Skinner Normanton :: Joey Barton, take a look

I always knew "Skinner" Normanton as Sid. For years as a child I had really no idea what a monumental sporting figure he was in Barnsley, to me he was just a kind gentle guy who'd fix our leaky tap, not the local football hard-man who put the fear of God into anyone not wearing a red strip. But then folk in Yorkshire don't let anyone act famous or feel too big for their boots, even if their boots had seen as much first team action as Sid's; besides, a more self-effacing person you could not hope to meet. Everyone in the town knew him, many had watched him destroy the opposition on the pitch at Oakwell, but he would never been greeted in the street with anything more special than "Alreet, Skinner". No nonsense like autograph chasers or phone-snaps for our Sid.

Sid helped out with odd jobs round our house every week, he'd lost all his life savings during the mid-eighties miner's strike. Like all footballers of the day, he hadn't been a full-time professional, there was simply no such thing. Sid had worked down the pit before, during and after his six-year spell for Barnsley. He played briefly for Leeds United and Halifax, but is best remembered for his wing-half wizardry and pole-axing tackles on the pitch for Barnsley from 1947-53. There is no doubt in my mind that Sid, as his reputation dictated, was as hard as nails, but I never once saw that side of him. He was quietly spoken, kind-hearted, shy even. Wiry as a terrier, always immaculately turned out, slacks, loafers and shirt all pristine, curly hair scraped back. Joey Barton, you should take a look. Even well into his sixties, he looked as fit as a flea, though he smoked heavily and had a deep cough like a rumbling coal truck. I still remember him knocking the burning head off his cigarette with his finger-tips and popping it in his top pocket for later. He was completely devoted to his missus, Teresa, they'd been childhood sweethearts and I never saw or heard a cross word. Plenty had been after Sid but they never got near him; Teresa saw to that. I took these shots of Sid in the late 1980's, when I returned home to Barnsley as a photography student, and I had belatedly begun to realise who exactly this man was, that was so often round our house fixing fence posts or tap-dancing in the kitchen for Teresa. The beautiful old photograph of Sid in his playing days was sent to me by Teresa when Sid passed away in 1995.

We will not see Sid's like again, today's hard-men of football by comparison are all image - Sid was the real thing. That other famous son of Barnsley, Michael Parkinson said it best - though I should say, Sid would not be happy for me to be quoting Parky (although Parky idolised Skinner, the feeling wasn't mutual). "He played at a time when the game drank deep from its tap roots and although there were many more skilful and talented than he there was no one who better represented what you were up against if you took on a collier from Barnsley. I was thinking that they ought to name the new stand at Barnsley after him. The Skinner Normanton stand would be a constant reminder that no matter how much we merchandise the modern game we must always remember what it is we are really selling. Nowadays they talk of image. There was a time, when Skinner was a lad, when it had a soul.".

Parky may still trade heavily off his Barnsley pedigree, and will still name-check Sid even today, but he had committed an unforgivable sin. After interviewing Sid for one of his sporting books, then indeed eulogising about him - he never sent him a copy. Sid never forgot this. Parky, don't forget where you're from, nobody's too big for Barnsley.