The Day My Dream Ended: The Autobiography of Jimmy Holmes

By Jimmy Holmes and Mike Malyon

As a child, growing up Dublin, Jimmy Holmes dreamed of becoming a professional footballer. Spotted in the local youth team by the great Matt Busby and invited to go to Manchester United, he was persuaded, instead, to sign for Coventry City, heralding the start of a glittering career in football. The young Jimmy had it all ahead of him, or so he believed, but just a few years later, a serious injury brought an abrupt end to his dreams.
In this frank autobiography, Jimmy reveals how he endured years of heartache and disappointment following the accident as he struggled to come to terms with the fact that his time as a First Division footballer was over. From being highly sought after, representing the Republic of Ireland and playing top flight football, Jimmy suddenly found himself looking for ways to continue in the game he loved, before pursuing a new career in the police force.
With forewords by Glenn Hoddle and Johnny Giles, The Day My Dream Ended tells the compelling story of Jimmy’s meteoric rise to the top of his game and beyond, and the untimely end of one of the most promising football careers of his generation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Apex Publishing Limited
• Release date: Jan 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781911476283

Book preview

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Early Days in the Liberties

I was born on 11 November, 1953, at home in Hanbury Lane, just off Meath Street on the south side of Dublin. It was a good honest working class area, known as The Liberties. While I was still a toddler, we moved a short distance to no. 2 Meath Square, a mid-terraced bungalow, with one bedroom, a lounge and a kitchen which was split into a small dining area. The toilet was out in the back yard, next to the coal house.

My parents, Pat and Lily, both came from large families. Dad was the eldest of six brothers and my ma was one of 12 children. She had five sisters - Josie, Ellen, Annie, Phyliss and Maureen. There were also six brothers - Malachy, who worked at the Guinness plant, Joe, who was on the cattle market, Larry, a printer, Seamus and Sean, who had factory jobs, and Noel, who was a tailor. My mum’s parents were James Murray and his wife Ellen.

Dad’s brothers were Michael, the ‘sensible one’ who was a foreman at Fiat in Dublin and the only one in the family to own a car; Seamus, who I did not know too well but who always had a smile on his face; and three others who were absolute characters. There was Gaybo, considered the best darts player in Dublin and a man who you could sit all day with over a pint and listen to his stories; Joe, a real smoothie and renowned pub singer; and Tony, the joker of the pack, who was also a fitness fanatic and ran marathons for charity. There were also two sisters, Lily and Carmel, who ran the Crampton Buildings on the ‘Quays’.

In our family there was just me and my brother, Paul, who was five years older. We had to sleep on a brown leather settee in the lounge. It was covered in sheets and we had no blankets so had a big old army coat to cover us. Our parents’ bedroom was tiny and could only just about fit in their bed and a wardrobe. But they both worked hard and we were a happy family. Dad had a job with the corporation until he retired while Ma was employed as a supervisor at a wool factory called Ganleys.

Because our home was small, a lot of the time me and Paul went to stay with my grandparents on my ma’s side, who lived at Oliver Bond flats in Dublin. As a lot of our friends also lived at the flats, we loved going there. Sometimes, I shared a bed with Grandad, which meant being pinned up against the wall and having to contend with his loud snoring. Paul and my uncles Noel and Sean slept in the bed next to ours, so that meant five of us sleeping in one room. Noel and Sean were always having a go at each other. But Noel was the youngest of the Murray family, so was like an elder brother to me and Paul and we always looked up to him.

It was a ritual on Sunday mornings for everyone to attend Mass and I would be marched along by Ma to John’s Lane Church. For two years, from the age of eight, I was an altar boy, which made her very proud. I also joined the choir, along with two of my mates from the Oliver Bond flat; the Curren brothers. They took it as a laugh but I was serious, because I knew it would please my ma and I remember having to do an audition with the choir master who was an elderly blind man. I was in awe of him, the way he could play the organ despite not being able to see.

Ma would also take me to Meath Street Church, to play bingo and she used to give me a book to check. Of course, I couldn’t win because of my age, but she was able to see every time I was waiting for a number. I would be ready to shout, Check.

Then I would hear her say, Hear ya.

The other people would say: That Lily Holmes again. God, she’s very lucky that one. Then they used to check if it was my book Ma had called on. They didn’t mess with ‘Lilo Lil’ from Meath Square!

After the bingo we used to go to my gran’s in Oliver Bond, but before that we would pop into Reynolds’ fruit and veg shop opposite the Church Hall to spend the shilling Ma would give me for going to the bingo with her. So she used to say: Are you going to buy something for your grannie? Get her a nice apple. You know she likes them.

I would reply: Okay, but you know she can’t bite into an apple because of her false teeth.

Ma would then say: Buy her a nice Bounty bar then. That will be nice and soft for her to eat. By the time we had finished I wouldn’t have much left out of my shilling.

I always tried to keep some money back to save up, so that I could maybe go to the pictures in Frances Street. But, one Sunday, I decided to be brave and go to the ‘Rink’, where there used to be weekly dances for kids my age, around 11-12 years-old. Now this was a ‘big no-no’ for me, because Ma just did not approve of these Rink activities. Anyway, this fateful afternoon I had decided to take a chance and go. I told Ma I was going to see Shane at the Metropole cinema in town. Alan Ladd was starring in it and I told her it was a cowboy film about a dog. Then, out of the blue, she asked me: You’re not going to that Rink are you?

I froze for a second, and felt sick inside, but regained my composure and said: No. I know you hate that place and I am not going anywhere near there.

Okay, she said. My dad was in the room at the time and had a sly look at me but never said a word - he was getting ready to go to meet his brothers at Flannery’s pub down in Temple Bar. The Rink didn’t open until 3 p.m. and Ma was asking me what time the film started.

I said: About 3 o’clock. We had just had our dinner and Dad had gone for his normal Sunday afternoon nap.

Ma wasn’t a very good cook and, on Sundays, she used to send me down to the chip shop for a chicken and would say to me: Tell your dad that I cooked it. So there was me, an altar boy, having to lie to my dad. That would have had Father Madden turning in his grave.

Ma was good at doing roast potatoes and gravy, though. Dad would always say: This chicken is lovely isn’t it Jim? I am sure he knew that Ma hadn’t cooked it.

Anyway, on this particular Sunday, off I set to the Rink, feeling confident that I had tricked Ma into thinking I was going to the pictures. I arrived at the Rink and met up outside with some of my mates. We all trooped in and had a great time, drinking Coca Cola and orange pop and enjoying listening to records of the pop groups of the time, such as the Kinks. The session lasted about an hour and a half and we came out, all sweating and laughing with a few of the young girls we knew. Suddenly, the smile was on the other side of my face when I saw Ma across the road just nodding her head and pointing at me. I turned and ran home as fast as I could. When I rushed in, Dad was up, having a shave.

He said: What’s wrong?

Breathlessly, I replied: Ma is after me. I have to hide.

Still shaving, Dad said: Have you been to the Rink today? I told him I had and then ran into my parents’ room and dived under the bed. There weren’t many places to hide, because it was