Hugh Johns was in some respects the nearly man of football commentary. He will be remembered by many as the 'other' commentator when England won the World Cup, though fewer will recall his description of Geoff Hurst's hat-trick goal. “Here's Hurst – he might make it three... He has, he has! So that's it! That's it!!” is unlikely to yield a name for a post-pub TV quiz show. His excitable “One nothing, the Wolves!” wasn't mimicked in playgrounds like David Coleman's trademark “One nil!” His sheepskin coat didn't become cartoon shorthand for the man and his job the way John Motson's did. And Brian Clough impersonators on comedy shows addressed their nasal put-downs to Brian, Jimmy or David, but not Hugh.
But for those who watched their football in the Midlands between the late 60s and the early 80s, he captured perfectly the excitement of an era when you didn't know which teams would be in the top four from one season to the next, nor yet which few clubs would be featured on the TV highlights programmes from one week to the next. This was an age when up to eight Midlands teams would battle for regional supremacy in the top flight, when beer at home meant Davenport's and when a weekend's TV coverage would be highlights of two games on Match of the Day and one on Star Soccer. The latter would be followed by just the goals from one or, if you were very lucky, two games from Midlands teams' away trips to the territories of other regional TV companies.
Sunday lunch would be bolted down so you could hurry to the telly in time to hear the familiar brassy big-band theme tune and there, high on a windswept gantry, would be the familiar avuncular face of Hugh Johns, ready to guide you through the drama to come. And the games always seemed to be dramatic, even a day after you knew the result, for he gave you the impression he was as excited about football as you were and his enthusiasm lit up even the dullest of games. He could describe a dour game in foul conditions with no trace of “Why am I here?” miserablism and he could enthuse at the prospect of an imminent attack without resorting to the kind of screeching near-hysteria that leaves no emotion left to describe real excitement.
His commentaries are perhaps most memorable for his vocal mannerisms, uttered in his distinctive rich tones - sometimes thoughtful, frequently amused, always engaging and occasionally accompanied by an “Oof!” of surprise or displeasure which was only surpassed by Brian Moore's distinctive “Woof!”. Every shot on goal was a “drive”, many of which went “across the face of the goals” (whether the 's' was an inexplicable plural or a rare archaic genitive was never made apparent). He would gamely attempt the native pronunciation of the names of foreign teams (who were usually “crack”, especially if they came from eastern Europe) – for example, CSKA Sofia became “SAY-si-kaa”. His idiosyncratic approach to English also gave us the likes of “liddle Archie Gemmill” of “Noddingham” Forest.
He was perhaps most in his element when describing goals (“Oh, what a beautiful goal! Oh, yes indeed!”). His infectious enthusiasm was the same whether it was Derby fighting for the Championship (“Hector is on... Hector is in... And Hector has scored!”), Hereford sampling life in Division 2 (“It's true what they say about Dixie!”) or Notts County grabbing Trentside bragging rights (“And there's Bradd with the winner! Les Bradd, 45 seconds to go!”).
The 80s arrived, ATV became Central, live matches became the norm and Hugh Johns left the Midlands for HTV, where he was to continue working into his 70s. Star Soccer was no more and we spent our Sunday afternoons watching Elton Welsby trying to convince us of the merits of the latest dire goal-less ninety minutes we were witnessing between two of the so-called big five of the time. The footballing fortunes of most of the Midlands' big names waxed and waned (waned, mostly) and TV coverage of any teams other than the favoured few varied between patchy and non-existent. Football and its TV coverage were taking the first tentative steps in what became a steep descent towards today's soul-less era.
But for those of us whose diet of televised football was provided by the likes of Mike Bailey, Bruce Rioch, Bob Hatton, Keith Weller or Bombers Brown and Bowyer, plying their trade at grounds such as Molineux (funny stand of ever-decreasing roof spans), Highfield Road (invalid carriages) or the Baseball Ground (mud, and lots of it), there is only one voice on the soundtrack of our football memories. War-time Fleet Air Arm pilot, latter-day freemason and for thirteen years the voice of Midlands football, Hugh Johns will be sadly missed and fondly remembered.
This article first appeared in the Blooming Forest fanzine in 2007.
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