Dorking and Enfield step in as Storm Bert robs me of a trip to an enchanted forest

It was all planned and all prepared for, but then the weather stepped in.

Damn you, Storm Bert. You cost me a trip to an enchanted forest.

I’m awoken on Saturday morning by the sound of the wind whistling against the window on the front of my dad’s house in Horsham, and a peer out of the window confirms what I could tell from the noises I could hear. This is going to be one of those weeks when “MATCH POSTPONED” starts trending on social media. By about 10.30 in the morning it’s been joined on the trending subjects by “MATCH OFF”, “GAME OFF” and “PITCH INSPECTION”.

As per my preview piece on Friday, Roffey was a gem that I hadn’t discovered before. Apparently cut out of a clearing in a forest, it also had the advantage of being only a shortish walk from the house that I’m staying in this weekend. But even while writing the preview it was clear that this match might not even go ahead. A storm was coming, and all the social media chatter about non-league matches this weekend felt a little optimistic as a result of this.

Roffey falls first, just after 11. No enchanted forest for Ian this week. Pack up the fairy lights and dismantle the hog roast they’ve prepared just for me, in my imagination. I’ve taken the precaution of picking a back-up game at another SCFL club, Horsham YMCA, but that falls too, an hour later. By the time these announcements are made, it’s clear that this isn’t going to happen either and it’s no surprise whatsoever when the confirmation comes through just after midday.

From your perspective, dear reader, this is probably a good thing. The last time I went to their ground at Gorings Mead it was Boxing Day 2016 and on a bitterly cold afternoon of bright sunshine the football was very much a background distraction as the full weight of the collapse of my marriage fell upon me. Considering the pressures that I’ve been under recently, I can assure you that it wouldn’t have made for a very enjoyable write-up for you guys. Things might well have gotten dark.

But there is also a third option. Dorking Wanderers vs Enfield Town in the National League South. It’s a twenty-odd minute journey north to get there, but I’ve been there before so I know where it is once I get there and it won’t quite break the bank, so before I know it I’m shuffling out the door and on my way to the railway station.

Southern rail have cut half the trains from Horsham to Dorking “because weather” or something, but I’m still standing outside Dorking railway station at twenty to two, cowering from the wind and half-wondering whether I’d have been better off staying at home with a mug of cocoa, some biscuits, and a black and white film.

I am on my own, this particular weekend. It’s dadsitting weekend, when my overworked sister gets a couple of days off from looking after my dad, who’s descent towards the k-hole of dementia is starting to gather place. My girlfriend is at a hen lunch in Shoreditch for a wedding we’re going to on the Saturday before Christmas (if you want a write-up on that, hell I’ll write one, just don’t expect it to be very coherent), and I’m glad she’s not being subjected to this onslaught of appalling weather too. This is definitely not leopardskin puffa jacket weather.

I was last here in February to see Dorking Wanderers get absolutely turned over by Ebbsfleet United in a relegation six-pointer. Ebbsfleet ended up surviving the drop by two points, while Dorking were relegated by eight. Dorking’s return to the National League South has been solid, if not spectacular. They arrive for this match in 6th place in the table, a play-off place, albeit one that would require them to play a quarter-final should they end up in that position, They’re also only five points behind the division’s (extremely) surprise leaders, Weston-super-Mare. There’s still a lot to play for.

There is for their opponents this afternoon, too. With just ten points from their first sixteen games of the season, Enfield Town are rooted to the bottom of the table. This was always going to be a tall order following promotion from the Isthmian League at the end of last season, and it does feel a little as though this may have been a step too far for them this time around. But they’re still kinda in touch with the rest—they’re six points from safety at kick-off—so it’s hardly as though they’ve been completely cut adrift just yet.

They’ve only won three games in the league this season, and the last one of those was at the start of October against Weymouth. Ironically, one of their other two wins this season came against the now-leaders Weston-super-Mare in August. Still, crowds have been considerably improved—their average of 860 so far this season is up 150 on last time around—and they’ve been crowdfunding a new stand, so it hasn’t been a completely unmitigated disaster yet. And it bears repeating that the fans own the club. Enfield Town have a greater role to play than the success of their men’s team alone. That’s just the truth of being a community club.

The rain is falling in sheets, as though it can’t wait to be out of the sky, by the time I get to Meadowbank, Dorking’s ground. There is no queue for those among us who bought our tickets on the way over, just a quick flash of a QR code. Everybody is already under cover. Meadowbank doesn’t have quite as much of that as most grounds at this level. The side opposite the main stand is just a strip of tarmac with two enormously over-sized dugouts obscuring the view—this is a club where the owner is also the team manager, so perhaps this is no great surprise—while one end is just a few steps of open terracing.

The last time I was here there was no entrance to the bar, and as I sip my pint and look out of the window at the dismal, dismal weather, it occurs to me what a relief it is that this isn’t the case this time around. I’ve already stopped in three pubs on the way here to cower from the weather. Much more of this rain and I’ll be a little unsteady on my feet.

The teams take to the pitch to Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now by McFadden & Whitehead. Dorking were dressed as Paraguay last season. They’re cosplaying as Arsenal, this time around. Enfield are in yellow and blue. I remain unpersuaded that clubs should wear their away kit for every away match, as so many seem to do these days, but at least in their colours today they’re in the right away colours.

The game itself never quite catches light. Dorking are clearly the better team, but Enfield’s defence holds firm and chances are thin on the ground. When a goal does finally arrive, it’s very simple. George Francomb swings a free-kick into the penalty area and Alfie Rutherford heads in to give the home side the lead. It’s the sort of goal that makes you wonder why teams simply don’t do it more often. They still lead by the interval, though they haven’t looked especially convincing. The rain blowing horizontally across the pitch certainly isn’t helping matters.

And three minutes into the second half, with the bar still packed with those among us who are reluctant to back out into the inclement conditions, Enfield level things up. A cross from the left tees up Sam Youngs to score, to a soundtrack of groans from most of those watching from behind a sheet of extremely reinforced glass. As darkness starts to fall, the game becomes increasingly bitty and the second half ends up offering even less by way of entertainment than the first had managed.

The dark does at least offer a broader perspective on just how bad the conditions have got. The rain blows horizontally across in front of the floodlights, shimmering like a murmuration. It would be nice to say that I hit a point at which I just didn’t feel the wet any more, but that would be a lie. My monkey boots are not the most waterproof of footwear at the best of times, and these are definitely not the best of times, exacerbated by having stepped without looking into an enormous puddle outside the railway station earlier.

At the full-time whistle, there’s a swell of grumbling from all around me. Enfield and their travelling supporters seem happy enough with the point. That’s the nature of being bottom of the table, and that gap from safety has now been reduced to five, so they’re not out of the game yet, although there is still clearly work to be done. Dorking, meanwhile, are now seven points from the top of the table and have dropped a place in the league table to 7th into the bargain, still a play-off place, but not quite the race to get back up that they might have been expecting following relegation.

I squelch my way back to the railway station, and on the train back to Horsham I entertain myself with the other important team in London beating Manchester City on their home turf for a quite extraordinary win. The train gets back just before half-time and they’re just kicking off the second half by the time I get home. It’s warm. It’s cosy. Dad seems happy, though as ever we can’t really relax until Brennan Johnson scores their fourth goal, a couple of minutes into stoppage-time, and there have been no major incidents while I was away.

Perhaps the universe simply didn’t want me to go to this particular enchanted forest on this particular weekend. There’ll be plenty of other opportunities. What I ended up with instead was a reasonably diverting afternoon out, even if Storm Bert seemed inclined to try and spoil any matches that he couldn’t get called off in the first place. Not this time, Bert, not this time. The replacement match for a replacement match ended up turning out just fine.