I ENJOYED reading about Harry Toffolo being sponsored by the Trust STFC and Swindon Town Supporters’ Club to play for the Town for the remainder of the current season - and it is interesting to note that they have been motivated to do so by the player’s expressed desire to become involved in the community.

At a time when too many young players' only encounter with community is when it precedes the word “service,” it is refreshing to see that one at least realises the privileged and fortunate position in which many footballers find themselves.

Of course, footballers aren’t special people, they just have that status conferred on them by those who watch them on a Saturday.

But they are in the public eye and their behaviour is constantly under scrutiny and is frequently commented on.

Some players are highly visible in their local community – the countless times I spotted Simon Ferry in my local supermarket made him seem like one of us and almost a local lad.

An impression reinforced when he told the tale to the Adver of dropping an Aston Villa shirt he had swapped during a league cup tie from his child’s pushchair as he walked up Drove Road with his girlfriend after the match.

Maybe the expensive car was in for a service, or maybe Simon couldn’t drive. Either way, it certainly created the impression that he wasn’t an overpaid sportsman with an ostentatious lifestyle.

Though it was probably set-up, the scene that was so wonderfully shot in the 1963 film ‘Six Days to Saturday’ by John Boorman (of ‘Deliverance’ fame) is nonetheless remarkable in that the young filmmaker chose to place two of ‘Bert’s Babes’ in a Ferndale sweet shop as the ideal setting to demonstrate their connection to the community.

That’s right, after a kickabout in the street (where else) with local kids, the action moves to the local confectioners, where Mike Summerbee and Ernie Hunt select some sherbet lemons, blackjacks or whatever (unfortunately I am unable to verify their choice of tooth-breaking treat as the film, which is still listed on the BBC Wiltshire website, appears to be no longer available).

It also features Mr & Mrs Owen Dawson shopping in Swindon town centre, wandering around as if they were somewhere glamorous. Maybe it was in those days?

In the era that the BBC Bristol documentary captured the behind-the-scenes activity of the club which boasted that great young side, many professional footballers were still on season-only contracts, which meant they were paid solely for the months they spent labouring through the mud of heavy early 1960s’ pitches but were then free agents after the last ball of the season had been kicked.

Mud featured heavily in the lives of the two stars above, as during the summer months when they were not burying defences at the County Ground, they were digging through it to bury the deceased townsfolk of Swindon at Radnor Street cemetery where they both worked as gravediggers.

It must be hard to imagine, in today’s world of bling Bentleys, that footballers actually did things that involved themselves in the local community.

And for many when their playing days were over, the pub, off-licence or sports shop beckoned as the post-football part of their lives took shape.

For one stalwart of the great Danny Williams’ side, taxi-driving was the career of choice.

Hailing a cab outside Swindon station in the late 1970s and 80s would often provide an encounter with the Geordie ex-midfielder Joe Butler.

Whenever I walked towards the line of cabs and noticed that the first one was being driven by the player the Danny called “his best ever-signing”, the emotional response was mixed.

I thought, 'great, I’m being driven home by one of my heroes', but this was quickly followed by the thought that he shouldn’t be driving a cab - he’s a legend and I’m not worthy to be in the presence of such greatness.

Despite having several opportunities to chat to him about his exploits I never did; I left him alone and reminisced quietly to myself about his part in that great side, not once wishing to impose myself on him by reminding him of his life before football.

I suppose I didn’t because I wanted to afford him the same respect as I would have any other cabbie for hire; just a polite good evening, tell him the destination and a thank you at the end of the journey.

Joey became part of our community through necessity, I hope that Harry plays his part equally well by choice.