Toot Toot! All Aboard The Managerial Merry-go-Round! (2015 Edition)
The 200% Podcast 13: FOUL!
The Power Of Discretion And Why Guidelines Are… King
Steven Gerrard, The Media & Liverpool’s Structural Issues
The Twohundredpercent Podcast LIVE!
Where, Exactly, Do Queens Park Rangers Go From Here?
End Of Season Ennui
The 200% Podcast 12 – General Election Special
Saturday Night On Channel Five For The Football League
The Decline & Fall Of Leyton Orient
Rape, Disrespect & Fury: The Oyston Family & Blackpool FC
Is It Time For A New Football Club For Newcastle?
Tranmere Rovers & Cheltenham Town Stare Into The Abyss
Next up in our series on the lost football grounds of Britain, comes one of the most poignant stories of all. Darlington left Feethams for The Reynolds Arena in 2003, leaving behind a home of over a hundred years to play in a vast bowl that has proved to be disastrous for the club. Stefan Volkmann writes on this most painful of moves.
When historians of the beautiful game look back at the cast of tinpot dictators and petty megalomaniacs that have graced English football throughout it’s chequered history, the figure of George Reynolds will be little more than a footnote, albeit a quirky one. Born into poverty in Sunderland and raised in a poorhouse before being convicted and sent down for safe-cracking, Reynolds emerged from humble begininngs to become a multi-millionare in the kitchen surfaces industry before saving Darlington from the brink of bankcruptcy in 1999.
Had he stopped there, he would have secured his place in the hearts and minds of Darlington fans forever. He didn’t, though, and before long he began to talk of taking Darlington from Feethams, their home since the club was founded in 1883, to a new 25,000 seater arena. Unlike much of what Reynolds said, sadly this time he backed up his word with actions, and went on to spend £18 million on the decadent Reynolds Arena, the whitest of white elephants, which opened with a 2-0 defeat to Kidderminster Harriers in August 2003.
Thus ended the one hundred and twenty year history of Feethams, as a football ground at least. Like all of the best football grounds, Feethams was imbued with any number of idiosyncracies that made the matchday experience unique, not least the mile-long detour through a warren of back alleys that away fans had to make to reach their enclosure from the main entrance. Then there was the faux twin towers that embellished the main entrance to the ground, splendid in their stumped grandeur. Coming through these towers, the first-time spectator was struck by the first oddity of this lovely football ground. A cricket pitch.
Feethams was the last place where professional football was played alongside County Championship cricket, the twin bastions of English sports overlapping in the late summer. To reach the stadium the home fans had to walk around the cricket pitch, and so the Darlington faithful were the last who had to make their way into their football ground mindful of the threat to crania of a lusty hook or a booming slogged sweep. Once this obstacle had been overcome, the football ground itself lay before you. Nestled in a leafy corner of Darlington and with the river Skerne running behind the East Stand the location of the stadium was, if not exactly idyllic, then certainly more agreeable than many football grounds. After all, I’ve been to Hartlepool.
The majority of the home fans gathered in the East Stand, which, having been opened in 1997, was the only nod to modernity in the place. Opposite lay the ramshackle West Stand, a throw back to the days when bare wooden planks sufficed for seating. The Polam Lane end was an uncovered terrace behind the goal at the south end of the ground. The nucleus of the home support however flocked to the largest sight-screen in cricket, the Tin Shed end, the covered terrace at the north end of the ground that backed onto the cricket pitch. It was at this end that Neil Wainwright scored the last goal ever at this venerable stadium, an uncharacteristic thumping header that secured a 2-2 draw against Leyton Orient on the 3rd May 2003.
Maybe the most heart-wrenching aspect of the whole affair is that Feethams is still there, with various mooted projects to tear the ground down to build flats having failed to come to fruition. The sacred pitch, that hallowed turf, is now a weed patch, and with the other stands having been dismantled or sold on, only the Tin Shed remains. It’s a squalid, dilipidated reminder of the futility of the entire Reynolds project. Feethams, though, was – and remains to the majority of supporters – the spiritual home of Darlington F.C.
The present stadium, a hollow shell of a place next to a motorway, is rightly an object of derision from opposition supporters. More importantly, a generation of Darlington supporters is growing up in this empty sanitised shell of a stadium, a cathedral to the vanity and narcissism of one man. It’s very difficult to fall in love with football amongst the rows of empty seats, and it is hard to avoid the feeling, as the club slips from crisis to crisis and the fanbase continues to dwindle, that the new stadium is a millstone around the neck of the club that will eventually bring it to it’s knees.
Feethams however was beloved, and even when filled with only a couple of thousand spectators still managed to generate at atmosphere and a warmth that is not to be found anymore. The notion that a stadium has worth beyond its potenial commerical value or it’s proximity to transport links – as a spiritual repository of the hopes, fears, agonies and excitements of generations of supporters, or as a physical manifestation of the football club in the community, is a dying one in football. It died eight years in Darlington, and we are still struggling to come to terms with the consequences.
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Ian began writing Twohundredpercent in May 2006. He lives in Brighton. He has also written for, amongst others, Pitch Invasion, FC Business Magazine, The Score, When Saturday Comes, Stand Against Modern Football and The Football Supporter. Ian was the first winner of the Socrates Award For Not Being Dead Yet at the 2010 NOPA awards for football bloggers.
I’ve always wondered about the possibility of simply selling the stadium off to another club.
There are a great many clubs who’d want to build a similarly-sized ground – not just football, but it’d be ideal for a professional rugby club of either code. The new club would save a not inconsiderable cost on materials; Darlo would get some money back to redevelop The Feethams, plus money from selling the land (although not much – I suspect the reason it was chosen in the first place was its lack of value to anyone else).
Buying, dismantling & transporting of stands is something that’s quite common (indeed, isn’t that what happened to the East Stand at the Feethams?), so a whole stadium might be unique but certainly not unreasonable.
The old East Stand is advertised for sale here:
There were rumours that Farnborough had bought it but don’t know if that is true…
I’m sure I’ll be corrected I’m wrong, but the football ground was only leased to the football club by the cricket club, who actually own the whole ground. So once the football club left what was left actually belonged to the cricket ground. I believe the C.C. actually went into quite a lot of debt to take down the old East Stand and as Ted points out, put it up for sale. I think it has been sold now but I can’t for the life of me remember who bought it.
It took a while for Darlo fans to realise the extent of Reynolds Folly (now, for sponsorship reasons and to the delight of all Poolies, the Echo Arena) and it will continue to drag them down unless they can somehow make it pay its way.
Stefan is right I think in saying that the land is actually owned by the Cricket Club – its proximity to the picturesque Skerne meant that it was also prone to waterlogging so unless they can stop the flood risk any redevelopment could be… interesting.