PORTSMOUTH

‘Play up Pompey, Pompey play up.’

The famous Pompey chimes

‘The biggest betrayal possible.’

TERRY BRADY Portsmouth director, talking about a manager leaving Portsmouth for Southampton

Fratton Park is a much more pleasant place to visit with a camera crew than it is for an away game. As an away fan it has a frankly intimidating, hostile atmosphere created by fans who have never let a little thing like a lack of success stop them from filling the place and making a tremendous racket before attempting to make your journey off the ‘island’* as difficult as possible.

There has been some redevelopment, but it’s such a throwback that if I close my eyes, I can only see it in black and white. Even when you’re there, it is so redolent of the past that you wouldn’t be surprised to hear the tannoy announce an imminent air raid.† It really is one of those places where, as an away fan, you just get in and get out as quickly as possible, even if that means drinking enough on the train to not worry about finding an even remotely friendly pub.

On the other hand, I couldn’t wait to go there when I was doing Match of the Day 2. They were the friendliest of clubs and I would visit a succession of welcoming pubs to meet fans who greeted me with open arms even as they reassured me it would be a different story if I tried going in there before a Palace game as well.

And their fans were always funny. I filmed there shortly after Harry Redknapp, their recently departed, much loved ex-manager, had taken over at bitter rivals Southampton, just two weeks after leaving Portsmouth because he ‘needed a break’ from football. I wanted to talk about this and one pub full of locals happily obliged, except they wouldn’t say his name. They referred to him as ‘the ex-manager … the baggy-faced fella … that bloke … Jamie’s dad … Sandra’s husband’ all the way through. It made me laugh a lot. Which, of course, upset the soundman. It seems they can deal with any sound except laughter (see chapter on Blackpool).

I’m not sure if ‘rivals’ is actually the right word when it comes to Southampton. It often slips under the radar in discussions on local derbies, but theirs is fierce. They properly hate Southampton with an intensity that I haven’t seen at many other clubs.

Local legend has it that it stems not just from proximity but from the relative fortunes of the two dockyards. Southampton built passenger liners and were therefore considered more affluent than Portsmouth, where they built Royal Navy ships. There have been dark mutterings that after the Titanic sank, Southampton sailors refused to crew its sister ship because of a lack of lifeboats and Portsmouth crews were recruited instead. Similarly, Pompey fans claim that Southampton sailors helped break a Portsmouth dock strike in the 1950s. Who knows, it could also be that, as in the north-east, there was beef going back to the Civil War. Oddly, they seemed to get on alright in 1939 because when Portsmouth won the FA Cup in that year, the trophy was paraded around Southampton as well.

It’s impossible to pin down just one reason, so let’s just let them get on with enjoying the emnity, shall we?

Portsmouth have always been a very well supported club, intimately connected to their island fans in a way that reminds me of the way Millwall are rooted in their community – only Portsmouth fans have had a lot more to shout about over the years, having won the title in all four leagues and winning the FA Cup three times.

Their recent history has been more volatile: successive relegations, financial meltdown and a real danger of extinction. Happily, thanks initially to fan ownership and then the shrewd investment of Michael Eisner, ex-CEO of Disney, they seem to be beginning the long fairy-tale climb back to a happy ending.

But what about the beginning? There had been a very successful army team, Royal Artillery, in the town but they had been banned by the FA for the heinous crime of training, which violated the amateur code. In 1898 the gap was filled by the creation of Portsmouth FC, who initially played in a ‘salmon pink’ kit (possibly because they were founded by a Mr Pink!) before changing to their now famous patriotic blue, white and red combination.

And if the kit was famous, their nickname was even more so. I always knew as a kid that they were Pompey, and they had to ‘play up’, but I never knew why. I probably assumed it just sounded a bit like Portsmouth for lazy people (I might have been a precocious reader at the age of seven but the word ‘onomatopoeia’ was beyond even me. Spelt it right first time here though*).

As with many of these things, the most simple of all the explanations seems to be the most likely. Naval ships docking in the harbour would record the code ‘Po’mP’ in their logbook. And, er, that’s it. Sorted.

The chimes, however, are a different matter. It may be true that referees in the Royal Artillery games used the bells of a local tower to tell them the game was due to finish and the fans joined in, but it probably isn’t. It doesn’t matter. A bit of mystery never did any harm. The important thing is that in 2020, fans of a team with a mysterious nickname are still singing a song from 1890. And what a noise they make doing it.

There, I got all the way through the chapter on Portsmouth without once mentioning ‘Pompey John’, their most visible supporter. Or, as the rest of us call him: that twat with the bell.

Why You Shouldn’t Support Them

■ It is a seriously intimidating ground. They seem to hate London clubs more than northerners do, which is odd, because to them, we are northerners.

■ It’s not an island. And even if it was, that’s nothing to be proud of.

■ They need to take that bell off him. It’s like having tinnitus for 90 minutes.