STEVE Kindon sits in the sunshine, a cup of coffee and a half-lit cigarette on the table in front of him, and for the next two-and-a-half hours he dips into the archives from an era when football was perhaps a less complicated pastime.

He talks like he played, with great spontaneity and passion, so much from the heart, and with such zest that made him one of the most popular players ever to wear the claret and blue jersey.

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The memories spill out like a babbling Lake District stream in full spate, stories about Jimmy Greaves, George Best, Dave Wagstaffe, Martin Dobson and Bob Lord, Turf Moor’s autocratic chairman.

Then there was football’s hard men, Tommy Smith, Ron Harris and Norman Hunter.

“I am not saying Tommy Smith was tough,” he grins, “but he was born on 5 April 1945 and a month later Germany surrendered.

“Chopper (Harris) and Tommy would not last five minutes today. The art of tackling is dead. You are not allowed to tackle any more.”

Kindon was a rampaging winger with his roots in rugby union. One commentator likened Kindon to a flying wardrobe, while fans nicknamed him Skippy when he bounded down the wing during his two spells at Turf Moor.

At 17 he was in Burnley’s First Division squad. His youthful impulsiveness was quickly rewarded, his debut coming against West Ham United at the Boleyn Ground. “There was no fear that day,” he recalls. “You are just so full of belief at that age.

“I lined up for the kick-off and one of their lads said ‘Your first game today son?’ — I nodded and he added ‘Well, all the best then’. It was Harry Redknapp. I never forgot that kind gesture.

“I had big John Angus behind me, a mighty man, and he growled ‘This is my boy, Harry. I do not want anything bad happening to him.

“If Bonzo (Billy Bonds) gives him a rough ride, any elbows or daft stuff, I promise I will do twice the damage to you.

“John was my protector but I was not soft. I have got a lisp and I got in a lot of fights at school because of it.”

His dad gave him some useful advice in how to deal with it.

“I did not have any trouble after that,” he says.

Kindon is 65 in December but plucks line-ups out of the air from nearly half a century ago as if he is reading from a team-sheet hot off the press.

He says: “My home bow was against West Ham too. I went out an hour before kick-off to try my studs on the pitch because it was raining cats and dogs.

“When I looked up I could see the Pennine Moors in the distance and a fine drizzle slanting against the floodlights.

“I thought,‘What a beautiful sight. What a wonderful stadium. This is your night, Steve.’ “I scored in a 3-1 win and that victory was the first of eight in a row for Burnley.

“We beat the mighty Leeds United 5-1 in that run — Gary Sprake, Paul Madeley, Terry Cooper, Billy Bremner, Jack Charlton and all — one of only two defeats suffered by Leeds that season when they won the league.”

Sometimes he would shamble about on the wing like an amiable bear, before rousing into life like a roused panther pursuing his prey.

“It was more of a man-to-man duel then and the Burnley crowd always supported me, I think, because I gave my all every time,” he says. “I could be clumsy too and if I missed an open goal, they would go ‘Well, at least Kindo had a go’. I think they could identify with me because of that.”

Kindon possessed the speed of an Ascot thoroughbred and the strength of a carthorse.

He recalls: “I was that type of player — I could provide that big adrenaline rush, beat a full-back, go on a big run and whip a cross in and the Bee Hole Terrace would go ‘Whoah’. I got people off their seats.

“Today’s game is a series of duels, so, naturally, football is more formulaic. But then I look at some Premier League goalkeepers and they have more skill than I ever had in the outfield. I admire today’s game tremendously but it does not excite me.”

When Burnley’s would-be Team of the Seventies were relegated from the top flight, Kindon was sold to Wolverhampton Wanderers for £100,000.

Behind the laughter, though, lies a man still in love with football, albeit a vastly different game than when Kindon roared down the wing like a runaway steam roller.

He is the sort of old head the Football Association should be employing to promote the game’s many virtues and help disprove theories that sport is being run by a gang of half-wits. He talks common sense, understands the game, but like so many of the great entertainers from yesteryear he is an outsider looking in.

We can still enjoy the warm memories of a man who, these days, entertains thousands every year on the after-dinner circuit.

When I ask Kindon to name his favourite Burnley player the response is immediate.

“Ralph Coates — he was a humble guy, and always generous with his time for me,” says Kindon. “In his pomp, and for 18 months at Burnley, Ralph was everything Bobby Charlton was at Manchester United. I miss Ralph every day — he was a great friend.”

What is obvious, though, as we chat in his garden at his Lytham home, that Kindon’s second spell at Burnley is one he still views with particular satisfaction.

They were rooted to the bottom of the table when Kindon returned in November 1977 — but he scored in his first game back, versus Notts County — and finished the season as leading scorer with Burnley anchored safely in mid-table. Lord described Burnley’s recovery as a miracle.

“Bob Lord completely divided opinion at Burnley,” recalls Kindon. “My best pal, Paul Fletcher, produced a book to raise funds for Burnley in their darkest hour in 1987 when they had to beat Orient to stay in the League.

“He asked several ex-players to write about an episode in their career. I wrote about Bob Lord, who had a reputation for being a tough negotiator. Bob was a hard man but he always wanted the best for Burnley.”

Aged 17, Kindon was told he would present the trophy and medals after a schoolboys’ final at Turf Moor. He was also told he would have to give a speech at the town hall ahead of the ceremony.

Kindon said that when the time for the speech arrived, he told Lord he did not think he could go through with it. Kindon recalls: “Mr Lord reminded me the majority of those present were boys. ‘They want you to be what you are — their hero’, he said.”

TOMORROW: Kindon recalls Turf Moor’s most infamous match and the day Cloughie saved his bacon.