Pom Pom: The Story of Bob Whiting

 

When my twin boys did a project at school on The First World War, we researched the life of Robert Whiting, Brighton goal-keeper and WW1 soldier. A story emerged from the details I found.

Pom Pom emerged from 138 Westbourne Street into a bright May afternoon. It was just a one-mile stroll to the Goldstone Ground and he had always enjoyed the walk from his front door to the ground. It helped him prepare his mind for the match. As a goalkeeper, his mind had to be ready and focused. He was the last man, the protecter of the team, the one they all relied on. 

Usually, Pom Pom would pass excited fans on the way to the game. He would always smile and wave when “POM POM” was shouted from a window. He loved his nickname; it came from the QF 1-pounder auto cannon which made a booming and distinctive sound. The Albion fans had chosen the name for him because of his incredible goal-kicks that were launched up the field like cannon balls, causing havoc for the opposition. 

But now, the walk wasn’t the glorious ego-boosting stroll that he had enjoyed throughout his seven years in Brighton. Alongside the occasional shouts of encouragement, there were angry voices as well. 

“COWARD!”

“SHIRKER!”

“TRAITOR!”

The jeers followed Pom Pom’s walk and instead of a bold march, the mile-walk was more of a shamefaced shuffle. Nine months earlier, Britain had declared war on Germany and the nation’s men were signing up in their droves and yet here were a bunch of healthy young athletes idling away their time playing football. No one seemed to be paying attention to football any more. There was a battle being fought across the sea. In comparison to that, who cared about the battle being fought on the football field this afternoon between Brighton and Hove Albion and Crystal Palace?

It was with a heavy heart that Pom Pom stood in his goalmouth that afternoon as Brighton finished their season with a narrow 1-0 victory. He’d kept a clean sheet but he didn’t have a clear conscience and he knew that he had to do something about it and do something about, he did. Within a month, he had swapped the vibrant green of the goalkeeper jersey for the khaki green of a soldier’s uniform and he would never go back. 

He wasn’t the only footballer who made this decision. The public shame of playing football while other men were fighting and dying was too much and the Football Battalion was created and at the same time, the football league was abandoned until peace was declared.

* * *

POM… POM… the guns boomed and Pom Pom didn’t smile and wave but grimaced and gritted his teeth. He hated the sound, hated what it meant… that men were dying and agony was being inflicted on the human race. Trench warfare was brutal, crawling in sludge and guts, not knowing what day might be your last. When he wrote letters home to his beloved Nellie, he filled them with trite football cliches about scoring against the opposition and hoping for promotion. He couldn’t bring himself to write about what he was really experiencing. Shielding it from Nellie was shielding it from himself as well. 

Each day felt like a lifetime. When he wasn’t busy, gruesome images of what he had seen swum through his head, so he kept himself as busy as possible, moving machinery, cleaning kit, digging tunnels. Busyness was his friend. A task to complete meant his mind was occupied and if his mind was occupied, it wasn’t consumed with terror. 

One evening, with his limbs wooden and weary, Pom Pom removed his shirt to get into bed and when he glanced down at his chest, he saw that it was angry, red, inflamed. He’d been itching absentmindedly at it all day and thought nothing of it, but something clearly wasn’t right and he knew what it was instantly. Scabies. Many soldiers had gone down with it. In the grim trench conditions, mites flourished and these mites had burrowed into his flesh and were feasting on him. Pom Pom smiled. He knew this was his ticket home. Scabies was aggressively contagious, sometimes even deadly and he needed to be removed from the trench as quickly as possible. 

Two months later

Pom Pom knew the summon would come and the thought of it left him physically shaking and gasping for breath. Each time he felt his breath shortening, he would grip Nellie’s hand tightly and she would rub her other hand up and down his back murmuring, “It’s alright, it’s alright…” Nothing was alright, but gradually his breath would slow and the shaking would slowly subside and a solitary tear would crawl down his face as he looked into his wife’s eyes. 

That morning, Pom Pom had received two pieces of news. “Do you want the good news first or the bad news?” his manager, John Ronson had used to say. Both pieces of news had always been trivial. “The bad news is, they’ve got big Billy Blyth up front. The good news is, Pom Pom’s going to keep him out all day long” and the team would chuckle and run out full of confidence. This morning the good news had been wonderful, beautiful, life-changing: Nellie was pregnant and the bad news had been terrible, agonising, life-ending: Pom Pom had been called back to war.

“I’m not going,” he said through sobs as he rested his head on Nellie’s lap and imagined that he could hear the heartbeat of his child within her womb. 

Nellie had thought that he would change his mind, but Pom Pom was resolute. He wasn’t going back to war. As a soldier, his mind had to be ready and focused. It wasn’t. The scabies had gone, but he wasn’t well and this is what he said time and time again when the letters became increasingly threatening as he missed one deadline to return and then another. It took 133 days of refusing before Pom Pom was finally arrested for desertion. As two police officers led Pom Pom from his house, Mrs Jones from number 135 shouted the same word he’d heard months earlier before this nightmare: “COWARD!”

His punishment for desertion could have been death at the hands of a firing squad, but Britain were desperate for soldiers and Pom Pom found himself demoted and sent back to war. The only time the shaking and the gasping never seemed to happen was in the middle of battle when the POM POMs could be heard echoing around the trenches. It was in these moments that Pom Pom found he could be brave, that he wasn’t a coward, that even though his head was scrambled, he could still run and fight and shoot. 

On 28th April 1917, Pom Pom was told that further progress was going to be made towards the German line. For three weeks solid, Britain had been inching forwards, every inch gained costing hundreds of lives, and today was the day that Pom Pom’s life would be part of that cost. Pom Pom had thought of his son just before going out to fight; he wondered whether he would ever see him - it was a common thought, a wondering whether this child would ever know him. Out on the battlefield, there wasn’t time to think and when the soldier alongside Pom Pom suddenly collapsed to the floor, Pom Pom was there, holding his hand telling him it would be alright just like Nellie had done for him. It wouldn’t be alright. As Pom Pom comforted the man, a shell erupted just inches from him. Pom Pom would never see his son, but he would be told over and over by Nellie that his father was a hero.

Peter Smith: Always Keep a Pair of Boots in Your Car

 

Over the last year, it has been an absolute thrill to meet many of the Brighton squad from that iconic 1996/97 season. One of the most interesting stories and most unusual journeys into league football is that of right-back, Peter Smith. In the early '90s, Peter had moved to London to study Urban and Environmental Studies he describes himself as not the ideal student, spending his time drinking, smoking and laying in bed all day. I get the feeling he's underplaying his commitment to his studies, but he wasn't living the life of an athlete, that's for sure.

Alongside his studies, he played for Alma Swanley in the Kent league under Franny Fitzpatrick. Smith was exceptional at this level, scoring 'about thirty goals a season' as a full-back. They won the Kent Senior Trophy in 1994 and Smith scored two in the final against Folkestone. Being a star of the Kent league alongside studying suited Peter, but an opportunity for his life to change emerged out of a tragedy. Manager, Franny Fitzpatrick died in 1994 and a match in his memory was arranged between select sides representing Millwall and Charlton. Peter went along just to watch, but one of the sides was a player short and he had his boots in his car. Smith put in an incredible performance, his pace impossible for the opposition to handle and at the end of the game, Brighton assistant manager, Gerry Ryan approached him and invited him for a trial at Brighton. 

Liam Brady was impressed with Smith's raw energy, signed him up, and he quickly became a regular in the team, winning Player of the Season in 1994/95. Smith recalls how helpful the experienced heads were to him in those early days although he had to deal with the contradictory instructions from manager, Liam Brady who encouraged him to "Bomb on" while club legend, Steve Foster wanted more defensive stability, urging him, "Don't bomb on." My first days watching the Albion were at this time, paying the £3.50 entry fee out of my paper-round money to get into the South-West terrace, getting as close to the dug-outs as I could. My memory is that Smith more commonly followed Liam's instructions and it was his courageous, energetic play that endeared him to the Brighton fans. 

Smith played through the war years, preferred by some managers more than others, and was one of the few players that played at the Goldstone, Priestfield and Withdean. He made 140 appearances from Brighton, scoring five goals.

Like his unconventional entry into professional football, his exit was equally unconventional. Smith knew when his time was up when Micky Adams didn't fancy him. Humbly, he recognises that his exit came at the right time as Adams' team kicked on, taking Brighton back up the football league. Alongside appearances for non-league sides, Smith got involved with Sky's Dream Team, after a conversation with former-Brighton striker Andy Ansah who had become the Football Consultant for the show. He then went back to university, this time to study Sports Management which opened up an opportunity for him to work with the PFA, although he had to offer to work for free to get his foot in the door. This led to him being one of the pioneers of Masters' Football, six-aside tournaments between ex-pros, screened on Sky in the noughties. Again, Peter was called upon as a spare man when the Manchester United team lacked a player. There will have been some bemused United fans watching that day, I imagine, wishing that Smith had been Beckham's wingman instead of Gary Neville.

In 2008, Peter reconnected with Jamie Moralee, a striker who spent a season at Brighton in the late '90s. Together, they set up a football agency, becoming agents for a range of players, a role they've been fulfilling ever since. In a world of grasping agents, to have genuine ex-pros like Peter and Jamie involved is important. One of the players they've supporteed is Rio Ferdinand and they helped him transition out of football and into the world of media, getting involved in starting a magazine and launching a fashion brand. Check out this video of the launch party of Rio's magazine: Rio chatting to Michael Jackson and then Peter Smith walks into shot at 51 seconds: Degrees of separation: Michael Jackson / Rio Ferdinand / Peter Smith / Me

Peter seems to be a man who jumps at opportunities to live life fully and go on adventures. When we chatted to him on the podcast, he was interested in each of our lives and the projects we're involved in. He has been in touch with me, Ed and Jon about films, music and business many times in the intervening months. 

When Liam Brady managed Peter, he recognised him as the cleverest player, the man they'd sent out to talk to the public and attend PFA meetings on the club's behalf and having met him, it is obvious why this articulate, charismatic player was their choice. And he was an exciting player too.

Podcast link: Embers S1 Ep 16: Peter Smith

Vuskovic Optimism and Welbeck Woe

Assessing the 2026/27 with Four Weeks until kick-off

Brighton are about to embark upon their tenth successive season in the Premier League. Since the inception of the Premier League, nineteen other sides have achieved a stay of this longevity. This is a remarkable achievement, one we shouldn't approach with a sense of entitlement, but instead, gratitude. We are properly established and there isn't a game I go to now where I don't expect us to give the opposition a proper test and I love that we are this good. 

It wasn't always like this. In our first season, I was just grateful to be there and when the big teams with the big budgets came, I marvelled at their superstars while the gulf in quality was there to see. Coutinho and Salah took us apart (1-5); Hazard and Willian played one-twos through the heart of our defence (0-4) and we drew 0-0 with Burnley - twice. It wasn't all bad though. We made ourselves difficult to beat at home - only losing four times at Falmer in that opening campaign. There were memorable wins against Arsenal and Manchester United and we got to that magic forty points which was comfortably safe. 

So where are we at going into Season Ten? Progression or regression? We've finished 8th twice under Hurzeler - genuinely good finishes, but all Brighton fans know that, if we were our consistent best all season, we'd be much higher. And conversely, our place is still one of fragility. Leicester, Blackburn, Middlesbrough, Stoke and Bolton have all managed a decade in the top flight and a poor managerial appointment, a dodgy transfer window or the injury of a critical player has sent them tumbling.

Let's assess the squad this time around. 

Despite the sale of the best looking Dutchman I know, the defence looks like it has probably improved. There has been a long-running issue at right-back with various players played out of position there: Gross, Hinshelwood, Wieffer, but we've signed Costinha - a 26-year-old right-back who will hopefully, become the go-to player in that position. Ferdi Kadioglu deservedly won Player of the Season last year and he got better and better as the season progressed, so he will surely be left-back with De Cuyper deputising. There have been lots of suggestions that we might go to a back three with wing-backs which would accommodate one more of the centre-backs. Lewis Dunk still has plenty to offer. Olivier Boscagli was impressive when he came into the side at the back end of the season and then there's the three new boys: Luka Vuskovic, Pascal Struijk and Michael Svoboda. Vuskovic is the most exciting of these, a nineteen-year-old Croatian international who last year was in the Bundesliga Team of the Season, having been on loan at Hamburger SV. Many Tottenham fans were furious that they let him go, even for a club record outlay from the Albion of £46 million. As well as being a composed and powerful defender, he has also already scored sixteen goals in his professional career. It really feels like we've signed a superstar here. My reading of this signing is that we've upgraded on Van Hecke and made a profit at the same time. Struijk and Svoboda are less exciting perhaps, but both are players in their mid-twenties, in their prime, and Struijk has plenty of Premier League experience. 

In central-midfield, it feels like there is a lingering question mark over whether Carlos Baleba will still be a Brighton player when the season kicks off. It felt like we all knew that Manchester United's wooing of him last summer was going to be delayed until this summer. Then, he had a somewhat underwhelming season, not always making the first team and now, United's interest seems to have cooled. This is good news if we can rewind Baleba back to the player he was. When he's good, he is such a dominant force, a player who has such supreme strength that opposition players seem to bounce off of him combined with composure and guile. I really believe that an in-form Baleba elevates us to a level where we can truly compete with the best teams in England. The other central midfielders all bring quality in different ways: Pascal Gross is intelligent, incisive but getting older; Yasin Ayari is tidy and has flashes of brilliance and Jack Hinshelwood has become an increasing goal-threat and if he can improve his conversion rate, he could have a really good season.

The wings feel like a bit of a concern. Mitoma is wonderful but returning from injury and that always seems to take far too long. Minteh is exciting but too often wasteful. Diego Gomez migrated onto the wing towards the end of last season and it feels like Hurzeler values his work-rate there, but it only feels like it partially works for him in that position. Coming in, we've got Zadok Yohanna - with European football, it feels like he needs to be ready to play this season. I've been long-excited about Amario Cozier-Duberry who has spent two seasons out on loan. I cling onto the first thing I read about a player and when he signed, I remember him being compared to Bukayo Saka, a winger who cuts in and likes a shot. He's been good in League One, but can he do that in the Prem? Tommy Watson and Ibrahim Osman are also in the mix, but less likely to be involved. It feels like there are lot of developing players on the wing with only Mitoma really ready and able to perform week-in, week-out and he's unlikely to be ready for the start.

Up front, we have very similar concerns if Danny Welbeck goes to Chelsea. Oh, Danny, not you. You're one of the good guys, not a mercenary want-away. Whenever a player leaves, we concoct a narrative that means we either clap them or boo them on their return. I actually feel that we swallow a load of guff and don't see any nuance when a player goes. I personally remain warm to almost all players that have served us well and then move on, but players going to Chelsea hurts (other than when they pay us big money for players surplus to requirements). Danny is definitely not surplus - he feels vital. If he goes, we look at the list of Tzimas, Kostoulas, Ferguson, Georginio, but we've not seen evidence recently that any of them are going to provide the goals that Welbeck did. Will there will be a glorious return to form for Ferguson? Every Albion fan wants that, but four goals in 37 appearances over the last two years makes that feel unlikely. Perhaps, we'll dip into the transfer market. Here are a few names that could move south: Tammy Abraham, Dane Scarlett, Marc Guiu, Joshua Zirkzee, Eddie Nketiah, Liam Delap, Gabriel Jesus - but if we do sign someone, it is far more likely that it will be someone who I've never heard of but has poked his head above the parapet on Tony's data. 

Overall, I feel we are stronger defensively, but there will be a need for a regular back-line to settle and get to know one another. Baleba could set the tempo and turn us into a force and I for one have "seen his face and I'm a Baleb-er". We need to hope that the wingers emerge and give us a genuine threat and up front, in the limbo-land of the likely Welbeck departure, there is a mini-crisis. A firing Welbeck is ten points and that needs replacing if he goes. Depth for a European tour is emerging and is reliant upon the fringe players stepping up when required. I haven't mentioned O'Riley, Buonanotte, Yalcouye, Igor or Cashin - some of them will leave permanently or temporarily, but they may have a part to play. 

One thing's for sure. We're not scrapping for results like we did in Season One. We're a genuine force and I approach the upcoming season with a quiet optimism. We'll probably finish 8th again.