CHEWING GUM AND COBBLED STREETS

Printed in the National League South v Dorking Wanderers Saturday 24th October 2026  We lost 3-1 in front of 856

We are in a hole. Stuck like some old chewing gum to the bottom of the National League South table. But come Saturday morning you wake up all optimistic that this might be the day. You jump in the shower, hunt for your scarf and iron your old Slough top. You greet Station Jim as you alight from the train and head to an Indian vegetarian cafe. The Wheatsheaf Pub quickly fills with Rebels watching football, playing the free pool, scoffing the free hotdogs, supping beer and talking as you would expect about football. Then its time for the cab to the ground for yet another must win game…

But let’s rewind a couple of weeks...

I took the international and the Slough Town knocked-out-the-cup break to save my Torquay away pennies and watch a local derby. One bus up the A270, past the Moulsecoomb estate and our community pub, past the Amex stadium home of the Albion, as Whitehawk took on Lewes in the Isthmian Premier.

Lewes really is a funny old place. A mishmash of higgledy piggledy cobbled streets, a castle and historic ruins; it oozes history from its every

pore. Their annual fireworks night is on Notting Hill levels of craziness. It’s yoga-trendy in parts with a dose or rebellion, a dash of Morris Dancing washed down with a pint of Harvey's Best.

Whitehawk on the other hand is just a bus stop near Lidl as their fans like to sing. One of the poorest estates in the country. They have ambitious plans to totally rebuild their ground which is held together with sticky tape and old discarded Withdean seats from when Brighton played their. But apart from playing the same game, that’s where the similarities end with their near neighbours - so far away financially they might as well be on the moon. At one point the owners wanted to move Whitehawk out of Whitehawk and name them Brighton City. Thankfully their supporters blocked that idea.

Lewes shot to fame when they decided to become the first and still the only club to pay their women's team the same as the mens. This was fine when the women were in the second tier and attracting large crowds. But trying to keep up with much better funded football league clubs led to relegation. Being supporter owned with no big backers to support either the women or mens side caused serious financial issues.

You enter the sunken amphitheatre that is the Dripping Pan into the Philcox Terrace, paid for by an FA cup run, which was alive to the sound of 808 Pacific State and other rave tunes. There was a fanzine on sale (the official programme is on line) and a grass pitch – had I just stepped back into the 1990s? Except this is 2026 when lower league football is having an amazing resurgence. Today's attendance nearly touched 2,000, even if youngsters with no adults try and find a way in, for the crime of being young. There’s a listed flint wall and a beautiful flower garden with ripening tomatoes, overlooked by double-headed sunflowers in one corner - no wonder this place has been voted British Football’s Greatest Ground by away fans. One of the Lewes officials said “It’s like living in a thatched cottage.”

I grabbed a beer before the queues snaked around the ground and even sat on the padded former seats originally from Wembley. Too comfortable for me. Whitehawk never really troubled Lewes and always looked second best, as the Rooks nabbed a late winner. The Whitehawk fans missed a trick not singing ‘Was this a monastery’ although my teacher friend rather pedantically pointed out that it would be more historically accurate to sing ‘Was this a Priory.’ Well quite. Afterwards we did a pub crawl before heading back home on the bus. It was nice to have a break from the worries of Slough if im honest.

If the Rebels do get relegated I hope for a miracle and be placed in the Isthmian Premier so I could selfishly get the bus to so many games and still be home in time for tea. Still that’s unlikely to happen and each defeat makes our great escape even harder as we start tentatively looking at the Southern Premier.

Back to reality….

The end of last weeks Horsham game was one of frustration. It felt like we threw the kitchen sink at them in the first half, then another sending off and an equaliser before they nicked a second half winner. We really should have taken something out of it, but when your lucks down as they say.

Sunday morning and I’m flicking through social media. Johnny Goddard posts ‘Bitterly frustrated after yesterday for obvious reasons, but the backing and support we continue to get as we try to turn our fortunate says everything.’ Our singing never stopped, never wavered, and we have to do it all the same again today. Impossible? Well Weymouth managed it a few seasons back. They had 2 points after 10 games and ended the season staying up on goal difference. Clutching at straws? It would be one way to finish off anyone with a weak heart. But it would be even worse if our supporters turned on the team, like the beginning of the season when it was so flat that I was half contemplating just going to Slough for a curry-pub crawl instead. So let’s at least try and have a laugh and continue to get behind the team and help dislodge us from the bottom of the table.

As our old mucky Kieran Wonder Wall would like us to serenade him with ‘I said maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me.’ I think he meant all of us, collectively working together to scrape off that gum.

DEVON HEAVEN

 

Printed in the National League South game v Horsham Saturday 17^th October 2026. We lost 2-1 in front of 703. We remain bottom of the table.

Everyone loves a trip to Torquay. It’s one of those football awaydays where you need to make a weekend of it. And Slough supporters do that and then some. I always go thinking we probably won’t come here again as surely they will get promoted. Their ground, their support, their history – they really shouldn’t be playing in what is effectively Division Six South, but here they are. Fighting it out with half the rest of this ambitious league, everyone trying to outspend and out foreign investor each other for a place in the promised land.

As you trundle along on the train, even the soil changes colour and you start entering a world of picture postcards. The AFC Wimbledon fans on their early morning trip to Plymouth said it was certainly more picturesque than going to Grimsby. Or Slough for that matter, and I reminded them of the time they beat us 9-0. Our worst season for points and goal difference in our history. We got clapped off by their fans and Hayden the Womble for our non stop singing and everyone seemed to want to buy us a drink in the bar afterwards. Would have been rude to say no.

My sightseeing was rather limited this time round, unless you count the seafront bus to the cheap-as-chips hotel and staring out of pub windows, curry houses and their lovely ground. James the Cowboy Boot got an upgrade to his room cos he knew one of the maids. Of course he did. Then Deano, Rick the Shutters and Andy the Plumber finally arrived and after some hotel bar beers we jumped in a taxi. Characters. Who doesn’t love 'em and we got a right one with this driver. A former roofer from Manchester he spent a couple of stretches in Strangeways for football violence and was now enjoying a more calmer life driving cabs.

Next up the pub by the ground. Torquay fans have always been good as gold, happy to chat football, even when on that one rare occasion we won here. There were protests out the ground, not cos we won, but because of their owners, who finally left with the manager that very same weekend. Always a drama following Slough.

We’ve eventually piled into their ground, where you can now bring in drinks to washdown your vertigo pills. It’s a steep £22 to get in and a steep view at the top of the stand, but it is very panoramic. Even our loane Leicester keepers mum and dad were there; he was injured but we managed to serenaded him on their phone. Alfie spent most of the game gaffer taping the drum – I think we need to set up a go fund page cos its now more tape than skin

We weathered a ropey 10 minute spell and then started playing some decent football without creating too many chances. And then the unbelievable happened - we scored a goal and went 1-0 up thanks to a penalty. That joy was short lived as they equalised two minutes later, but despite being a man down after a late first half red card, we were the better team. Eventually we run out of steam and Torquay racked up the goals. From afar it looked like another Slough capitulation. It was anything but. We didn’t stop singing and we clapped the team off, proud of their efforts. And then the inevitable started.

People who weren’t at the game started moaning. I mean football fans moaning isn’t exactly new - Torquay fans were doing it and they won 5-1 (mind you, they don’t look like the Torquay of recent seasons). Eventually a few people had enough – you weren’t at the bloody game, how the hell do you know how well we did or didn’t play? Like criticising a book after just reading the back cover. Or deciding you don’t like a film after watching a clip on Tik-Tok.

I didn’t expect anything from Torquay game. If I’m honest I don’t expect anything now from this season except the trap door. That way I won’t get too fed up – and if we do survive it will be one of the best feelings in the world.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t get behind the team and see if we can pull off the great escape. There’s plenty of points still to be played for. It’s only mid October

While football fanzines and the birth of social media were great at giving everyone a voice, it doesn’t mean you need to let the world know about your every thought. Of course we can be critical when things aren’t going our way or when decisions are made that we don’t agree with, but I reckon most of those thoughts about games and players can stay between mates. Social media has become a Russian bot cesspit. A moanfest, an echo chamber of perceived grievances, an algorithm of angriness, keeping us permanently on edge and shaking our fists at the clouds. No wonder peoples mental health is in decline.

Our season wont be decided by defeat in Torquay, but by games like today. And we know, when we stick together, make some noise we can help our team. Cos that’s what a supporter does right? And if you really need to vent after the game go and walk along the canal and shout at a swan. They won’t mind. Then go to bed and read a good book. You’re feel better for it in the morning.