A century before women’s football gained its current strength, in 1912, a girl was born in England who could for many reasons be called the first lady of football: Elizabeth Ellen Milburn, better known as Cissie. She is the link that bound the most famous football family in the history of this game. He was born in Ashington, a small mining town in the north, almost along the border with Scotland. Tanner Milburn was a famous shooter in those parts, he had five children: Jack, George, Cissie, Jim and Stan. Four men followed in his footsteps and had long careers as professional footballers: Jack, George and Jim at what would become the family club, Leeds United. Flat in Chesterfield and then Leicester.

But, interestingly, the one who felt the most passion for the number five was Elizabeth. Away from dolls, she played with a ball, hung out with her brothers and was, biographies say, the most mischievous and elusive. She dribbled like men, jumped on her head and dreamed of goals. “I cursed a thousand times that I was born a woman, otherwise I would have played professionally,” admitted a smiling, talkative, energetic and open woman. Their cousin Jackie Milburn, nicknamed Wor, who would be the family’s biggest star for decades, also participated in those little games: Jackie Wor, a big, boastful centre-forward, would become a famous scorer for Newcastle and the English national team. Two statues immortalize him, one near St. James’ Park, the Magpies’ stadium, and the other on Station Avenue, Ashington’s main street, because Jackie was the city’s hero.

Cissie surprised the entire Milburn clan by marrying a miner’s boyfriend who was not attracted to football: he was Robert Charlton. “What did you see in him…?”, they asked themselves in the house. Robert loved boxing and wrestling. They lived in spartan humility and shortly after the wedding they had two children who, when they opened their eyes, could already smell the leather and liniment from their uncle’s boots and socks: the oldest, Jackie, and the youngest, Bobby. The Charltons, who lifted the world champion crown with England on July 30, 1966 and raised the family dynasty to a universal level. There is a famous photo of Cissie, always radiant, showing a picture in the living room of her home of her two sons in England jerseys, before the ’66 World Cup match. They were his pride, but also the work of his persistence and passion.

To journalists who often visited her to record her fantastic story related to this sport, Cissie told that as a baby she used to come to matches in Ashington and leave them in a pram behind the dressing room. When the fans roared after the goal, the little ones started and jumped. Then when they were 11 and 10 I gave them some money for the bus and snacks and they went to Newcastle (15 miles away) on their own every fortnight to watch Uncle Jackie’s games. “That was the best,” Bobby remembers. “We tried to get as close to the pitch as possible to see our uncle, who was the idol of the fans.”

The eldest of the Charlton boys, cheerful like his mother, a great joker, became a giant (he was 1.91 when he arrived in the First League; he was nicknamed Giraffe), played as a defender and fulfilled the family mandate: he signed for Leeds, whose legend he would become. The player with the most appearances for the club -773- and 19 years as a star in the glory days of the Whites, with whom he won almost all possible trophies. He made his debut at 17 and retired at 36, never wearing another shirt. He would later be beloved in Irish football as a coach, leading the green team to their first ever European Championship (1988) and two World Cups (1990 and 1994) with great success. Jackie represented the fortitude and courage of his people and was awarded the Order of the British Empire.

But in the necklace of the Milburn-Charltons, those northern miners, there was an eighth pearl that would enter the legend of rectangles: Robert, a boy so extremely shy and withdrawn that they thought he was missing a nut. He never spoke. But he listened to his uncles, cousins, grandfather and already came with the football gene. Bobby was barely 10 years old when he started dazzling his teachers as a member of the school team. Word spread from there that the youngest Milburn-Charlton played a lot. Before it was not like now, where young talents are caught at the age of 8 or 9; They were allowed to fall more, had free will and developed their abilities in the wild.

Mr Hemingway, who had watched him play at school, wrote to Matt Busby, the famous manager of Manchester United, saying there was a little boy in Northumberland who “wondered with his game”. It seemed serious to Busby; He sent a scout to see him, Joe Armstrong, and even though Bobby didn’t stand out as usual that day, Armstrong was pleased. He spoke to Cissie and cut to the chase, “I don’t mean to tease you, ma’am, but your son will be playing for England before he’s twenty-one.” However, he was not the only one with information; a bunch of emissaries arrived at the Charlton house to recruit him. Dad Bob was always in the mine, and his mother and I had to talk about football. As she was told that Bobby was good but a bit slow, she took it upon herself to train him personally. “I would take him to the park and order him to do sprints of twenty and thirty meters, over and over again. I don’t know if it helped, but he got the cap of the English national team,” said the determined mother. Jackie got her out, but Bobby had to be pushed.

Armstrong went to see him at all the school games to approach the family and reassure them, but the education authorities were reluctant to let the scouts go, wary that many of them wanted to do business with the most prominent children (as early as 1953). When they tried to prevent him from entering, he said, “I’m your uncle, Uncle Joe.” And to show more credibility, he was accompanied by his wife, “Aunt Sally”. Despite his strategy, it wasn’t easy: “The scouts came every day, sometimes one was in the living room and the other was in the kitchen,” Cissie recalled. Eighteen clubs wanted Bobby and promised me a month. One delegate offered me £800 and another said he had £550 in his briefcase.” Wealth at the time. But Armstrong’s insistence was rewarded, he took him to Manchester and put him up in the club’s guesthouse. I was 15 years old. By law, he could not sign a contract until the age of 17, so he had to work. The club found him a job at a construction site near the stadium. When he turned 17, he made his debut in the First League, scored two goals and from then on he was what he was: Sir Bobby Charlton, the greatest English footballer of all time. I was 11 years old when I saw him for the first time and I was dazzled by that half-bald lefty who skated like he was on ice skates.

“I’m very happy, they take me to all United games for free,” he said a few years ago. He can’t do it anymore. Bobby Charlton died yesterday at the age of 86. England will pay the due tribute. (OR)