Some clubs find that their players do not play so well away as at home, and often this is put down to the players not trying so hard when they do not have their own supporters to watch them. Bad travelling companions can, of course, have quite a lot to do with these failures in away matches. We at Port Vale travel as a team. We are good companions setting out to do a good job of work.

There are no stars in our party. It does not matter who scores the goals as long as we score. It does not matter who stops the other team from scoring so long as we stop them from doing just that. The twelfth man of our party is always “in the team.” And he is just as anxious as the others that the team should be successful. If we go to an early show when we arrive at the “match town,” we go together, we eat together, and share the same enjoyments.

It had given me an insight into the problems and difficulties with which other players have to contend. And it has since helped me to co-operate with them and understand them better.

By the way, I do believe that the standard of play in the Third Division is improving each season. This, I suppose, is due to the influence of such experienced operators as our own Freddie Steele, Raich Carter, Peter Doherty, and so many others who have helped to bring out the best in the players under their charge. It is, however, a great pity that so many good players are transferred to clubs in higher divisions. If promotion and relegation was increased to four up and four down, I fancy the interest of the spectators would ensure better gates, and at the same time enable a lot of Third Division clubs to carry on without being compelled to transfer their best players in order to remain in existence.

The past four seasons have resulted in big improvements in the standard of Third Division play. In consequence, I found my own job being made much easier. It makes so much difference playing against a polished good-class centre-forward than the rough and tough, unskilled player who doesn’t know himself what to do with the ball when it comes to him.

Three centre-forwards of real skill against whom I have played with, I feel, some reasonable success, are Tommy Lawton (when he was with Notts County), Stevenson, of Blackpool, who though a deputy for Mortenson at centre, is a brilliant, quick-thinking, fast-moving player, and the one-time Port Vale idol, Ronnie Allen. Ronnie is, to my mind, a natural for the England team.

I love the game of football; and now my only real interest outside he game is my family. I can listen to talk about football for hours, and I read everything worthwhile about the game on which I can lay my hands. At Port Vale you will find that Tuesday Morning, after practice, is the time devoted to open discussion on football. These chats are a real help to every one of us. I particularly recall one discussion which was introduced one Tuesday morning by our manager. He suggested that football is more than a job, that it is an entertainment; and that, as entertainers of the public, it was up to us to ensure personal fitness. The more we thought of what he had said, the more did the idea impress us. It seemed to give our job a new importance.

Fitness is, of course, the secret of Soccer success. Although a player sometimes feels a bit out of things when he can’t indulge in late-night parties, or smoke or drink, the sense of doing a job really well more than repays him for rigid self-discipline. Any youngster hoping to make the grade in football must stick to these rules ­ keep fit, work hard, practice ball control, and don’t ever learn to smoke. We footballers quite enjoy our way of life, though it is so different from those of most people. Travelling so frequently to play in different towns is, with us at Port Vale, a happy and interesting experience.

It was not, however, all fun for me in those days, and I frequently contemplated giving up the game. Fortunately, we had a good Board of Directors, plus a good manager, and in spite of a long run of non-success, I was given every opportunity to settle down.

My worst period was 1947-8. Nothing would go right for me. Our manager was Gordon Hodgson, the old Liverpool player; and though he brought in Eric Eastwood from a Lancashire club to take my place at centre-half, he never lost faith in me. Gordon tried me out at left and right-back, wing-half, inside-forward, and even centre-forward. He was a good chap, and his premature death shortly after the club moved to their new headquarters at Hamil Road, Burslem, was a great personal loss to me.

It was 1949 before I regained my old position at centre-half and showed, I hope, sufficient form to justify Gordon’s faith in me. The constant changing of positions had, however, rendered me good service.

Thus, after demob, Ken secured me a trial at Hanley and, at 26 I signed as a professional for Port Vale. At that time the club had their ground at Hanley, the main shopping town of the Potteries. It was a compact enclosure, but its capacity was no more than about 22,000. Nor did we often get crowds as big as that. The club had carried on during the war, figuring chiefly in local competitions. Therefore, they had to make what amounted to a fresh start when the boys came back from the Forces. We were, mind you, quite a cheerful crowd. We were in the Southern Section of the Third Division at that time. An that reminds me of two humorous incidents connected with the period. Both took place at a ground bordered by a dog-track.

The first concerns Ronnie Allen, now of West Bromwich, and who, incidentally, helped to knock us out of the cup last season. We were awarded a corner, and Ronnie went over to take the kick. He moved backwards from the corner flag, preparing for his kick, and fell over the dog-track fence surrounding the ground. Fortunately Ronnie was uninjured by his fall and climbed back to join in the laughter.

On the same ground, Billy Pointon, who was noted for his long runs with the ball and his unusual habit of running with his head down, gathered the ball on the half-way line and made off, as he fondly imagined, goalwards. He took the ball right over the touchline and finished up head first in Trap One of the greyhound track. Always the comedian, Billy poked his head out of the dog-trap amid roars of laughter from the crowd. And, by way of interest, I did hear that this Trap One was for a long time afterwards the most popular among punters who attended the track.

After a while he developed a plan. We were allowed to talk this over, with the result that we settled down to a system of play which brought success. And he has always encouraged us to feel that the plan was as much our own as his. It all meant a lot of hard work in practice and training, but it has paid dividends. Mind you, I have always been fortunate in the respect of advice. I started my football with a local team, Mossfield Colliery; and, though I had a trial with Birmingham, I had not then begun to consider the game seriously, and my heart was still in my job in the pottery trade.

In 1939 I joined the North Saffordshire regiment, and it was then that I met Matt Busby, then captain of Liverpool. Matt was my P.T. instructor and also the unit centre-half. I played left-back in those days and, having a great admiration for Matt, I used to watch him closely. He encouraged me and gave me a good deal of coaching. As a result, I finally played centre-half myself, and I would like to say right now that it was due to the help and advice of Matt that I took up the position.

In 1944 I was injured by a hand grenade and, after convalescence, met up with Ken Fish, trainer of Port Vale. Ken was my new P.T. instructor. We were both Staffordshire boys, so naturally became firm friends.

Our Cup exploits put us right on the map. And that was something. Maybe, in future, people will stop asking us “And where, pray, is Port Vale?” To me, born and bred in the Potteries, such a question always seems the worst type of ignorance.

Every schoolboy brought up in my own home town has, as part of his education, to read the novels of Arnold Bennett; and Bennett’s story about “Bursley” must make “Burslem Port Vale” familiar to all his readers. There must, however, be quite a number of people who are not familiar with the works of Arnold Bennett. Which is a great pity. For to know Bennett is to know the “Five Towns.”

Apart from Arnold Bennett, I would say that the man who has done more than anyone else to earn recognition for Port Vale is our manager, Freddie Steele. Since Mr. Steele came to the club we have gradually developed into a real team. It is to him, I would say, that we owe all the glory attained by Port Vale last season. When he first arrived nothing was going right for the team. We were working hard, but getting nowhere. His treatment of the boys made us eager to co-operate. He encouraged us to talk about the team and disclose our own ideas. Therein lay the secret of managerial magic. He made us believe in ourselves and, in training games, allowed us to choose our own positions.

I prefer to believe that the reason for this is due to the fact that I have taken so many hard knocks on the head during my football career without apparent harm, that my team-mates feel I can take it. For the record, since the war I have had 22 stitches in my head. Proof indeed that toughness must be one of the first essentials of a centre-half.

I am frequently asked “What makes a successful team?” and “What makes for good team spirit?” I have a stock answer to both questions ­ “Come to Port Vale and you will soon find out!” Perhaps we can be best described as Soccer’s Good Companions. From the Board of Directors, the manager, and down to the players (and I include the juniors), we believe in the club. We help one another. No player is accepted until he proves he can fit in. We have a grand bunch of boys, and I am proud to be their captain. Last season was, of course, a memorable one in the history of Port Vale.

Tommy Cheadle's good Companions

The following article was published in the Christmas 1954 edition of Charles Buchan's Football Annual. In it, Vale captain and legend Tommy Cheadle waxes about his love of football, Port Vale, and the value of his team-mates to a successful side.

The Sproson Fund would like to thank Dave Porter for kindly loaning us this superb feature.

What makes a successful team? What makes for a good team spirit? Ask the man who knows. He is the proud skipper of a wonder team, and his reply has the ring of a gladiatorial challenge when he says ­ “Come to Port Vale and you will soon find out!” here are the secrets of the club whose giant-killing triumphs and whose amazing defence made Port Vale the most talked-about team in the country.

Nicknames are supposed to be a sign of popularity. Well, mine is so rude that I have a right to hope it means the boys really like me!

They call me “Wooden Head”

We have our team comedians. Roy Sproson, Ray Hancock and Micky Hulligan can raise a laugh even when we are feeling “down a bit.” Reg Potts has a dry sense of humour which helps us to see many things in a different light. Albert Mullard is our story-teller. What a grand bunch of fellows are these good companions of mine. The team spirit is magnificent, and reminds me very much of the motto of Dumas’ famous musketeers ­ “All for one, and one for all.” Without a shadow of a doubt it was this wonderful spirit which carried us to the championship of the Northern Section and hard-won promotion to the Second Division. It also took us to the semi-final of the F.A. Cup. And, let me say here and now, that this latter achievement was a memorable occasion for each one of us. We went down fighting against worthy opponents, West Bromwich Albion, who went on to win the final at Wembley. We felt that we had struck a grand blow for the Northern Section by becoming the first-ever team from that division to progress so far in the Cup competition.

I began this article by telling you that we could best be described as Soccer’s Good Companions. No phrase could be more apt. And, again I say ­ I am very proud to be the captain of Port Vale.