AI will impact?

I`ll let Mrs Farquahar (No 5 Albany St, now Portland St) sign off.

“If that ba` comes intae ma gairden once mair I`ll be putting a knife through it!”

Call Out: This piece was sent in Anonymously, if the writer gets in touch I’ll be happy to give him wholesome credit and a Bain’s mince pie