March 1951 - October 2014 (RIP @March51)

Saturday March 31st, 1951. The day George Phippen took his five year old son to The Valley for the first time.

Despite suffering a 0-1 defeat to Portsmouth, it didn’t put young Terry off. He grew up going with his dad, then his pals, then his future wife, and then me, his son.

He told me tales of being chased by hooligans, and being accosted by stewards for carrying an offensive banana. Then there's the infamous incident that saw thieves break into his car, parked near The Valley, to steal the stereo, while taking the time to find the fascia under the seat, place it on the stereo and eject Tel’s favourite Dwayne Eddy tape. The villains tossed it to the floor in a move that Tel found more offensive than the theft itself.

He first took me to a game in 1985, the last at The Valley. I remember him being an embarrassing dad, telling everybody who would listen about my first game being Charlton’s last. But in hindsight I realise he was just excited to introduce the next generation.

He liked to be different, he didn’t want to be like every other family. He liked that my first game was the last at the Valley, it was a nice story to tell. Being a Charlton fan in the 80s, surrounded by Liverpool glory hunters was character defining. We had a funny old car, lived in a funny old house and supported a funny old team, a club who couldn’t afford to throw shirts into the crowd, as Lennie Lawrence once said.

We went to many games at Selhurst, travelled to Wembley for the Full Members Cup final, and he made sure we were made it to the first game back at The Valley. We saw Leaburn fight a referee on the goal line, regretted booing Kim Grant together, witnessed Garry Nelson hit the first hat trick since my hero Jim Milsop Melrose did the same.

His first illness, in the late 90s, decimated our attendance. I went to one game in that promotion year, as I couldn’t bear to go without him. Turned out he wasn’t dying; he just had coeliac disease. Once off the gluten, he was back in action in time for the play-offs. We were among the very last to leave Wembley, and subsequently hardly missed a minute of the Premiership adventure.

As Charlton plummeted, we rarely lost interest in the team, although we both struggled to deal with the negative atmosphere that had taken over the crowd. His serious health issues arose on the day Nicky Bailey fired a penalty into orbit. He recovered enough for us to get season tickets again, and for the last four years I’ve been conscious of the fact that time was going to run out on us sooner or later, and I made a point of enjoying the time we had, giving him a big hug when we scored. Which clearly. wasn't often enough!

I’m not sure what our last game together was, probably the Birmingham draw. I asked him last week, but neither of us could remember clearly. I guess it doesn’t really matter.

Dad passed away this morning. When people refer to a loved one's passing as 'peaceful’, I now know what they mean. We knew it was coming, but that hasn't dulled the shock. Knowing I can never speak to him again. We had a moment, just the two of us on Saturday night that I'll always cherish. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to find a way to go back without him but I know he’d want me to.

He managed just shy of 54 years of solid, unwavering support, and I think Charlton were lucky to have him.