A lifelong Bury fan has sent in this letter, summing up how good it felt to be a Shakers fan at the Cheltenham match

WHEN I was a lad (we golden oldies start many a conversation like that), on Saturday evenings I remember straining my infant ears to hear the football results from a crackling wireless set.

That was when the Shakers were playing away – the result of a home match was received straight from the horse’s mouth, the horse being my dad who was a regular at both first team and reserve matches.

It was a great day indeed when I was introduced to the hallowed ground in the late 1930s – the days of Bill Gorman, George Davies, Les Hart and co, the beginning of a reet, gradely reationship an’ all.

Mind you, in recent days, nay, years, my attendances have fluctuated and, to my shame. I only put in two visits last year.

However – and this is where it becomes somewhat exciting – I was there on Saturday, in the south stand within spitting distance of my old seat in the former boys stand.

My heart was warmed by the familiar announcement as “the mighty Shakers” were about to appear – they appeared and nobbut a few minutes later our goalkeeper was plucking the ball from the back of his net.

I smiled, a sad smile – things hadn’t changed after all but, owdonabit, the lads in white set about putting things right, (that rhymes – I feel a song coming on), my sad smile became a glad smile and it stayed there until the final whistle when I emulated those around me by leaping (well, not really – my leaping days are a little bit behind me) by lurching to my feet and applauding like billyho.

Somehow or other I don’t think I will be around when our mighty Shakers burst into the Premier League but I hope to be there for the Championship.

Once a Shaker, allus a Shaker – see you at Gigg Lane.

Ron An owd lad fra Little Lever (born and bred in Bury and proud of it an’ all)