SATURDAY November 29 marks the 102nd anniversary of the birth of Barnsley FC’s greatest hero.
No, not Ronnie Glavin, or Tommy Taylor, or Reverend Tiverton Preedy... I refer to Barnsley-born, Norman Rimmington.
Norm (or Rimmo as he was later affectionately known) was the epitome of loyalty, performing almost every job imaginable over many decades. He served as goalkeeper, trainer, coach, on-field first aider, physio, grounds man and kit man – and some others I’ve no doubt missed.
I first noticed him in 1964 as he tended to Barnsley’s Tony Leighton, who’d suffered a nasty ankle injury.
“That’s Norman Rimmington with his magic sponge,” said my dad.
“Magic sponge?”
“Yeah. It’s amazing how fast injured players recover when they see the trainer’s about to drench them with freezing cold water.”
Five years later I was selected for the Barnsley School Boys’ football squad and Norman took us for a coaching session. This was a big deal for all young hopefuls and that day I noticed something extraordinary. In half an hour, Norm had memorised the names of every schoolboy present that day. It was an important lesson for me for when I became a school teacher later in life.
In 1970 I signed as an apprentice professional at Oakwell and was coached by the brilliant Bob Parker, but Norman still had a vital role in our development.
He hailed from Darton and was so comfortable with his Barnsley accent he never attempted to modify it.
At the end of some workdays, when training had finished and all the chores (such as boot-cleaning) completed, Norman would entertain us with his story-telling.
Most apprentice professionals sat in the spotless dressing room, transfixed by his fascinating anecdotes. He would describe, for example, the series of bad injuries that goalkeeper Alan Hill suffered, and the severe eyesight problem that the outstanding Alan Ogley had to cope with. He would poke fun at himself by describing how he had to present a speech on the theory and practice of football tactics to a critical audience of soccer experts with university backgrounds.
“I don’t know whether they understood a word I said but I passed the exam alright,” he said, chuckling.
(It’s worth noting that the full FA Coaching Badge, that Norman achieved, was then probably the most prestigious football coaching qualification in the world.)
Before writing today’s column I consulted Sharron, a good friend and former fellow student, who was a Derby Street neighbour of mine for nearly 20 years. I remembered she had once lived next door to Norman and his wife, Jessie.
Sharron told me: “Norman and Jessie were, indeed, our neighbours in Darton, and when my father died young, Norman became like a second father to me. Oh, the times we chatted over the garden wall, with Jessie providing tea and some of her delicious home-made cakes.
“In my first post as a teacher in Newcastle, the head said: ‘Sharron, I can see great potential but can you do something about your Barnsley accent?’ This got me down, so on my return to Darton that summer, I consulted Norman.
His response? ‘If you care and are on the kids’ side, they’ll see that, and it’ll not matter one jot even if you talk Zulu’. And I remember smiling at his comforting message as I fought back the tears.
“Words don’t really matter, Sharron. It’s having their backs that matters. Always be true to who you are’.
“Norman was proved right because those Newcastle kids from all those years ago are still my friends today.”
She continued: “Another thing: Norman was genuinely interested in people and always made them feel important.
“I remember Sir Matt Busby turning up at his front door many times.”
My voice suddenly rose two octaves: “What? Sir Matt Busby came to Norman’s house?”
“He did, and when exchanging small talk, Norman would deliberately include me in the conversation. Imagine, me in my back garden making small talk with the Manchester United legend. Sir Matt actually came regularly for physiotherapy because he didn’t trust anyone else except Norman. But then Norman would joke: ‘Sir Matt really travels across the Pennines because he can’t resist Jessie’s tea and home-made baking.’
“Oh, and finally,” said Sharron, “I also clearly remember Tommy Docherty once arriving at Norman’s front door in a massive Jaguar - hoping to pick Norman’s footballing brains, no doubt.”
Norman Rimmington (1923 – 2016) – authentic, humble, kind and wise. And forever one of our own!
