What You See Is What You Get: My Autobiography (73 page)

Grabiner suggested to the tribunal that if they
did
find Tottenham guilty of anything, their only course of action would be a fine. After a full day's hearing, most of which was taken up by the panel adjourning to deliberate, the result was that we were going to be deducted twelve points next season, banned from the FA Cup and fined PS600,000.

Starting the season twelve points down was tantamount to relegation, but we were told afterwards that we should be thankful! In fact, one person, a director from Southampton FC, who sat on the tribunal, had argued that we be deducted twenty-four points.

It's a strange thing in life that there are some people who are lucky for you and others who aren't. Tony Grabiner is a great barrister, but unfortunately, every time he has represented me or my companies, we've been unlucky in the outcome. (He had represented Amstrad in the British Phonographic Industry case over twin cassette audio, which we initially lost.)

I immediately lodged an appeal against the FA, which was heard two weeks later. Having experienced this kangaroo court, I refused any form of
legal help and ran the appeal myself. I was warned that failing at the appeal tribunal could mean not only the punishment being upheld, but there was a risk it could be increased. I decided I'd take my chances.

The appeal was heard by the chairman of the Football Association, Bert Millichip, along with a couple of other old hacks from the football industry. I pleaded that this was a most ridiculous and punitive decision made against us. I told them that all this stuff had been openly disclosed to Kelly and Parry ages ago and I also alluded to the vendetta against me by Graham Kelly.

My protestations seemed to succeed in part. The twelve points' deduction was lowered to six, but the fine was increased to PS1.5m. And we were still banned from the FA Cup.

And Carlos Kickaball, Tottenham

1993-5

It's hard to describe the gut-wrenching anguish you feel when, day after day you read twisted lies about yourself in the press. Worse still was to observe the effect on those close to me - my family friends and people like Nick Hewer and Margaret Mountford, who kind of shared the suffering. They were all very supportive as my involvement in football found me engulfed in a battle being played out in the media.

What I
hadn't
realised before I sacked Venables was that he was the Messiah of football. He had managed, through his PR machine and support from his mates in the media, to portray himself as some sort of genius, as though his life in football was touched by the gods. It was brilliant marketing when you think about it. Compared to people like Sir Alex Ferguson and Arsene Wenger, Venables had achieved virtually nothing of significance.

The words of Edward Walker-Arnott warning me to be wary of football people rang in my ears, as did those of my son Daniel, who early on had told me to walk away, wipe my face and let Venables have it all. Some could argue that this aggravation was self-inflicted, as I had walked into a hornets' nest after being warned off. And just to inflame matters, I was still ignoring Margaret's advice to keep schtum.

Via a friendly journalist, Harry Harris at the
Daily Mirror,
I was giving the snipers back as much as they were giving me. So much so, Piers Morgan, when he was editor, joked that
I
was running the back pages of the
Mirror!
I gave Harry some great stories, which he followed up in style, winning Sports Journalist of the Year in 1994.

Almost as bad as the press were the two-faced people who feigned support - those who enjoyed the privileges of boardroom hospitality and the associated match-day tickets. On match days, they would grovel around me and say things like, 'Oh, it's terrible, Alan, what they're saying about you - it
really angers me.' Then, on occasions when Venables visited Tottenham in his capacity as England manager (to check on the form of Spurs' England players), I'd see the same people hovering around Venables like bees round a jam pot.

*

One thing keeping me sane during this period of my life was my family. One of the memorable milestones in Ann's and my life was Simon's marriage in 1992, which took place at Bramstons. In fact, our wonderful house has hosted many parties over the years, including Daniel's Bar Mitzvah in 1984 and Simon's engagement party in 1991.

For Simon's wedding, a very grand marquee was built on the field adjacent to the house. It even included a makeshift synagogue where the ceremony itself took place. Ann was very nervous on the day, as the marquee was decked out with wonderful chandeliers. On the morning of the wedding there were some high winds and the chandeliers were swinging wildly as the roof was blown from side to side. Luckily, the wind died down and the wedding ceremony went off exceptionally well, as did the party afterwards. Not only had I invited friends and family, but also Stanley Kalms of Dixons and a few other people I knew from business.

Then, in August 1993, our first grandchild, Nathan, was born. He was named after my father. It felt a bit strange for us to be grandparents, as we considered ourselves quite young - I was forty-six and Ann was forty-five. Needless to say, little Nathan was spoilt terribly by the whole family, being the first arrival.

Regrettably, that year we also lost one of our contemporaries - Ann's cousin Norma, Gerry's wife, who sadly passed away after a long battle with cancer. She was a really close friend of Ann - very much the sister she never had.

The marriage of my son, the birth of my first grandchild and the loss of a close friend are all part and parcel of life. But these events
do
tend to have an impact on your way of thinking as you get older. I found myself thinking more about my childhood and my parents. I remember them as very quiet and undemanding. My mum would never poke her nose into the affairs of my married life, nor would she tittle-tattle to me about the affairs of Daphne, Derek or Shirley. That said, I think she did confide in Daphne a little more than anyone else.

My mum did make me laugh sometimes when she tried to digest my rise in fortune. She often told me that she'd read something about me in the paper.

'Alan, I see you're going to make car phones now!'

'No, Mum, that's rubbish. It's not true.'

'It
is
true - it says it in the papers.'

'Mum, I'm your son and I'm telling you it's
not
true. Don't believe what you read in the papers.'

She would turn and waddle off, mumbling, 'Well, it's in the papers . . .'

Apart from Mum's misinterpretations of the media, I didn't realise how non-interfering my parents were until I observed, later in life, the way other parents behaved. By comparison, my mother and father were very reserved - they weren't the type of people who'd casually turn up at our house to visit; they were more inclined to stand on ceremony and wait till they were invited. To an extent, Johnnie and Rita were the same, but I'd say slightly more imposing. Johnnie
would
speak his mind concerning our personal affairs.

After my dad passed away, we relocated my mum to a flat in Barkingside, near Daphne. But as the years passed, it got to the stage where she was unable to look after herself. On one occasion, when Ann and I visited her, she was totally disoriented. She would fall asleep on the couch at odd hours of the day and then be unable to sleep at night.

One of the things I used to like doing with my mum was getting out all the old photos and going through them with her, listening to her stories about this person and that person. One day, when I visited her and asked her to get the photos out, she told me she'd thrown them all away! She said they were old and there was no point holding on to them any more and thinking about the past. I couldn't believe what she was saying, but in hindsight I think this act was the result of one of the fits of depression she was prone to at the time. This was such a shame, as we now have very few family photos to look back on - indeed, in this book, there's a lack of photos of me as a young lad for that very reason.

As Mum was becoming less able to look after herself, I spoke with Daphne about placing her in some kind of warden-assisted home. Daphne found her a place in Ilford, where she had a small room, a bathroom and the use of a communal lounge. On reflection, it was a horrible place. Mum was not very happy about it, though she never came out and said so. I have struggled with my conscience about this ever since. I suppose there's no other way to put this: I was being very selfish. Although I provided all the finance and ensured that she got the best treatment, what she probably craved most was my personal attention. Despite visiting her every week and bringing her home on Sundays for lunch, I still feel there was a hell of a lot more I could have done.

I discussed this with Ann on numerous occasions. She would tell me not to look for consolation from
her
to try to allay my guilt: 'If you feel that bad about it, then
do
something. Spend more time with your mum. Let's have her round here for longer.' To be brutally honest, I was too involved in football and business and I never gave her the time she must have craved.

Then Daphne told me that Mum had gone into a strange sort of mental state after meeting someone at the home whom she'd known many years earlier. Apparently, this woman had driven Mum mad by reminiscing about the old days. As Daphne put it, 'It's done Mum's head in.' Regrettably, that unprofessional diagnosis was wrong. Mum had suffered a stroke. Through my family doctor, I arranged for her to have the top people look at her, but sadly there was nothing they could do. She was in such a bad state that the people at the warden-assisted home were no longer able to look after her.

I had previously made a donation to Jewish Care which enabled them to build an intensive-care home for elderly people incapable of looking after themselves. I contacted them now and said I needed them to take my mother in. They were very receptive - not surprisingly, since I'd paid to build the place - and allocated her a room. The people at this home were excellent, but it was a depressing place to visit because the condition of most of the residents was dire. I recall visiting Mum, who was completely out of it, and seeing her being spoon-fed by one of the attendants - it was an awful sight. Daphne told me that many a time she'd gone there only to find the food the attendant had fed my mum was still in her mouth, undigested - she wasn't even capable of chewing.

The last occasion I saw my mum, she was lying in the bed at the care home, very depressed and silent. 'Mum, it's Alan, I'm here,' I said, trying to get through to her. 'Do you know who I am? Mum, can you hear me? Do you know who I am? It's Alan, I'm here.'

There was silence and I repeated this about four or five times, 'Mum, it's Alan. Do you know who I am?'

Finally, she blurted out, 'Of course I know who you are! Who do you think you are - Lord Beaverbrook?'

I was taken aback. She always did have a sarcastic sense of humour, but I suspect this comment contained some anger too. It may have been her way of telling me I'd not given her enough attention. Maybe it was a final swipe, in her depressed state, and she was expressing how poorly she felt she'd been looked after by her own children. She
knew
I was there, she just couldn't be bothered to talk to me. She was preparing herself to leave this world.

As one can imagine, this last visit panged my conscience. I had left it too
late to try to make the tail end of her life a happy period. On 4 June 1994 she passed away peacefully at the age of eighty-seven.

It was a terribly sad occasion for the family and once again the shiva was held at my home and was attended by hundreds of people. My mum was buried beside my dad at the burial grounds in Cheshunt, run by the Jewish Burial Society. My parents had joined the society back in 1920 and had continued to pay the burial service fees over many years. Knowing my dad, I imagine he'd finally be thankful he got value for money.

Watching my own children growing up now, I kind of wonder what will happen to Ann and me when
we
get older, whether their own lives will be so busy that we might be treated the same way. I somehow know that that won't be the case. I think about how caring and considerate they were towards Ann's father, constantly visiting him and keeping him in the loop as far as their own children (his great-grandchildren) were concerned, so I don't think we have any concerns there.

But it does make me wonder whether my coldness as an individual has something to do with my upbringing. I never experienced any warm feelings of closeness and caring from my parents - a complete contrast to my own family now. I don't know whether it stems back to how my mother and father were treated by
their
parents. Certainly, some of my mother's ways have rubbed off on me. Ann and I are not at all intrusive when it comes to our own children and the way they run their lives - we tend to keep our mouths shut and not interfere. Neither are we the kind of parents who bowl up at their kids' homes expecting an immediate audience - not that we wouldn't be welcome. Of course, this may be interpreted by my children as a lack of interest on my behalf, which it is not.

My mother was much cleverer than people thought. She bottled a lot of stuff up inside and never expressed an opinion, but she knew everything that was going on in the family. I have to say that in that respect, I'm the same. And because Ann has lived with me for so many years now (she was sixteen when we met) perhaps my ways have rubbed off on her too. She also seems to bottle up her true feelings about things - although, as two great minds think alike, we
do
share our inner thoughts from time to time.