John Bond's death brings back memories of ex-pro brother

I was a spotty teenager with a voice that had hardly broken when I sat in John Bond's office in Bournemouth with my brother and my parents to watch him sign professional terms with the club, then in the old Div 3 or 4.

Bond's death reawoke those long-buried memories today, of a geezer who charmed me and my parents. he came straight out of the West Ham school of courtesy and my brother was delighted to have been employed so quickly after being turfed out of Chelsea.
Tim, who died 10 years ago, was himself only 16 when he signed apprentice terms with Chelsea. It had been clear for a couple of years to my Dad, who knew his football, that Tim was streets ahead of any other local players in the Devon leagues he played in. At 12 or 13, Tim was playing in the local men's league, and was well over 6 foot tall when he was 14.
A strong centre-forward, he had a trial with Torquay United when he had just turned 16. My father, never one to believe in being retiring, wrote a very polite letter to the country's five biggest clubs at the time offering Tim's services. Only one, Chelsea, responded, inviting Tim to a trial at the club's training ground in Hendon.
My Dad wrote a gripping short story about that day, but suffice to say he was the only player selected by the youth team coaches Frank Blumstone and Ken Shellitoe, both legendary Chelsea figures.
He was unlucky. He landed with Chelsea at a time when Osgood was in his prime and the club had stars coming out of its ears. But he had a wonderful time as Chelsea marched towards winning the FA Cup and finishing third in Division One.
But there had been no injuries and Tim had only had a few chances to appear in the Reserves, so I don't think he was surprised when he was one of half a dozen youngsters called into Dave Sexton's office and told their services were no longer required.
He had only just arrived home in Devon when the call came from Bond himself, asking if Tim would sign for him. The job was Bond's first in management and I have no idea how he had heard of my brother. But we jumped in the car again and headed up the coast to Bournemouth.
Things didn't go fantastically. Bond had also signed one of the most potent attacking pairs in the country, Ted McDougall and Phil Boyer, so he struggled to break into the first team. Then Bond decided he needed Tim as a centre-half, which Tim enjoyed. He loved the physical game and kicking centre-forwards into the air became his none-too-subtle trademark.
Bond took the first team to promotion and once again there was no room for my brother, effectively on the scrapheap of football by the time he was 18. Still, he insisted he would never have swapped those two years for anything else and Bond at least let him down gently.
It was always a cruel irony that the day we went to Bournemouth to sign the contract, a certain Phil Boersma, manager of then Division One Queen's Park Rangers, phoned our home to ask if Tim would sign. Imagine how different things might have been if mobile phones had existed back in the 1970s!