Rob Garnham: The day Delia made my City dreams come true

It is not a date that would immediately leap out to most City supporters, but it transpired to be one of the most memorable of my life.

The Wembley play-off final victory over Middlesbrough in 2015, the multiple Championship title wins under Daniel Farke, and the downing of the champions of England, Manchester City, at Carrow Road in September 2019 all pale in comparison.

On the surface, it was little more than a turgid, underwhelming and completely forgettable goalless draw with Port Vale. A few months prior, I received a handwritten invitation to spend the afternoon watching the game from the directors' box as a guest of our owners, Delia Smith and Michael Wynn-Jones.

The invitation arrived at my grandparents' house. My grandad (Keith Spencer) was a retired Police Officer who was then an advisor to the former chief constable of Norfolk Police, Ken Williams.

Mr Williams had mentioned to Delia that my grandad and I were loyal season ticket holders and had been for several years. She asked for our details and said she would invite us to a match as her guests.

Upon opening the invitation, I immediately smelled a rat, even as a teenager. My dad was the prime suspect of the suspected practical joke, given his allegiance to a certain rival club down the A140. But, to my utter amazement, it was completely genuine.

In the build-up to the big day, my mum made me do all those things you have to do when you’re looking to impress—buy new clothes, get my hair cut, buy insane amounts of gel to keep it in perfect position on the day, polish my new shoes, and so forth.

Even as we were dropped off outside the director’s entrance, she gave me one final inspection and brush down to make sure I looked the part before reminding me of my manners as an invited guest.  

Before going inside, I popped over to the club shop to buy a replica match ball, hoping to grab the signatures of my heroes, should such a scenario emerge throughout the day.

When I entered the stadium and went upstairs, past the trophy cabinet and into a bar behind the directors’ box.

My grandad and I were the first arrivals. This seemed odd to me. Football stadiums are usually a hive of activity and general chaos but not here; it was empty, silent and maybe even a little intimidating. Within a couple of hours this room would be filled with some of the most important people at the football club - and me… That thought still baffles me to this day.

After settling down at a table, a door opened to the right-hand side of the bar. A figure emerged wearing a full City tracksuit. I was secretly hoping it would be Craig Bellamy, my favourite player at the time and due back from injury any day, but it was Bryan Hamilton, the recently appointed first-team manager.

Bryan Hamilton during his tenure as Norwich City manager. (Image: Newsquest)

I immediately forgot about my hope of Bellamy and quickly worked through the ever-lasting list of questions I wanted to pose to City’s first-team manager.

To his credit, Hamilton was happy to answer my plethora of questions and sign my replica match ball. After being more than generous with his time and probably feeling like he’d had a grilling from Piers Morgan, he departed back through the same door after answering my final question – ‘is Craig Bellamy back today?’ ‘Promise you won’t tell the press?’ He asked in jest. ‘Yes, he’s on the bench.’ A totally surreal moment.  

After Hamilton’s departure, the bar started to fill up rapidly with club personnel and the visiting hierarchy from Port Vale.

I didn’t get any glance of Delia pre-game until she emerged to take her place in her seat. I was in the second row from the front of the directors’ box, the row immediately behind Delia and two seats to her right.

As the game wasn’t the most exciting, the next moment of real note came when the whistle blew for half-time. I left my seat to get a half-time beverage, and upon arrival at the table full of tea, coffee and biscuits, another figure, again wearing a club tracksuit, brushed past me in an apparent race for the chocolate biscuits. This time, it was none other than then-City striker Paul Dalglish.

In those days, one of the injured or unselected players often did the co-commentary for BBC Radio Norfolk, and today, it was Paul’s turn alongside the legendary Roy Waller in the tiny commentary position above the tunnel. Paul was clearly a biscuit fan as he swiped the whole lot away! I know half-time is only 15 minutes long, but this was almost a ninja-style biscuit theft. Paul and Roy had a digestive mountain to munch through now in approximately 13 minutes.

Unfortunately, the excitement levels on the pitch never really increased from the low level of the first half, but when the referee blew up for full time, it was probably the first time in my football-supporting life that I wasn’t really that bothered about the result. It was all about the day.

We returned to the bar, and almost immediately, my grandad caught Delia’s attention in between her dialogue with Port Vale representatives and duly introduced himself. She then approached me, shook my hand and unnecessarily introduced herself.

She knew my name and why I was there, and it struck me how genuinely interested she was in me, my life and my family’s lives. She ordered me a fizzy drink from the bar and continued to chat with us for some time. She also got a number of people to sign my ball, Bryan Gunn being one of them.

The replica ball was the next topic of conversation. ‘Why did you buy one?’ she asked. Well, I was hoping to get a few players' autographs. ‘You didn’t need to buy one.’ I’ll send you one out this week.

Like with the initial invitation, I assumed that this was exactly what I wanted to hear, but it wouldn’t become a reality. This promise was well-intentioned but would be forgotten about, understandably, in the day-to-day madness of running a football club.

However, a few days later, a brand-new, fully signed match ball arrived in the post, yet another moment I couldn’t believe.

Norwich City drew 0-0 with Port Vale in April 2000. (Image: Newsquest)

As Delia and Michael now prepare to relinquish the majority ownership of the club after almost three decades, this whole day came flooding back to me as if it were yesterday.

Where else in the crazy, unpredictable, sometimes nasty, ruthless world of football would you get this? The owners of a football club offering unrivalled access to themselves and their club to a 14-year-old boy and his grandad is unprecedented at any other club.

Others will debate whether Delia and Michael have perhaps stayed on too long. I’m not interested in any debate over that. I just want to say one thing—thank you!

The experience Delia gave us on that day was so unique and fantastic that it was the main topic of conversation between my grandad and I for years to come. It was a day that strengthened the relationship between us, providing a constant positive shared memory until his death a decade ago.

Outside of my wedding day, it is the greatest day of my entire life. Oh, and if I ever get invited back, hopefully, the digestives will have been replenished.