Totally Frank: The Autobiography of Frank Lampard. Frank Lampard

time I know I was a chubby kid. There’s no getting away from it. I had good feet and a good touch so I could score a lot of goals through using my head and the talent that went with it. Things changed for me when I went to West Ham at first though. I struggled with my mobility and had trouble getting round the pitch. I realized quickly that it was harder to get in the box and score goals at that level and as that season passed and the next one started there was a difference again, moving from first year YT and into the second.

      Fortunately, nature kicked in and helped me out. I was a bit of a late developer and through the age of 16 I grew up. I stretched a bit in height and as a result lost some of the weight. I was stronger and I remember thinking that I was all grown up but that season taught me I still had some way to go. To Swansea and back to be precise.

      I remember vividly Harry telling me that he wanted me to go on loan. I was lying in bed chilling out in the afternoon after training at my Mum and Dad’s house when the phone went. Mum answered and brought the handset to me.

      ‘Listen Frank,’ he said. ‘An opportunity has come up for you to go on loan.’

      ‘Where?’ I asked nervously.

      ‘Swansea. I know it’s lower league but it’ll be good for you. Build you up son.’

      I was very unsure. It felt like I was being rejected. I had spent all of my life at and around West Ham and here I was being told that my best chance of staying for a long time was to leave in the short term. I was also confused. I didn’t want to leave home. Not even for a few weeks. What if it went well? Maybe I would end up being there even longer? Home and my family had always been very important to me and I kind of wanted to make that point to Harry. He would understand. He was my uncle after all.

      ‘I’m not sure Harry,’ I replied. ‘Maybe it would be better if I stayed with the club and did a bit more training, maybe a bit more in the gym and stuff. That’ll build me up.’

      I don’t know if he was listening to me or not. I was so panicked that I wasn’t able to sense a reaction one way or the other to my plea for leniency.

      ‘You have to be there tomorrow,’ he said bluntly. ‘You’ll be fine. It’ll do you good.’

      I didn’t even know where Swansea was. I had just passed my driving test and had to get a map out. I was just getting to feel a permanent part of the set-up at Upton Park and Wales seemed a very long way away.

      Dad – though he believes that I have gone on to a higher level than he played at – experienced similar things to me in terms of improving himself. The late Ron Greenwood was manager at West Ham and pulled him in when he was 18 to be told that he was going on loan to Torquay. At the time, going on loan was not the same as it is now for a young player – it was almost like being sold. He resisted though it must have been a very hard call for him to make; he thought the world of Ron Greenwood and respected him greatly as a manager and a man. To refuse his wishes was a big step. West Ham was a successful club at the time and there seemed to be a conveyor belt of talent which spanned the youth and first team from which good players would simply fall into positions all over the pitch. Dad knew what he wanted though. He got his head down and grafted. He did his spikes and worked phenomenally hard and had to go through a very tough process to get where he wanted to be – at West Ham, nowhere else.

      One of Dad’s favourite sayings is something which Greenwood told him and Harry when they were youth players at the club. Occasionally he would turn up at their training session, and when he spoke to them he always said the same thing: ‘Simplicity is genius.’ Greenwood was widely seen as being ahead of his time technically and tactically and in my Dad he had a willing pupil. At the age of 17 he and Harry went back to their old school to coach fourteen year olds – something I did at the same age when I was at West Ham. Teaching kids helped me realize what I had learned – and how to apply it better. Maybe I was more talented but he wanted to instill the same work ethic in me. It was good for me. Though I understand Dad’s decision to stick it out at West Ham he didn’t give me any choice – he also told me I had to go.

      I was full of trepidation about leaving home. I had only just got my Ford Fiesta Si and was worried about driving on the motorway. I was also worried about the football. I was 17 and saw myself as a ball-playing midfielder. My strength – because I didn’t have much physically – was getting on the ball and playing a bit. How was I supposed to do that in the old Second Division? I wasn’t even sure what kind of football they played on the pitches of the lower leagues. I wasn’t disrespectful. I was ignorant. I genuinely didn’t know. I am actually quite proud of it though. The experience made me stronger physically and mentally and I am grateful for it. It turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. I believe that I went there as a boy and came back a man.

      I had to grow up in many ways. For a start, I was lodged in a hotel which was a bit traumatic in itself. I was used to being at home and having my family around for support. Just eating dinner with Mum and Dad or mucking around with Claire and Natalie helped take the pressure off. And I was separated from my mates.

      Swansea’s training ground was a bit grotty and I was shocked at the lack of facilities, never mind the difference in the way they played. There was an Irish lad there who was on loan from Wolves – Robbie Dennison. He was an old pro and had a cynical side to him which goes with years of experience at the less glamorous end of the game. I’m not sure what he thought of me at first but he ended up being a really good lad. We were in the same digs and had a couple of beers together on the odd night.

      Though I was homesick I made the most of the time. I learned a lot from training and playing with guys who only ever knew football as a hard slog of a job, where making enough to pay the bills was the first priority. I learned respect for my fellow professionals – regardless of ability.

      Everything was very different from West Ham and most of it was a surprise. When you got there in the morning the kit was all rolled up and if you were late in you might not get something you needed for training. We had to fight for everything. We walked a few hundred yards to the training pitch and it always seemed to be cold and raining. I was a bit of a novelty for most of them but they all turned out to be decent lads. It was old school though – training at the stadium before the games and then doing some weights. At West Ham we were pampered by comparison – your kit was always laid out nice and neat and everything was prepared for you. At Swansea, a different player would take the whole kit each week and clean it. I managed to avoid that chore as I was staying in a hotel and because I didn’t stay long enough for anyone to notice I hadn’t taken a turn.

      In all, I stayed two months and played a few games. I even scored at Brighton and we won but there was neither room nor time for glory boys down there. I was clocking up the miles in my little dark-blue Fiesta at weekends, dashing back to Romford listening to a few dance tunes and wondering what Rio and Hodgey had been up to, knowing I would get the full story as soon as I arrived. The Swansea boys were a good bunch though and near the end of my time we had a couple of nights out in the town after games. We were in one particular pub with Robbie and few of the lads when this huge Welsh bloke squared up to me. I think he knew who I was. ‘Why don’t you f*** off back to London you cockney bastard,’ he growled. I was small compared to this bloke and not really in the mood to lose most of my teeth. I didn’t want to involve anyone else and just said ‘All right, I’m leaving.’ And I did leave.

      For my second last game while I was there I was put on the bench because they knew I didn’t want to extend the loan and stay another month. It was coming up to Christmas and I wanted to be back home. It was the right time to go back. We only won about two games and there were only a couple of thousand fans there at best watching us struggle to avoid relegation. But it was worth the pain. Rio agreed: he went to Bournemouth and came back much improved, as I had. I see kids at 17 now at Chelsea and I know they wouldn’t last five minutes at that level of football. West Ham then was probably more than they could cope with but I went to Swansea and survived. I came back stronger. Though not that strong apparently.

      I still had skinny legs and I knew I had to build up my muscles. Dad knew it too and he used to get me running from box to box after training. A real midfielder’s run: get up, get back, get up, get back.