As a former Sports Reporter with the Abergavenny Chronicle in the 1950s, Don Chambers spent many a cold but memorable Saturday afternoon watching the Abergavenny Thurdays boss other teams around at Pen-y-Pound and further afield. With the recent announcement that there would be no Abergavenny Thursdays team playing football for the 2013/14 season, the Chronicle's Sportsdesk asked old Chambers to jot down a few recollections from the time he spent with the boys in green when they were a true force to be reckoned with.

So without further ado, why not join the old hack now as he wanders through the goalposts and down memory lane to remember the thrills, spills, and beautiful football the Thursdays were once renowned for.

REGARDED in these parts almost certainly and most of South Wales reluctantly, Abergavenny Thursdays were the best, nearly the best or one of the best sides to play in the Welsh League in "my days" which encompassed some of the 1950s and most of the following two decades.

Now let's try to untangle or interpret these epithets flying around in a breeze of aduration for what was, after all, a non-league side - meaning a team of semi-professionals, one-time members of League sides trying to rekindle their love of the game in a less-demanding arena but still with a pay packet at the end of the week for some.

Let's not forget, however, that although the Thursdays were non-league in the true professional sense, they still faced and gave a good account of themselves against Cardiff City, Newport County and Swansea - at least their reserve sides with the odd "big names" cropping up now and again, including, I think ex-Wales international Trevor Ford for one. John Charles and maybe brother Mel also also trod the green, green grass of Pen-y-Pound.

As an aside, John Charles later in life became the manager of Hereford United and one of my jobs, when working on newspapers in that area, was to telephone him after every match to get "the inside story" of the victory, or his outrage of suffering a defeat. We got on well.

The Thursdays' success story, for me at least, took off 60 years or so ago. My word! Am I really that age? Or is this my second lifetime? I was a young and virtually useless reporter on the Abergavenny Chronicle for the earlier part at least in the Fabulous Fifties, but I had one-hundred percent keenness on my side, a second-hand Raleigh bike and an interest in sport so sharp you could slice a crusty loaf from Burton's with it.

Sadly for me but a breath of fresh air, no doubt, for Chronicle readers, I was "called to the colours" in 1955 and off I went in my khaki uniform to various parts of Britain and a few postings on the continent. I continued to write - for The Wire magazine of the Royal Signals - but I missed my "home posting" in Pen-y-pound and my friendship with the players and staff, including Ray Lawrence, perhaps the best manager the team had.

Once a week, usually on a Monday, I would present myself in Ray's office to get his views on the last game, his campaign plan for the next one and his critique of my last report, which he often tore to pieces for being inaccurate about the referee's one-sidedness or vented his spleen on the opposition for rough play.

We spent the final half-hour at raised-voice frequency and I was almost always the gallant loser, mainly because he was bigger in stature than me and it was "his" team and not mine. So there!

Once in a while, the Thursdays' management would organise a dance, or social occasion, at the Angel Hotel and I was able to hang on to the coat-tails of the attendees to get a bite to eat or a shuffle on the dance floor.

On one occasion, however, dancing was certainly NOT on the menu. I was loafing about probably with a half-pint of something alcoholic in my hand, when Ossie Higgins came over "for a chat." Not any old chatter about nothing in particular, but what I had apparently written about his most recent performance. It was somewhat critical, I seem to remember.

Ossie, a former very handy boxer and normally a likeable chap with whom I had the odd exchange of words once in a while, usually on the team bus to and from the likes of Pembroke, Milford Haven, Aberystwyth. Or Ton Pentre.

However, on this occasion he was furious about a comment in my report, and he lifted me well off the ground - or was it the dance floor - and then casually dropped me.

Then he marched off to the bar and came back with a foaming pint for me. He did have a nice side, I discovered.

Another little hiccup in my reporting days came when the Thursdays were drawn to play (I think it was Wrexham away) in a Welsh Cup round in mid-winter. And as winters are often noted for snow, there had been a veritable storm of the stuff and our coach came to a halt in the Hereford area. Ray Lawrence nipped off the bus to make a phone call to the Wrexham ground and came back with the news that the pitch was unplayable and, therefore, there would be no football that day. Or the next week.

Ray made an announcement on the bus to say that the team players and others could stay in Hereford for an hour or so to have a meal or whatever, or they could go back to Abergavenny. Most opted to stay, while five of us, including me, wished to go back home. So Ray organised a private-hire car to take us back.

A major turning point at the Pen-y-Pound ground came when some of the more dedicated fans, including little old me, decided that it would be a good idea to form an Abergavenny Thursdays Supporters' Club. My old pal Bill Powell became chairman and I was taken on board as secretary, probably because I could arrange Press reports - and I had the added advantage of owning a typewriter.

The club held regular meetings, and a clubhouse was eventually built thanks financial support, and the building is still there.

Fairly recently, I was asked to drop in to give a talk to a group of men and women who used the club and just being there brought back to me the captivating aura of Abergavenny Thursdays and their Pen-y-Pound home.

No doubt the players, organisers and the many volunteers who turned up each week to keep the club alive, will shed a tear or two about the demise of a glorious episode in Abergavenny's sporting achievements over many years.