As I’ve previously mentioned some of the things that originally got me addicted to reading (see Rupert blogpost) there also has to be an honourable shout out for the ‘Mark Fox’ books by Michael Hardcastle. Men of a certain vintage (they were written very much as boy’s books at the time) will probably have as much affection as I do for these. Much talked about the value of being able to personally identify with the heroes of their books, and in the early seventies every primary schoolboy (and many older) wanted to be Mark Fox. From kicking a tennis ball against a brick wall and dreaming of scouts watching and signing you up to playing for England in international tournaments, Mark Fox lived our dreams.
Some of the references are quite dated reading now, and things like referring to primary school teachers as ‘Masters’ gives away some of the background to the writing period, but the story of a young schoolkid who just loves playing football, and his progressing from Sunday league to England international cold, with relatively few tweaks, be re-published today to great success, which would be lovely. The core story wouldn’t need to change at all, and you can make whatever alterations you need for today’s markets; change genders, ethnicities, sexualities, whatever floats your boat, and the narratives would still hold up well. The books are quite hard to get hold of these days but are just so readable and gripping, even now, and it would be great to think they could inspire another generation of readers and wannabe footballers.
Aspirational and fun, these novels got me into buying a series of books with my own money for the first time and started my own little library, so were central to my interest in literature. Any small child who’s ever kicked a tennis ball against a wall will understand and want to be Mark Fox. Even when he’s a decrepit old git like me!
I never realised that Hardcastle was a reporter for the Liverpool Daily Post until recently. Not relevant but only just found out so thought I’d share.