THE BOB WOOD STORY
Born not long after the end of the war, Bob was one of four brothers, his father a sailor can be seen in the background, sadly the last time Bob will see him, one look at his young son was enough for him to take to the high seas, and the bottle, for the remainder of his life.
His Mother did the best she could, but he was an unruly child. Bob could often be found on the streets begging passers-by for spare coins, seen here wearing his balaclava aunt June had made for him, un- known to Bob at this time, but this balaclava would come in handy when he got older, his older brother sat to the left of him, protecting him from other street gangs.
Life at home was tuff for little Bob, seen here in the left middle bunk, he shared this outhouse with his 3 brothers and a succession of “Uncles”, it was during these times, malnurished, in the dark of night, he realised he needed to better himself, to find someway out, to do something to get himself noticed, to stand out in a crowd!
If one thing living on the streets had taught little Bob, it was how to cure a conker. He knew no one had better conkers than him, so he hatched a cunning plan, he would challenge all the kids to a conker competition, confident he would win, he was sure his name would reverberate around the streets, at last getting the recognition he desperately craved.
School days were a stressful time, not for little Bob, but his classmates.
Little bobs method of curing conkers was to insert them up his bum, sometimes as many as five at a time, this caused excessive flatulence and his classmates resorted to using the gas masks left over from the war. Which little bob had collected and saved hoping one day he could make profit selling them, now was that time.
Bob was often overheard laughing when recounting this story behind the bike shed, where he often skipped lessons with his friend Cyril
Little bobs method of curing conkers was to insert them up his bum, sometimes as many as five at a time, this caused excessive flatulence and his classmates resorted to using the gas masks left over from the war. Which little bob had collected and saved hoping one day he could make profit selling them, now was that time.
Bob was often overheard laughing when recounting this story behind the bike shed, where he often skipped lessons with his friend Cyril
Bob and Cyril where best friends, they would perfect there conker moves for hours, but all this would come to an abrupt end when Cyril brought unwanted visitors to the bike shed one day.. !
Head lice!!!, the scourge of post war Bradford and little Bob got them bad, it was during the days that followed that little bob had his first skin head, shown here, he and Cyril caught fooling around naked which they often did when skipping school.
Bob never forgave Cyril for this, and sadly they grew apart, at this time little bob was on the verge of adolescence, experimenting with his appearance, going from skin- head to a clean cut school swat.
As he grew older and chubbier, he was an angry young man, who for a while lost his way. Changing from punk to new romantic, new romantic to twat, but always returning back to the skinhead image, that image gave him a sense of belonging, although wresting with his dress sense and sexuality at times!!!
Aged 16, he joined a local gang, “The Bowling Bovver Boys”, hanging around street corners these were good times for bob, it was here he honed his wit, developed his cutting edged banter and blooded his boots on the heads of younger kids... these were tough times and the streets were ruled by tough boys... no longer called little bob, but known up and down the alley ways as Bulldog-Bob.
Girls had become an interest for Bulldog Bob, however he just did not no how to approach them, his friends arranged quite a few blind dates, but like his father all those years ago, they fled the moment they saw him... then Bob remembered the old balaclava his aunt June knitted him , it wouldn’t still fit... would it!!!
With new found confidence, there was no stopping Bob, girls came and went, every night you would see him helping another into a taxi, “it`s easy” he would boast, “All u gorra do is ask em if this cloth smells like chloroform, and they fall at your feet” we used to laugh...that Bob, he was one hell of a guy!
It was on one of those dates he met her, met the one that would change his life, the one he would give it all up for....
and he did,
overnight he left the scene, he grew his hair,
sold his braces,
bought flared jeans, the works...
Bulldog had settled down!!!!
No longer a skinhead,
No longer part of something,
Just a guy like any other
and he did,
overnight he left the scene, he grew his hair,
sold his braces,
bought flared jeans, the works...
Bulldog had settled down!!!!
No longer a skinhead,
No longer part of something,
Just a guy like any other
Not long after his first child was born, Bob bought a scooter, primarily to get to work to support his wife and newly born child, this would be the start of a new leaf for Bob, gone were the troubled skinhead days, here was the new Bob, the cool Bob, the Bob with wheels, the Bob with a family, the Bob who knew who Bob was, the Bob who knew where Bob was going, he was called Bob and he would shout it from the rooftops.
It was around this time that Bob, to supplement his meagre wages delivering sausages, founded a band, always wanting to stand out in a crowd, he called the group “the Naturists” playing at various outdoor venues across the country, in all weathers, he can be seen in this “Naturist by choice” magazine article, on Bass guitar, playing a small club in mid winter, as can be clearly (or not) seen in this picture..
Finding himself spending more and more time on the road, eating fast food, sleeping in hotel rooms alone, Bob became depressed, turning to burgers and beer for comfort, this was beginning to take its toll on Bobs youthful good looks and physique.
A photograph taken by one of the band members, after a rather gruelling gig made Bob realise that once again he needed to change his life. He knew at that moment boxer-shorts were the way forward, no more shopping to please his many adoring female fans, he needed comfort now more than ever.
That week was to be his last appearance with the band he founded, he decided to head back to the area he was born, to get his life back, get in shape, get sorted... it was clear to him now, what he had been doing was not the Bob he wanted to be, he wanted to be a scooterist, to be in a club, to go places, do things... BOB was back!! He just hoped his trusted scooter would get him home.
Back in what Bob viewed as the centre of the universe, he arrived back in Bradford, needing to get in shape joined a local rugby club, where to his surprise he had a talent for rugby, and it wasn`t long before the pounds were falling off him, Ironically his team mates named him Bulldog Bob!!!
Getting in shape, bob joined a small group of scooterists, called the Road Runners, he soon became on of there leading members, gone was the long hair, the flared jeans, gone were the g-strings collected during years on the road with the band, this was who Bob wanted to be... this is where Bob belonged, in with the in crowd!!
Sadly all good thing come to an end, and the club dwindled away, Bob disillusioned left the road runners and joined an up an coming but small club “The Bob cats”, mainly due to the name, he figured people might think it was his club, he was No. 1...
The joy of this club was short lived, and once again Bob found himself at a cross roads in life, fuelled with beer and drugs he left the bobcats, vowing never ever to join another scooter club, “no club is good enough for me” he screamed as he rode into the sunset. That was the last anyone ever saw of Bulldog Bob...
Time passed, weeks turned to months, months to years, rumours of sightings up and down the country, people would say they had spoke to someone who had seen Bulldog, that he had become a solo rider!, but it was all hearsay, well intended, but confused people doing what they thought right, only once was there reason enough to check this out, a sighting at a party, Bob wearing a disguise, but once again it turned out to be false.
The years rolled on, Bulldog Bob was a distant memory for most folk, rarely brought up in conversation, except at scooter Multi-meets where he would get a mention now and then, “Remember that Bob, Bulldog Bob, he was a lad wasn`t he” they might say, “ I wonder what became of him” another might add.
It was outside the Horse & Groom, in Wibsey I first met Bulldog Bob, there were a few of us, milling around outside, the world had changed alot since Bob left Bradford, no smoking in public places was the cause of us being outside, when a big guy on a white Vespa rode past, he stopped and turned round, “Im BULLDOG BOB” he yelled from under his union jack helmet!!
“Is this a scooter club” he asked
“Is this a scooter club” he asked
“Your damm right it is” snarled Mick Greenwood, “SOUTH BRADFORD scooter club, what of it?” he snapped!
“Can I join you” he asked..... The rest is history,
Bulldog Bob had joined our club!
“Can I join you” he asked..... The rest is history,
Bulldog Bob had joined our club!
He still rides his white Vespa P2, tho mainly to travel to work, pride of place now is the GP 200, you might see him passing you by one day, the big guy with the Union Jack helmet, if you do give him a wave, or better still stop him for a chat, if you have a few hours spare!! you`ll be glad you did.
The story I have told has been recounted by Bob many times over the past 2 years, sitting on campsites, drinking beers, there aren’t many drug fuelled orgies or wild parties these days, but Bob`s stories of adventure and danger never cease to amaze us and keep us awake for hours.
Story re-told by Mark, South Bradford SC,
characters and events may not be entirely
accurate as I was pretty drunk when I heard them!