From the streets of Beeston

My name is Josh Townend. I was born on the 19th February 1975 in Leeds, and raised in Beeston, not far from Elland Road.

Any outsider with knowledge will instantly relate Beeston to the 7/7 bombings as that's where the attack was originally plotted. And yes, it does have a city-wide reputation for being a bit of a shit hole.

I grew up in that shit hole. When I was ten years old, I got my first job as a paper boy, and I would spend my weekends watching local football.

When people say local football, you think of small non-league clubs, but being from LS11, my local football was former English champions, Leeds United.

This is my story.

After being raised in Old Farnley, I'll be watching this with great interest - good luck

We didn't have much. But we were happy. My dad worked down the pit with my older brother, my mam worked at the local chippy every Friday and Saturday night and I had a paper round that earned me a few bob each week, but that wasn't until I was 13. This story starts earlier.

We lived on a council estate behind the shops on Ellland Road that face the South Stand. Like I said, we didn't have much, we had just about enough to feed the lot of us. But on my seventh birthday, my mam, dad and big brother all chipped in for a very special present (if you disregard the result).

I was going to be making the short walk down Wesley Street the following day, accompanied by my dad and brother to watch Leeds United play against Sir Bobby Robson's Ipswich Town.

Many were expecting us to get beat, given Ipswich's great recent fortune and our dire lack of it. Nevertheless, I was buzzing to be going to my first Leeds match.

The crowds had been down from the club's heyday, lurking around the 20,000 mark, although that was as much to do with the hooliganism that was poisoning the club as it was the results. 20,000 was still quite a high volume of people in the local area every other Saturday, so the pre-match buzz about the place felt oddly familiar, only this time I was going to join them.

We got a decent discount from the chippy van outside the Lowfields Road Stand, as my brother used to work there when he was younger, before he became old enough to go down the pit with my dad.

It was a cold mid-February afternoon, and although the novelty of it was exciting the first time, the atmosphere was the same depressingly mundane one that I would grow up with. As we stood on the Kop, the strong smell of ale filled the air from the bar beneath the stand, mixed with teas, pies and Bovrils being consumed on the terraces.

The match wasn't a particularly memorable one. I watched on from the front of the Kop as my heroes were haplessly beaten 2-0.

The result didn't dampen my enthusiasm. I was in this for the long run and couldn't wait for the next chance to see my idols in white play again.

From that point on I was hooked. Until I was old enough to properly work, I did small jobs on the estate such as car washing, and this would fund my new-found addiction, Leeds United.

Go get 'em! Glad to see you starting up again!

Jack: My brother's got some mates from Old Farnley, small world eh?

Tenthreeleader: As ever, your support is greatly appreciated

I had three of the best mates I could have asked for. Their names were Rob Small, Harry Lawson and Kevin Thompson (Thommo).

Rob Small lived up to his name, he was a short fella and puberty didn't fix that. He had straight brown hair and could often be seen in a blue tracksuit, regardless of where he was. He lived next door to the right as you look out onto the street. He was the first friend I ever had, born just a couple of months after me. My mam and his mam were already very close friends for years before I was born, so we were pretty much introduced to each other from the day Rob was brought home.

Harry lived in the house directly opposite mine. He was a stocky lad with bright blond hair. He was also pretty tall, he got to 6 feet by the time he was 12 so we nicknamed him Godzilla. He got into a fair few fights, mostly with scrawny little buggers trying to tease him for his size. They would always come off second best, as he would put them on the floor before they could finish saying "fat shit". He was always put in goal, and for someone with his build he was very agile, shifting his weight from one end of the goal to another in a flash. He was regarded as the best goalkeeper at school once we hit senior school, and was the the first choice for the school's first team way before we started our O-Levels.

And then there was Thommo. With bright ginger hair, you could see him from Wakefield, although his height helped out with that as well. He grew at practically the same rate as Harry, except he was a lanky streak of piss. He also played in the school's first team from an early age, and was the obvious choice for the big lad up front. Once Rob was finally in the first team at the age of 15, him and Rob were acknowledged as the best partnership the school had ever seen. Rob played in a loose second-striker-cum-winger role, which meant he would either go on an amazing tricky run and get a cross in for the big fella, or Thommo would nod it down for Rob to bury.

As for me, I never played football. When I was 10, something horrific happened. Mine and Rob's bedroom window's were both next to each other, so we would often talk after bed. But one night I pushed my luck. I hung too far out of my window, lost my balance and fell to the pavement below.

The doctor said I was lucky to be alive and even luckier to be able to walk, that is of course once I was healed enough. I was to spend a brief spell in a wheelchair before I was put on crutches. My leg had been broken in four places, the ligaments that join my shin with my ankle had torn and my knee cap was shattered.

I would never be able to run again because of the nature of the breaks which was devastating as I had dreamed of playing for Leeds United ever since I first went to watch them.

But the dream wasn't quite over. Watching my mates play gave me a greater understanding of the game, and the coach for the first team made me his assistant helping out with tactical decisions. When he left to take up a Head of PE role at Woodhouse Grove, he recommended to the school that I was made manager of the first team.

The school team had never had a manager before, only a coach that took training. My job was to consult with the PE teacher that took training about which players were the best fit for the team based on their performance in practice. I didn't quite leave school once I was 16. I was no longer enrolled as a student, but the school were prepared to pay me to manage the team on weekends whilst I studied at Leeds City College during the week.

I was just 16 years old, but was already known as 'gaffer'.

Incredible update, mate! Love the West Yorkshire vibe I'm getting from here

Jack: Wessies do it best ;)

15th August 1993

It had been three years since my beloved Leeds United were promoted back to Division One and a year since they won it. My dad and brother had been out of a job for a year after the closure of Allerton Bywater, the coal mine they worked on.

As for me, it was results day. After getting decent results in my O-Levels, I went to Leeds City College to do a BTEC in Journalism and I was awaiting my result. I had selected Leeds Metropolitan University (more commonly know as Leeds Met) as my firm choice, with Bradford University being my insurance.

Having gained a DDM (Distinction, Distinction, Merit), I was headed for Leeds Met.

6th October 1993

Rob still lived next door. He went straight to work when he hit 16, so I had at least one mate from the original core of three to hang out with.

"Here Josh, have you seen this?" He said, as he handed me a copy of the Yorkshire Evening Post one day, when I got back from uni.

FA Coaching Course, Level 1: There will be a Level 1 Coaching Course taking place at Leeds Metropolitan University, starting on 1st December at 12:00. Enrolment cost is £45. Those interested in enrolling can call Ian on 0113 739590

"What about it?" I said.

"You were great with the school team, and I've seen you manage them since as well" He replied.

I looked at him in surprise. I never really thought much of my achievements or strengths, so whenever I excelled at something, it just went straight over my head.

I had budgeted for £40 a week off my Student Finance, but I was still in my part time job at my old school. I was saving for Christmas, but being on £30 a week, I was sure I could set some money aside for it.

"Suppose I best get right on it then", I said at last.

1st December 1993

Christmas was in the air in this part of Yorkshire. Well, the smell of 'auntie' Leanne's fags was, as was the snow which would quickly turn to slush.

It was looking pretty picturesque at uni though, and there was a smooth bed of snow covering the stretches of grass on campus, whilst lumps of snow hung off the naked tree branches like baubles.

Meanwhile, I was sat in a classroom. Not for a seminar or lecture, but for the first day of my Level 1 Coaching Course with the FA. Well, we have to start somewhere, right? I sat at the back, next to a man I recognised instantly. It was Paul Raynor, a midfielder who at the time, was plying his trade at Preston North End. What brought him to Leeds for a £45 coaching course I never quite understood, particularly at the age of 27.

"Welcome class, to the Football Assocation's Level 1 Coaching Course" said a short receding man at the front.

"My name is Ian Sutcliffe, and I will be your course leader. Over the next couple of months, you will learn the basics of coaching. Some of you will use this to coach as a hobby, whereas some of you- I'm looking at you, Mr Raynor, Mr Strachan- will go on to gain further coaching badges and maybe one day manage a professional side"

I didn't even notice Gordon Strachan in the room, the fiery red-headed Scotsman and Leeds captain (ring any bells?) was sat at the front of the room. He was getting on a bit and like I said before, we have to start somewhere.

I made a new friend that day, and I'll never forget the first thing that was said between us. It was the strapping curly-haired midfielder that sat next to me, who when Ian explained the offside rule- as I said, it's a fairly rudimentary programme- remarked to me "oh, that'll explain why that flag goes up whenever I hoof it forward"

The following weeks would be gruelling, with my first assignments on my degree due before the holidays and an intensive coaching programme underway, not to mention the pressure that came with saving for Christmas.

But, as would be the case in future courses, I had a friend helping me through, every step of the way. His name? Paul Raynor.

You are seriously talented at this kind of writing, mate! I don't know whether if it's to do with your personal knowledge of Yorkshire and everything that goes with it or you just enjoy writing about this, but its incredible! Keep going and you're creating a really good story here!

Jack: Thanks mate, really appreciate it

15th June 1996

Mam and Dad were proud as punch.

I never really understood all the hype that came with graduation day. I mean, why stand up holding a certificate in front of hundreds of people you don't know bar two or three family members and a few mates? It's not that I don't like standing in front of loads of people, I just see it as an over-glorified results day.

I preferred it when it was that way. No strangers, just a pat on the back from my nearest and dearest in a more intimate setting.

I was proud of my result. I got a first class honours in Sports Journalism. I would have been tempted to study another year at Masters level, but I'd already met with the HR team at the Yorkshire Evening Post who offered me a job as long as I got a first.

With my first class honours at hand, I was ready to step up to the sports desk at the YEP as Junior Sports Editor. I would be leaving my role as manager of my old school's first team, having gained an FA B Licence. Hopefully, this job would now pay for me to progress even further as a coach.

1st August 1996

It became clear to me that I would need a part-time job as a coach in order to keep up my progress. Alas, there was an opening. I managed to get myself a paid role at Pudsey Juniors U-15s.

They weren't a bad side. The batch that were in the team before had won promotion, so I was hoping for something similar from the new boys.

24th August 1996: Pudsey Juniors vs Stanningley Albion

The season's curtain raiser came against our next door neighbours from Stanningley. I had taught my players at the training session during the week to behave themselves and focus on the game, I wasn't going to stand for any mucking about.

The game had a scrappy opening, and neither team had a shot for the first 15 minutes. Shortly before half time, things got heated. Their tall centre-back rattled into our 5'3 attacking midfielder, sending him to ground with a crunch. There was a scuffle on the pitch and in the dugouts.

I was visibly furious that the opposition coach could send his team out in that frame of mind. Once I got right up in his grill, there were handbags in the technical area. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, my assistant stepped in as did the opposing coach's assistant. They helped each other calm us down and hands were shaken. The referee came over and warned that if it kicked off again, he would be forced to abandon the game.

We got a goal before the break, as the lads showed an impressive understanding of a patient build-up (90s Tiki Taka) before the little fella that their defender almost killed earlier slotted home into the bottom corner.

Now that there was a lead, there was visible and tangible calm on the touchline. Ten minutes into the second half, someone approached me. It was a woman.

She was sporting a pair of black ankle boots, tight jeans and a white blouse. Long brown wavy hair fell from her head down just past her shoulders. It was a sight I could have drooled at if I had stared long enough.

"You seem a bit young to be coaching a young lads' side" she said.

"I love coaching. I used to coach my old school side until quite recently and I wanted to stick at it so I came here" I replied.

She smiled and said "Terry Venables had better watch his back, you'll be after his job soon!"

We both laughed a little before she said "I'm Yvonne by the way, Harvey's mum"

"I'm Josh" I replied "Harvey's coach"

And with a chuckle, she was off. Definitely wouldn't have minded seeing her again.

31st August 1996

"How are you getting on?"

She frightened me to death. I stopped cleaning the horrendous state of the dressing room, looked around and saw Yvonne stood in the doorway.

"I'm good thanks" I replied.

"Do you need a hand?" she asked.

I said "Yeah sure, I could do with an extra pair of hands"

We got the dressing room clean and tidy in 15 minutes. We talked as we cleaned and I could feel a strange kind of chemistry between us. Like me, she was born and bred in Leeds. She's from Armley, but she now lives with her son Harvey in the middle of Pudsey. As I headed towards my car, I heard her call my name. I acknowledged her, and walked back towards her.

"This might sound crazy, but would you fancy meeting up in town some time?"

I was stunned. No one had ever asked me out before, and it was all the more surprising that the first woman to ask me out was 15 years older than me.

"Absolutely" I replied. "When do you want to meet?"

"Would Monday evening be convenient?" she asked.

"Yeah, that would great. You name the time and place and I'll be there" I said

"Ciao Bella at 8?"

"I'll be there"

Loving the start for your story, really amazing writing and storytelling.
I'll be reading some more updates later, but wanted to let you know I'm enjoying it a lot.
Keep it up, and good luck

Murtagh: It's nice to know you're enjoying this