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Acrylic and oil paint 29 x 23 x 3.5 cm 2026 Legs burning as we walk up the steep hill to Saltergate. My Dad turns to my two brothers and I, saying "1, 2, 3" as he passes out our season ticket books. Each marked with a sticker with our names, so we know which one is ours. Once at the turnstiles, we rip out the numbered game ticket and head on through. Paper ticket stubs are physical evidence of match-day memories that have long since passed. The good memories- Derek Niven scoring from a volley on the edge of the box to put us 2-1 up against Man City (Still mine and my brother’s favourite moment as Chesterfield fans, nearly 20 years later) and the not so good memories - losing 1-0 to Doncaster at Belle Vue. A game in which the only goal was scored via our goalkeeper, Barry Roche, taking a goal kick which hit the back of a player and sailed back into the net over his head. A game which was made worse by the lady who stood next to me spending the entirety of the game alternating between chewing off her nail varnish and chain-smoking (This was pre smoking ban(!)). Over 20 years later, my Dad and my two brothers and I are still attending games, our little season ticket books replaced by cards and individual tickets replaced by QR codes and A4 sized print at home tickets, memories still made- without these evocative little pieces of battered paper.
Acrylic and oil paint 29 x 23 x 3.5 cm 2026 Legs burning as we walk up the steep hill to Saltergate. My Dad turns to my two brothers and I, saying "1, 2, 3" as he passes out our season ticket books. Each marked with a sticker with our names, so we know which one is ours. Once at the turnstiles, we rip out the numbered game ticket and head on through. Paper ticket stubs are physical evidence of match-day memories that have long since passed. The good memories- Derek Niven scoring from a volley on the edge of the box to put us 2-1 up against Man City (Still mine and my brother’s favourite moment as Chesterfield fans, nearly 20 years later) and the not so good memories - losing 1-0 to Doncaster at Belle Vue. A game in which the only goal was scored via our goalkeeper, Barry Roche, taking a goal kick which hit the back of a player and sailed back into the net over his head. A game which was made worse by the lady who stood next to me spending the entirety of the game alternating between chewing off her nail varnish and chain-smoking (This was pre smoking ban(!)). Over 20 years later, my Dad and my two brothers and I are still attending games, our little season ticket books replaced by cards and individual tickets replaced by QR codes and A4 sized print at home tickets, memories still made- without these evocative little pieces of battered paper.