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Cyril Robinson

Cyril Robinson

Cyril Robinson was born in Nottingham on 4th March, 1929. He joined Mansfield Town in 1947. Robinson was at the Third Division club for four years until he was signed by Joe Smith, the manager of Blackpool.

Robinson made his debut at wing-half on 3rd November, 1951. He held his position and the following month scored two goals for the club. However, he was dropped from the side and played mainly in the reserves.

In the 1952-53 season Blackpool beat Huddersfield Town (1-0), Southampton (2-1), Arsenal (2-1) and Tottenham Hotspur (2-1) to reach the FA Cup final for the third time in five years. Hughie Kelly was injured in a game against Liverpool and Robinson was selected to play at left-half in the final.

Robinson claimed that Joe Smith, the Blackpool manager "was never very tactical, he was very blunt with his instructions". According to Stanley Matthews he said: "Go out and enjoy yourselves. Be the players I know you are and we'll be all right." Robinson was later interviewed about the match: "We kicked off and within a couple of minutes we had a goal scored against us. That's about the worst thing that could happen. Gradually we got some passes together, got Stan Matthews on the ball and Mortensen got the equaliser, but they went back ahead straight away."

Stanley Matthews wrote in his autobiography that: "At half-time we sipped our tea and listened to Joe. He wasn't panicking. He didn't rant and rave and he didn't berate anyone. He simply told us to keep playing our normal game." Harry Johnston, the captain, told the defence to "be more compact and tighter as a unit." He also added: "Eddie (Shinwell), Tommy (Garrett), Cyril (Robinson) and me, we will deal with the rough and tumble and win the ball. You lot who can play, do your bit."

Despite the team-talk Bolton Wanderers took a 3-1 lead early in the second-half. Robinson commented: "It looked hopeless then, I was thinking to myself at least I've been to Wembley." Then Stan Mortensen scored from a Stanley Matthews cross. According to Matthews: "although under pressure from two Bolton defenders who contrived to whack him from either side as he slid in, his determination was total and he managed to toe poke the ball off the inside of the post and into the net."

In the 88th minute a Bolton defender conceded a free kick some 20 yards from goal. Stan Mortensen took the kick and according to Robinson: "I've never seen one taken as well. It flew, you couldn't see the ball on the way to the net." Matthews added that "such was the power and accuracy behind Morty's effort, Hanson in the Bolton goal hardly moved a muscle."

The score was now 3-3 and the game was expected to go into extra-time. In his autobiography, Stanley Matthews described what happened next: "A minute of injury time remained... Ernie Taylor, who had not stopped running throughout the match, picked up a long throw from George Farm, rounded Langton and, as he had done like clockwork through the second half, found me wide on the right. I took off for what I knew would be one final run to the byline. Three Bolton players closed in, I jinked past Ralph Banks and out of the corner of my eye noticed Barrass coming in quick for the kill. They had forced me to the line and it was pure instinct that I pulled the ball back to where experience told me Morty would be. In making the cross I slipped on the greasy turf and, as I fell, my heart and hopes fell also. I looked across and saw that Morty, far from being where I expected him to be, had peeled away to the far post. We could read each other like books. For five years we'd had this understanding. He knew exactly where I d put the ball. Now, in this game of all games, he wasn't there. This was our last chance, what on earth was he doing? Racing up from deep into the space was Bill Perry."

Stanley Matthews added that Perry "coolly and calmly stroked the ball wide of Hanson and Johnny Ball on the goalline and into the corner of the net." Bill Perry admitted: "I had to hook it a bit. Morty said he left it to me, but that's not true, it was out of his reach." Blackpool had beaten Bolton Wanderers 4-3. Matthews, now aged 38, had won his first cup-winners medal.

Robinson joined Northwich Victoria in 1955. During his time at Blackpool he only made 21 appearances for the club. He also played for Bradford Park Avenue (1956-59) and Southport (1959-60).

Joe Smith, the manager, was never very tactical, he was very blunt with his instructions - "Go out there and get them beat," that kind of thing. You can't tell good players like Matthews and Mortensen what to do.

We lined up to go on to the field, very quiet. Then as soon as we walk on to the pitch, the roar, it sent shivers down your spine. We line up and are introduced to Prince Philip. We're thinking, let's just get on with the game.

We kicked off and within a couple of minutes we had a goal scored against us. Gradually we got some passes together, got Stan Matthews on the ball and Mortensen got the equaliser, but they went back ahead straight away. Then just after half-time they scored again, 3-1.

Bolton took a second minute cad when Nat Lofthouse took a pass from Holden and shot from 25 yards. Farm allowed it to slip through his hands into the net. Bolton began to take control, but suffered a blow when Bell went down injured with a pulled muscle. His team mates reshuffled and Bell was moved out to the wing. With ten minutes to go before half-time Blackpool drew level. Hassall, who had dropped back to defence, deflected a Stan Mortensen shot past Hanson. But within five minutes Bolton had regained the lead. When Langton centred, Farm hesitated, and Willie Moir nodded in Bolton's second.

Blackpool's world fell apart in the tenth minute of the second half when injured Eric Bell, of all people, rose to head in Holden's centre. Blackpool were 3-1 down, and no team had ever lost a two-goal Iead in all FA Cup final.

It looked hopeless then, I was thinking to myself at least I've been to Wembley. But Morty scored from a Matthews cross to put us back in it and then he equalised direct from a free-kick - I've never seen one taken as well. It flew, you couldn't see the ball on the way to the net. A few minutes from the end I turned to Jackie Mudie and said: "We'll win this in extra-time." But it never got to that - a good move down the right wing, Stan hits the ball along the floor and Bill Perry was in the middle."

A minute of injury time remained. What happened then no scriptwriter could have penned because no editor would have accepted a story so far-fetched and outlandish. This was our last chance, what on earth was he doing? Racing up from deep into the space was Bill Perry. "Head over it Bill, don't blast it. Don't blast it!" I said to myself.

I was doing Bill an injustice. The "Original Champagne Perry" was as ice cool as the finest vintage in the coldest of buckets. He coolly and calmly stroked the ball wide of Hanson and Johnny Ball on the goalline and into the corner of the net. From 1-3 down it was now 4-3! Those in the seats took to their feet, those on the terraces and already standing, leapt into the air as Wembley erupted.

Perhaps it was down to the fact I swallowed hard to get some saliva into my dry mouth, or that the sudden eruption of sound was momentarily too much for my eardrums; maybe it was a combination of the two. For a brief moment, although conscious of the pandemonium that had broken out about me, I didn't hear a thing. I watched the ball hit the back of the net, looked back at Bill as he raised his arms and was for a split second rendered totally deaf. I looked at my team-mates jumping for joy and the only noise was a low, droning buzz in my ears. It was as if I was dreaming it. Swallowing hard again, my ears suddenly popped and were immediately assailed by the loudest and most resounding roar I'd ever experienced in a football stadium. It burst from the terraces and roared down and across the pitch like some terrifying banshee.

Having regained my feet, I watched as every player bar George Farm made a beeline for me. Morty's arms were outstretched his face beaming as he sprinted towards me; Bill Perry had an ecstatic smile on his face, his head going from side to side as if in disbelief; Ernie Taylor skipped and jumped as he ran in my direction, punching the air with a fist and yelling `It's there! It's there!' Harry Johnston, who always left his part top set of dentures in a handkerchief in his suit pocket, unashamedly bared his gums to the world. I felt Ewan Fenton's wet and clammy arms across my face as his hands ruffled my hair. It was all I could do to keep my feet as my team-mates mobbed me.

I had to hook it a bit. Morty said he left it to me, but that's not true, it was out of his reach. Ernie Taylor changed the run of play. He didn't get the credit but he was the main man. I'd contributed much more in the semi-final against Spurs. Of course, Stan was special, the ability he had. If a player had a choice of pass, me or Stan, they'd give it to Stan, knowing he'd get to the line and take two opponents with him. For speed I'd beat him every time over 50 yards, but never over five, or 10 yards.

The club took the whole staff down to Wembley for the day. We travelled on the morning train from Blackpool Central Station, had lunch on the train - unheard of for me - and then walked up Wembley Way. The young players stood on the Spion Kop behind the goal, at the opposite end to where the Blackpool fans had been when the team lost in 1948 and 1951. We knew Blackpool would win - it was fate, destiny, call it what you like - even when we were 3-1 down. With Stanley Matthews around, anything could happen. We were standing at the end where the Blackpool goals went in on the way to that 4-3 victory in what will always be remembered as the Matthews final. Amazing that, when you think that Stan Mortensen became the only player to score a hat-trick in a Wembley FA Cup final. Morty had been suffering from cartilage trouble and he had an operation a few weeks before the game. He had hardly trained, yet he came out and scored a hat-trick.

When the game was over, we rushed back to the station, climbed aboard the train and went home. When we arrived back at around midnight, we discovered that Blackpool had gone crazy. Central Station was awash with tangerine and for the next 48 hours until the players arrived home, the whole town was ecstatic.


Walter MacGregor Robinson aka Wayfarer by Cyril Rowson

If credit must be given to any one person for the cycling boom which followed the 1914-18 war it surely should be to the late Walter MacGregor Robinson, better known as “Wayfarer”, and to his many friends simply as “Robbie”. Perhaps some other cycling writers of that time, such as F. T. Bidlake, G. Herbert Stancer (“Robin Hood”) and Fitzwalter Wray (“Kuklos”), helped to some extent, but they preached mainly to the converted, whereas it was to the young cyclist, just emerging after the dark and restricting war-time days, that “Wayfarer” took his message by his writings in “Cycling” and latterly by his lantern-talks. His cycling gospel was simple “as little bicycle as possible”, telling the youngsters of those days to get rid of their “sit up and beg” bicycles, and if that was not financially possible, for money was scarce in those times, to fit dropped bars, narrower tyres, a lightweight saddle, celluloid mudguards and a saddle-bag. He also suggested, I think with his tongue in his cheek, that they should throw their old steel mud-guards, along with their rear carriers, over the nearest hedge, but I do not think he meant that literally, for “Wayfarer” was a great conservationist, before the word assumed its present day importance.

It is hard to make present-day cyclists appreciate the esteem in which “Wayfarer” was held by the young wheelmen of the early “twenties”. He was truly idolized. To give an idea of his popularity, I would mention that dozens of cyclists regularly used to make their way on Sundays to the old “Crown” at Llandegla, where “Robbie” frequently called for tea, for a chance of speaking to their “hero”. On the occasion of his lectures, enthusiasts from various parts of the country would ride hundreds of miles to hear him speak, and on one evening in Liverpool, “Wayfarer” gave a repeat lecture almost immediately, for so many had been unable to get into the first performance. When he once had his cycle stolen from a church porch at Prenton, Birkenhead, enough money was collected from his admirers for a new one within a couple of days and duly presented to him, with an engraved silver plaque on the seat-tube. I know his mail was tremendous, and considering he worked full time in an insurance office in Dale Street, Liverpool, I cannot just imagine how he coped with it.

At the time I speak of, he rode a Rover light roadster, with shallow dropped North Road bars (as favoured by members of his club, the Anfield B.C.) and an ordinary B-10 Brooks saddle, not the narrow Champion pattern. In practically everything he did, he was a perfectionist, both in his business and pastime. His writing was exceptionally neat and uniform, and the little note-books he kept of his travels were a model of what such records should be. In only one thing he failed – he would not clean his bicycle. He used to say, “Cycles are for riding, not for cleaning!” But I think the real reason was that he just hadn’t time, being so involved with his articles to the press and in replying to his multitude of correspondents. Furthermore, he had a real dislike of dirty hands, which are inseparable from bike cleaning.

I have often been asked if “Wayfarer” was really a rough-stuff cyclist. My answer is a qualified “Yes”. But he was not the first touring cyclist to tackle rough byways and mountain tracks. This credit must go to the late A. W. Rumney, the C.T.C. Councillor, of Keswick, whose rough-stuff cycling adventures in the mountainous regions of Palestine really made cycling history in those early days. “Wayfarer”, however, was the first one to actually advocate cyclists taking to the mountain tracks, footpaths and byways, and he practised what he preached, which is really remarkable, for during World War I, when an infantryman in the trenches, he was badly wounded in the leg, which could be painful on occasions. At this juncture I should like to record that, during his spell in the front line, he continued to write his usual cycling page, which he whimsically called, “Between the Wire”, referring, of course, to the barbed-wire entanglements in front of the trench.

Author: Cyril R Rowson, Liverpool DA CTC (1937)

To return to his “rough-stuffing”. Although I did not ride with “Robbie” regularly, when I did go out with him we generally found something a bit rougher than the main road. Apart from the “Over the Top” route (as far as I remember, “Wayfarer” never referred to it as the Nant Rhyd Wilym), we crossed Penline and Bwlch Arthur, also from Nannerch to Llangwyfan (his “London Bridge”), which was then by exceptionally stony and rutted lanes. Another favourite was the Bwlch-pen-Barras over the shoulder of Moel Fammau, in those days rough and overgrown, much as it had been left, following the decay of coaching, and totally devoid of trees. One evening, with a mutual friend, F. H. Horrocks, we made our way over a rough and cobbled track across Formby Moss, where once lake-dwellers in prehistoric times built their homes on crannogs.

Let me conclude with a funny story. One afternoon, “Robbie” and I were approaching the top of Horseshoe Pass, when the window of a stationary car opened and out came some screwed-up papers and other rubbish onto the side of the road. “Wayfarer” immediately dismounted, picked the papers up, knocked at the car window, and handed all the rubbish back, with the curt comment, “I think you have dropped these!” I told you he was a conservationist!


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With the 2020 election approaching see the Trump family tree.

About to send four astronauts to the ISS. See the Elon Musk family tree here at FameChain

Vice-president of the United States.

Meghan and Harry are now US based. FameChain has their amazing trees.

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All relationship and family history information shown on FameChain has been compiled from data in the public domain. From online or printed sources and from publicly accessible databases. It is believed to be correct at the time of inputting and is presented here in good faith. Should you have information that conflicts with anything shown please make us aware by email.

But do note that it is not possible to be certain of a person's genealogy without a family's cooperation (and/or DNA testing).


Jackie Robinson&aposs Professional Sports Career

In early 1945, Jackie Robinson was signed by the Negro League team the Kansas City Monarchs, where he starred for one season, hitting .387.

At the time, Brooklyn Dodgers executive Branch Rickey was scouting the Negro Leagues, looking for players who not only had the talent but the demeanor to withstand the pressures associated with integrating Major League Baseball. Robinson was one of several players Rickey interviewed in August 1945 for assignment to the Dodgers’ farm team in Montreal, the Royals.

It is said that during the interview, Rickey demanded that Robinson not respond when on the receiving end of racial abuse. Robinson reportedly said, 𠇊re you looking for a Negro who is afraid to fight back?” To which Rickey replied that he was looking for a person “with guts enough not to fight back.”

Once Robinson agreed to “turn the other cheek,” a Biblical phrase used by the religious baseball executive, he was assigned to the Royals for the 1946 season, where he was embraced by Montreal fans and batted an impressive .349. His performance both on and off the field earned him a call-up to Brooklyn the following season.


ISBN 13: 9780423712902

Contents of Volume I: A HISTORY OF GREECE is the thrilling story of the rise to power and influence of the greatest civilization the world has ever known. As Cyril Robinson's exquisite narrative unfolds, we find ourselves plunged into mankind's greatest and most magnificent adventure. The story begins in Minoan Crete, but quickly shifts to a dimly understood mainland culture. We follow the heroic deeds of the Mycenians and the Trojan war, the glorious artistic and intellectual triumphs of the Ionians, the turmoil of the Doric invasion and resultant dark age, the slow recovery culminating in the epic Persian wars and the renewed splendor of Periclean Athens. In the fifth century B.C., philosophy, literature, art and architecture reach a pinnacle in Athens which no civilization has ever equaled. But civil strife soon follows and eventually embroils all of Greece.

Contents of Volume II: A HISTORY OF GREECE continues with the bitter struggle between Sparta and Athens for mastery of the Hellenic world. Though Sparta finally emerges victorious, her victory soon turns to ashes with the ascendancy of Thebes and the still greater power of Philip of Macedon. Philip unites an unwilling Greece with his iron policy. Athens gives up her independence, but maintains an aloof intellectual and artistic leadership in the Greek world. Across this magnificent fabric of history strides Alexander the Great, who takes the banner of Hellenic culture all the way across the Persian Empire and into India itself, a stunning event that altered the course of human history. This is followed by the Hellenistic age and the final subjugation of Greece by Rome. An incredible epic, indeed.

"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.

Cyril Edward Robinson (1884 - 1981), was born at Bury St. Edmunds in England, the son of a local clergyman. He attended Marlborough and Magdalen, achieving distinction at both institutions. He joined the staff of Winchester College in 1909, where he remained until his retirement in 1945. Robinson was an inspired and gifted teacher who taught classics using the Socratic method. He believed that knowledge and truth were already present in his students and that his task was to draw it forth. Few of his former pupils would doubt that he succeeded brilliantly. Robinson is the author of many books on Greece and Rome. His lucid mind, clear prose and elegant style make his historical works among the greatest of the 20th century.


Cyril Robinson, last surviving member of the Blackpool football team who beat Bolton Wanderers in the fabled 1953 FA Cup final – obituary

Cyril Robinson in 1951 Credit: Colorsport/REX

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C yril Robinson, who has died aged 90, was the last survivor of the Blackpool football team who edged a seven-goal thriller to claim a last-minute 4-3 victory over Bolton Wanderers in the fabled 1953 FA Cup final.

Played out between two of Britain’s biggest clubs in front of a packed Wembley Stadium, what has become known as “the Matthews final” was a dramatic encounter that encapsulated the magic for which the competition is so rightly famed.

Cyril Robinson was the middle son of a miner, born in the Nottinghamshire town of Bulwell on March 4 1929. His footballing talent first came to the fore at Henry Mellish School he went on to play for Basford Hall Boys’ Club and Notts Corinthians before representing England Boys against Wales at Cardiff in a 2-1 defeat further honours followed during his National Service with the RAF.

I n September 1949 Robinson signed for Blackpool, then a leading First Division team. Earning £15 per week, he made his first team debut two years later in the home draw against Middlesbrough.

He was a speedy and steely left-half, good in the air but especially creative with the ball at his feet, but such was the strength of the Blackpool squad that his football was confined mostly to the reserves. However, in the penultimate league game of the 1952-53 season the regular left-half Hughie Kelly badly fractured his ankle. The side’s veteran manager, Joe Smith, surprisingly installed the comparatively untried Robinson in Kelly’s place for their final match of the league campaign, against Manchester City. He retained his place for the trip to Wembley.

I t all began badly, when after only 75 seconds Bolton’s mighty striker Nat Lofthouse scored the opening goal. Stan Mortensen soon replied for Blackpool, but Bolton were back ahead by the break.

D espite going 3-1 up with an hour to go, Bolton found themselves struggling as the Seasiders gradually took control. After an uncertain start Robinson was becoming increasingly influential, and he began moving the ball about to feed Stanley Matthews. When Mortensen completed his hat-trick the scores were level at 3-3 with a minute left.

In one last, despairing attack, Matthews, having beaten two defenders, cut the ball back for Bill Perry to slam in a late winner. The reward for the Blackpool players was a medal and a £20 bonus.

T he following season, with Kelly back on form, first-team opportunities proved few and far between for Robinson, and he played only 24 games in his five seasons with the Tangerines. Following a brief stint with non-league Northwich Victoria in 1956, he moved to Bradford Park Avenue of the Third Division North on a free transfer.

After making 89 appearances and scoring three goals, in 1959-60 he spent two seasons at Southport, who had been placed in the new Fourth Division following the Football League reorganisation. He dropped back briefly into non-league football with Buxton and Lancaster City, then spent 1961 in Canada with Toronto City, before rounding off his career playing and coaching in Australia.

B ack on the Fylde coast, initially serving as Blackpool’s groundsman at Bloomfield Road, Robinson later became a newsagent. He went on to run holiday flats and then a hotel before being employed in the insurance industry.

I n 2015, in a BBC documentary celebrating the centenary of Sir Stanley Matthews, he was interviewed at Wembley alongside Bolton’s Doug Holden – two of the last survivors of that epic contest. A modest man, Robinson was moved to tears as he recalled the day.

Holden is now the last survivor of “the Matthews final” his Bolton team-mate Colin Wheeler died earlier this month. Cyril Robinson is survived by his wife, Kathleen, and their daughter. Their son died in 2001.

Cyril Robinson, born March 4 1929, died November 9 2019


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A History of Greece Audio Cassette – Unabridged, 1 September 2000

If your knowledge of any leg of ancient Greek history is spotty, this is the place to start. Written in 1929, Cyril Robinson is an authority and lacks certain prejudices that will make a seasoned reader nauseous, like the last man of history fallacy which holds that whatever most people think must of necessity be the best (also called by me the capitalist fallacy).

Robinson's grasp is wide and deep enough (in this book) to fill in potholes that you might not have realized before were essential to fill in. For me, it happened about a space of an hour toward the very end of the book filled in connections about Hellenism vs. Hellenic, a distinction that is of weighty import to any budding philosopher or philologist.

The chapter on Alexander the Great is itself quite worth the price of the book. No single individual in Greek "Hellenic") history is more central to the development of what we now call with smug certainty "modernity". In fact, whatever history, however, you consider to be modern is probably a direct result of the spirit of Alexander and his father Philip of Macedon, who took the Hellenic and (short of extending it into eternity (impossible), did the next best thing and brought Egypt and the Near East, as well as parts of Northern African into touch with the Hellensitic, which was the next best thing, and the very essence of all we call by various names such as "progress" in the sciences and mathematics, "the humanities", and especially "Western philosophy".

If you already know the basics of ancient Greek history, however, then this book is not for you. You'll want to move on to the classic authors of antiquity themselves, like Thucydides (if you are scientific-minded), or Herodotus and/or Livy (if you are a traditionalist). Don't expect any attention to mythology or music, painting or sculpture, because hardly any is present in this work (with a bare passing mention in the area of sculpture, a truly important Greek art).


Some terminology that may be used in this description includes:

hinge The portion of the book closest to the spine that allows the book to be opened and closed. jacket Sometimes used as another term for dust jacket, a protective and often decorative wrapper, usually made of paper which wraps. [more] Fair is a worn book that has complete text pages (including those with maps or plates) but may lack endpapers, half-title, etc. [more]

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