What Wolves mean to me…
...written by Clive Corbett, posted in Guest Writers, with No Comments.

Clive is a member of the DDCWWFCSC, author of the Wolves book ‘Those were the Days’ and a Headmaster of a school in Worcestershire. In his words this is…….

What Wolves mean to me…

Saturday, 18th April 2009 was of course the day that Wolves overcame Queens Park Rangers to secure promotion back to the Premier League. Important and exhilarating though this result was, that day was exactly a year since my mother died and that synchronicity reminded me why Wolves mean so much to me.

Mom and dad, both sadly now passed away, are the reasons why Wolves mean so much to me. It is a family thing where my love for the club is inextricably linked with precious family memories. It is through Wolves matches that I remember certain dates and events. I am reminded of the things outlined below and much, much more:

  • Dad’s scrapbook as a sixteen year old of the glorious 1949 F A Cup winning campaign, with its yellowing press cuttings that chart the route to Wembley;
  • Mom and dad spending much of their courting time on the train between Brierley Hill and Low Level stations and on the South Bank in the glory years of the fifties;
  • March 20th 1965 and my first Wolves match, watching from the Molineux Street stand in a fog of pipe tobacco and the sounds of John Philip Souser marches. Although Andy Beattie’s team overcame Stoke 3-1, we were ultimately relegated;
  • Memories of the 1966-67 promotion season, parking up in Oaks Crescent and frequenting a little café in Chapel Ash before the match.
  • Being raised up behind one of the South Bank’s great concrete exits on dad’s home made wooden box. I saw the home debut of a hero as the Doog scored a hat trick against Hull City on 25th March 1967;
  • Arguing in the car with my sister on the way to my first Wolves away game. It was at Hillsborough on 30th September 1967 as we secured a 2-2 draw on the birthdays of Alun Evans and Peter Knowles;
  • Boxing Day 1970 and a 2-0 Doog inspired win over reigning champions Everton in the snow. We kept warm on the South Bank sharing coffee that was heavily laden with whisky with the local police.
  • March 2nd 1974 and the joy of a trophy at last. Not only were mom and dad there, but also my granddad (a spectator in 1949 and 1960), almost unable to believe that we were back in the big time;
  • The heartbreak of relegation at the hands of Liverpool in May 1977, but me and a group of university mates being consoled and put up for the night by mom and dad;
  • Despair at the almost incomprehensible decline of the mid-eighties and the joy of the Bully led renaissance. A time that coincided with marriage and the birth of our two children;
  • In turn having the opportunity to introduce my own children to the Wolves and the joy of continuing the family tradition;
  • Having to say goodbye to mom and dad just as things at Molineux were beginning to look up – truly out of darkness..

These are just some examples of what Wolves mean to me.

Clive Corbett has written a book, ‘Those were the days’, looking at Wolves between 1964 and 1977, and is currently working on the sequel, ‘Out of darkness’, covering the period from 1977 to 1990.
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