Browsing in a second-hand bookshop in Lewes over the Easter holidays, I was thrilled to find a staple of my 1980s boyhood at the bottom of a tottering pile of dusty books.
The Roy of the Rovers annual was a yearly highlight at Christmas. I rarely read the weekly magazine – unless we happened to be on a long train journey – but the annual was always a treat. My grandparents, like many others who remembered the 1930s Depression and 1940s wartime restrictions, never seemed to throw anything away. As a consequence, my dad’s 1950s annuals were still around, and I found them very entertaining.
The 1950s issues, reprinted from Tiger magazine, were often set in Roy’s schoolboy years, with his stalwart companion ‘Blackie’ Gray providing moral support. They were very much in the vein of the clean-cut, pre-rock-and-roll British hero: never cheating; kind (if paternalistic) to women; and, of course, Peter Pan-like in both the longevity of his career and his ability never really to age. His style as a skilful but honest centre forward, with a famously powerful shot (‘Racey’s rocket’), barely changed over the years.
Foreign players did occasionally appear. French amateur international Pierre Dupont wowed the crowds with his unconventional play, but in keeping with the reality of British football at the time, this was a rare departure. Scots and Welshmen showed up more frequently but were generally given fiery Celtic tempers and had to be managed cautiously.
By the 1970s, as the magazine became a separate entity, Black players were included for the Rovers (though rarely for the fictional opposition) and were reasonably free of stereotype – although they were mainly portrayed as skilful players rather than rugged centre halves.
In retrospect, the character’s survival – and continued popularity – 30 years later is a tribute to the enduring power of football to enthral children, and to the writers’ knack for keeping Roy relevant.
By the 1980s, however, the idea of a ‘boys’ own’ hero was starting to wear a little thin. Melchester Rovers dabbled with celebrity endorsements (Spandau Ballet training with the team), kit sponsorship, and TV. Players were now as likely to storm out of training with their agents in tow and demand pay rises as they were to refuse to score an unfairly awarded penalty.
The storylines also became more dramatic, reflecting the popularity of US soap operas such as Dallas, where cliffhangers and shocks came thick and fast – unlike the more prosaic British versions. Roy himself, now player-manager and drawn in his early 30s, was shot by a jealous TV star – only to return and lead the team out of the Second Division.
Any trip abroad was likely to involve mendacious play or Communist shenanigans – spies, bribed referees, and other nefarious activities – but in the 1980s, one such tour saw the Rovers kidnapped in the Middle East, with several players killed. I remember thinking at the time that it was a bit much for a kid’s football magazine, and it smacked of desperation.
It was no great surprise that the weekly ceased publication in 1993, against the backdrop of Sky and the Premier League’s takeover of football; suddenly, homely stories about daring-do felt out of place.
The annual I bought home recently was the 1986-87 edition. The cover – Roy chipping an audacious goal over his shoulder in front of a packed terrace – was instantly recognisable. Inside, the content feels as far from today’s football as the 1940s did from the 1980s (which, depressingly, is now about right). The lead story, in which a jaded Rovers side needs a break after a shock defeat to struggling Oldfield, has several classic features.
A trip to Spain brings unreliable locals (nothing in the hotel works), clean-cut fun around the pool, and a practice match in which wily continental players initially baffle the Rovers before British pluck hauls them level.
The other strips are a random mixture: compilations from the magazine, such as Goalkeeper and Billy’s Boots, alongside older selections from the 1960s and 1970s. In the minor stories, superstition is a frequent trope, with symbolic lucky charms that turn an average schoolboy into a star. Billy Dane finding an ancient pair of boots that transform him into Deadshot Keen (clearly Dixie Dean) is my favourite example.
Other staples included series on non-league or lower-league outfits, usually struggling with financial ills, and comic characters like Hotshot Hamish. His physical strength served him well in the rugged Scottish league, but he still returned home in a kilt to work on his family farm at every opportunity.
Other in-depth features include the best Scottish players, great goalkeepers, and Manchester United over the years. Of the featured stars who appear in the pen pics, all are British-born and none are black. The only woman to feature is Roy’s long-suffering wife, Penny. Her annoyance at Roy’s football obsession sends her to her mother’s for a break, leaving Roy too exhausted to play because he has to do some housework.
A longer, non-cartoon story involves complex goings-on at a minor public school – something that, even in 1986, must have felt out of date. It seems to be lifted straight from the Billy Bunter/St Trinian’s oeuvre, with Tuck, Rugger, and rogue prefects denying clean-cut boys the chance to play ‘soccer’. All in all, it’s thoroughly enjoyable nostalgia – by turns charming, creaky, and occasionally bonkers.
Better still, I’ve since discovered a new set of updated Roy stories by children’s authors Rob and Ben Williams, which my eldest son now enjoys too.
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