The Search: The Allsorts FC Series, #2

By Nic Clare

The Search- The Allsorts FC Series Book 2

The Allsorts football team are competing in the National League Cup so they need all their best players on the pitch

But star striker Ivy Winstanley finds her loyalties divided.

When a telegram arrives with terrible news from the trenches of the Great War, Ivy leaves everything behind in a search for answers.

She joins the 'Missing and Wounded Bureau' who work giving comfort to worried relatives.

But on her journey towards the front line, Ivy finds more than just answers....
The Search is the second in The Allsorts FC series.

An inspirational story of loyalty, adventure, and self-discovery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nic Clare
• Release date: Sep 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781739601737

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The Nether Bridge Chronicle

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Christmas Day 1916

At the Sidings football field today, the Allsorts Ladies Football Team secured a famous victory against a competent team of lady munitionettes put forward by Lord Carmody.

The match kicked off at a tremendous pace. With the wind at their backs the accomplished Munitionettes, led by captain Aggie Longstaff played an organised game. The teams went into the half time break with the Carmody Munitionettes two goals to the good. Both scored by Longstaff.

The second half began much as the first, but the Allsorts came out with spirit. A corner kick by captain Kit Bracken found striker Ivy Winstanley for a neat first goal bringing the underdogs to only one behind. A good individual effort from Bracken drew the Allsorts level. A scramble for victory followed with both teams pressing towards goal. A high kick hit the Carmody post and in the tussle the goalkeeper brought down Allsorts forward Matilda Mossop. A penalty was awarded. With the last touch of the game Bracken converted the penalty into the winning goal. At the whistle, the Allsorts had sealed victory with three goals to two and an excellent time was had by all. The Bamford Motorised Ambulance fund and the Blind Veterans Association will split the takings.

CHAPTER 1

Ivy’s Story

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Itrapped the ball underneath my right boot and looked up as a defender rushed in at me. I had to act fast, so I stepped to my left, tapped the ball gently to stop it and then, as if I had all the time in the world, I drew my leg back and chipped the ball over the Carmody team’s defence. I knew instantly that it was going all the way. The ball brushed the goalkeeper’s fingertips as she stretched, but she could only watch as it burst into the back of the net. I think I might have gone deaf for a second, because the sound of the crowd roaring almost burst my eardrums. Well, it felt that way to me. My team mates rushed in to celebrate. To score like that for your team is… well, it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up to remember it. I never dreamt of playing football. To be honest, I never even knew girls could play football, but the world is changing, the war has seen to that. For the rest of the match I kept running it over and over in my head. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. I wasn’t to know then that the best day of my life was about to become the worst.

As we sat in the changing room with our trophy, reliving every kick and tackle, Miss Bamford our manager came in.

Very well done girls. I knew you could do it. You should have seen the look on Lord Carmody’s face when they blew the final whistle. Her cheeks were flushed like ours even though she hadn’t been running on the pitch for ninety minutes.

Kit handed over the trophy. Here, this is as much yours as it is ours. Miss Bamford held it out in front of her and shook her head in disbelief.

You’d better remember this feeling, she said. I’ve just met a chap from the Football Association and we’ve been entered into the National League Cup competition. This is just the beginning for the Allsorts.

As the singing started, I saw my little sister Maud hovering by the door. She didn’t have to say anything. I could tell by the look on her face.

There’s been a telegram, Ivy, she said. I took her hand, and we ran.

CHAPTER 2

With Ronnie, Walter and George all away fighting in the trenches in France, I knew to expect bad news at some point. But I could never allow myself to think that the worst would happen to us. I ran through the back streets of Nether Bridge with Maud at my heels. As we passed the factories and mills, through our shortcut by the allotments, I tormented myself over who the telegram might be for.

Something told me it wasn’t the worst news, I would have felt it deep down inside if someone had been… lost. Perhaps it was Ronnie. It would be just like him to come home a wounded warrior. The centre of attention as always, a hero with a tale to tell. I was always Ronnie’s girl. Ronnie Squire; good-looking, strong, confident and good at football. In our town, being good at football makes you everyone’s friend, it makes you popular. It suited me to be at Ronnie’s side because that made me popular too.

The telegram couldn’t be about my brother Walter. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him. Walter was the first one to sign up for the war. He’s enthusiastic about everything. He’s loyal and brave and will do anything for anyone without question. Walter and Ronnie were always the best of friends, partly because standing beside Ronnie kept Walter safe from the bullies who otherwise would have picked on him for being slow or simple. Walter sees the world differently to everyone else, he is the glue that holds our family together. I didn’t realise that until he left for army training. He was so full of stories and excitement about his day working at Bamford Hatworks that there was never a quiet moment. So after he left, it fell still and dull. I don’t work in the hatworks, but I do work for Mr Bamford. My father is the manager of the Bamford’s Gentlemen’s Hatters, and I work in the shop with him. We fit and sell the top hats and bowlers to the gentlemen and sometimes less gentle men of Nether Bridge. We’ve been ever so busy since the war started as all the officers come in to have their peaked caps and tin helmets fitted.

George Pye worked at the hatworks too. What can I say about George? I first met him in the Spring of 1913. He moved into the house next door to us with his mother. Mum invited them around for tea to welcome them to the neighbourhood, but really she was just being nosy. We sat around the table in the parlour in awkward, polite conversation. George answered the questions put to him, but he offered little in return.

Where have you moved from? my mother asked Mrs Pye as she poured the tea.

From Lancashire. My husband worked in the mines. Sadly, he was killed in an accident down the pit last year and well… it was difficult to stay in that house.

I’m sorry to hear that, my dad said. What a dreadful business.

We wanted a fresh start and George here got himself a job in Nether Bridge so we packed up and here we are.

Where will you be working? I asked George. He looked up at me now, embarrassed to have to speak.

At Bamford Hatworks.

That’s where I work, Walter said eagerly. Which department?

In packing, George said.

Walter was disappointed. Dad spoke up for him. Our Walter is in the blocking room.

What happens in the blocking room? Mrs Pye asked nibbling on the edge of a biscuit.

It’s highly skilled, Dad said, putting his hand proudly on Walter’s shoulder. They carve the wooden moulds for the hats.

I’m an apprentice, Walter explained.

I thought little of George. He was bland and unremarkable. Afterwards, Dad said he was a wet lettuce, a mummy’s boy. He was slightly overweight and had pink cheeks and a damp hairline as if he had been running. He had an irritating patch of hair at the front of his head that seemed to grow in the wrong direction and a nervous habit of tugging at it, in a pointless attempt to keep it in line.

You should be kinder, Mum scolded. He’s grieving the loss of his father.

CHAPTER 3

The next time I saw George was one dinner time at the hatworks. If the weather was fair, I would take my sandwich over to the yard to sit with Kit and the others from the factory. The boys were playing football and wouldn’t let us join in so we sat on the wall trying to stay out of the way. George was alone in the far corner reading a book. It was Ronnie who started it, I saw him. He kicked the ball deliberately at George, causing his book to fly out of his hand and across the gravel.

Oh, sorry Pudding, Ronnie looked back at his mates with a smirk. Let me get that for you. He walked over and stood on the book, then ground its open pages under his foot. Oops, sorry it’s torn, he picked it up.

Never mind, George reached out for it, but as he took hold, Ronnie pulled it away.

What are you reading, anyway?

Give it back, please, George said, standing. Ronnie threw it to Walter, who kicked it over to Beckett. Beckett picked it up and threw it back to Ronnie. The whistle blew for the start of the afternoon shift. Here you go. No harm done Pudding, Ronnie said, throwing the damaged book to George with a laugh.

As they trudged back inside for the afternoon shift, I held Ronnie back.

What was that all about? Why were you so cruel to George?

I wasn’t cruel. He needs to learn to stand up for himself, Ronnie said. This is the real world. It’s for his own good.

Why did you call him Pudding?

That’s clever, isn’t it? Because his name is George Pye, like Georgie Porgie Pudding and Pie. Suits him, don’t you think? He is a bit pudding like.

That’s mean, I said.

Funny though, he pulled me towards him and smiled. Come on. It’s funny. You know it is.

I laughed. Well, I think it’s cruel.

That’s because you’re too nice.

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It didn’t sit right with me.