Ian Holloway - Ollie: The Autobiography of Ian Holloway

Publishing Rights

This edition first published in the UK in 2007

By G2 Entertainment

G2 Entertainment 2011

www.ollieontour.co.uk

Publishers: Jules Gammond and Alan Jones

Robert Segal Representation

The right of Ian Holloway and David Clayton to be identified as authors of this book have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-907803-96-3

The views in this book are those of the author but they are general views only and readers are urged to consult the relevant and qualified specialist for individual advice in particular situations.

G2 Entertainment hereby exclude all liability to the extent permitted by law of any errors or omissions in this book and for any loss, damage or expense (whether direct or indirect) suffered by a third party relying on any information contained in this book.

Chapter 1: Believe

I must confess I had to have my arm twisted to write this book because my initial reaction was, whod want to read about the life story of Ian Holloway? Im still not convinced this wont end up in the bargain baskets of book shops around the country because lets face it, Ive not got the track record of Sir Alex Ferguson or Jose Mourinho at the moment even if I am better looking than both of them.

Maybe a few Blackpool fans will be curious enough to pick it up and Im sure therell be one or two Bristol Rovers supporters who might bother, too. Throw in the odd QPR fan, my mum, Helen and Max off Soccer AM and we might creep into double figures. Who knows what life will throw at you next? Ive learned to take each day as it comes in both my professional and personal life over the past 46 years, as youll discover in the next 270 or so pages, and if youve not shed at least one tear or had a couple of good belly laughs by the time you finish, then Ive not done my job. Lovely jubbly!

So, like all good yarns, which I hope this is, Ill start at the beginning. My mum and dad gave me a wonderful home life and we were a family in every sense of the word. My dad, Bill Holloway, was an only child whose mother died when he was just a toddler but he was fortunate enough to be put in a loving home and adopted within a year by a relative on his mothers side. Sadly, he was never actually told that until he was 13 and then it was only because of circumstances that left no other choice. The man hed thought was his natural father was blown up during the Second World War. Hed been serving in the Home Guard when a German bomb landed just 500 yards from the family home with the poor bugger right underneath it.

Not long after, a life insurance man brought a cheque to my dads house and when he answered the door, the bloke looked at his documentation and asked, Is your step-mum in, son?

Understandably confused, dad said, What are you on about? Youve got that wrong, I think, but the bloke insisted he was right, tapping his documentation that suggested exactly that, just as the woman dad had thought of as his natural mother ran down the stairs screaming, Oh my God, no!

It was a hell of way to find out hed been adopted and, hardly surprisingly, it took him a long time to come to terms with it, but he did eventually. Rather than developing into some kind of insecure, untrusting adult, however, that shocking revelation moulded him into the most wonderful husband and father anyone could wish for. His loss would be our gain, because whatever emotions might have been stirred within him by his own experiences, they only served to make him protect and love his own children all the more. He sheltered us under his protective wings and all he ever really cared about was his family and doing right by us. Whatever we wanted was more important to him than anything else in the world, and hed go about trying to get us it in his own, old fashioned way.

Christened William Holloway, he was born in 1928 old school stock, as they say. Hed open the door for ladies, pick up their hanky, and was always a perfect gentleman in their company. He never swore in front of my mother though hed make up for it when he was with his mates at the match because he was a mans man, too. He loved football and he was a fair player much better than hed ever let on, and if he allowed himself one passion outside of his devotion for his family, it was football, something I would happily inherit from him.

He was dark-haired and fairly dark-skinned for a Bristolian so hed often got mistaken for an Italian, which used to annoy him a hell of a lot. You from the old country? hed occasionally get asked from some olive-skinned stranger. No, Im bloody not! Im English and proud of it, hed bark back.

My mum was christened Jean Malcolm Young her dad had given her the middle name of Malcolm and she absolutely hated it! Her parents were both Scottish, but she was brought up in Saltash in Devon and attended a local grammar school there. She had two elder brothers, Bert and Tom, and she was five years younger than my dad.

My parents first met on a train coming over the River Tamar. They started chatting politely about the weather and both felt comfortable in each others company. She liked him and he liked her and that journey turned out not just to be a means to get from A to B, but the meeting of two hearts and minds that had been destined to join since the day they were born if you believe in that kind of thing, of course, like I do! Mum was wary of this handsome stranger, though, if for no reason other than because he was a sailor. Her father had been a chief petty officer in the Royal Navy and that had left her with a lasting impression of men who went to sea for months on end, travelling the world with a different girl at every port, so the legend would have us believe. She didnt see her dad much as she was growing up, or care for some of his antics when he did come home. Hed drink too much and would shout a lot when he returned on shore leave and it was obvious his real life was on the ship, not in a home built from bricks and mortar. She knew from an early age that she didnt want to be a sailors wife and if the good-looking, personable William Holloway intended on continuing his adventures at sea, this would be one port he would have to sail on past. After he plucked up enough courage to ask whether or not they might meet again at some point, she told him straight if he was serious about courting her, hed have to leave the Navy. Wham! No messing, no ifs or buts those were her conditions and, of course, her test of how serious he really was but thats exactly what he did, no doubt already love-struck! It suited dad, in all honesty, because hed never really wanted a life at sea, anyway. His heart had been elsewhere when hed joined up Eastville, to be precise then home of Bristol Rovers Football Club, where he had once had a trial. He would have been offered a contract, too, had he been patient enough, but he got fed up waiting (another trait Id inherit) and went to sea instead, probably wanting to be as far away from his boyhood dreams as possible. He wasnt the first
man to sail into the horizon leaving a shattered dream behind and he wont be the last.