The memories I have of my grandfather, also named Jimmy, are unfortunately quite sparse. But I do remember when my brother Peter and I were taken over to my grandfather and grandmother’s house in Liverpool by my mum and dad to visit them, probably on a Saturday, if my dad wasn’t playing. It must have been a Saturday because my grandmother would be cooking lunch – probably a boiled chicken or something like that – once she’d got the cat out of the oven! (There hangs another tale). My uncle Tommy and his wife, Con, would probably be there along with my uncle David, the youngest member of the Dunn family. Meanwhile my grandfather would be sitting in his chair by the fireplace, smoking a cigarette and listening to the radio, waiting for the B.B.C. football results to begin – generally voiced by Peter Dimmock or Kenneth Wolstenholme, someone like that. My Grandfather wasn’t much of a talker as far as I remember, but when the radio results were finally listed he became more animated and always had a few choice comments to make – uttered in his gritty Scottish accent. Of course my dad used to wind him up a bit, especially if Everton lost to some lesser team. The memory of those visits are a bit faded around the edges now but I do remember sometimes my brother and I would go out to a nearby local field, to kick a ball around before lunch. There were generally a lot of other local kids from the area kicking a ball around. Once in a while we would get invited to join them in a game. What was really funny though was when the other kids found out my dad played for Wolves and my grandfather played for Everton we were suddenly elevated in our own playing status and had an entourage that followed us back to my grandparent’s house for lunch. Which obviously resulted in a lot of snotty nosed kids standing in the back yard of the house waiting for autographs. Of course, Pete and I felt incredibly important. The video herewith of my grandfather is priceless. Firstly because it shows the style of the times, but secondly because when individual goal scorers of the team are featured on camera heralded as heroes. Beautiful stuff. Although I love it that my grandfather, after the camera has been on him for a long while, suddenly turns away, as if to say: What the fuck is this?
Another strange anomaly, on film, of those times shows the captains of two teams, smartly dressed, almost like two boxers facing off but with a ‘gentleman’s drink’ in hand, suggesting that everything is done in the guise of fair play and friendliness. So awkward. So staccato. So Brilliant. Sadly, my grandfather died at an incredibly early age, considering life expectancy today. 63 is no age at all. But what he left was a great image for soccer. Likewise my dad, they will always be my heroes, who started out with nothing other than their own perseverance and talent, but went on to excite thousands.
Have a look at this film - Great stuff especially when you think it’s all shot on hand-cranked camera !