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Almost every day I would do spikes. Mum got very annoyed because she had grown a beautiful lawn of lush green grass and there I was ripping it to shreds. Sometimes I did it with Dad’s supervision, sometimes not. If Dad had been out and he found me in my room doing homework or watching TV he would always ask me, ‘Have you done your spikes?’ I was quite proud when I could say yes. When I couldn’t, he wouldn’t be forceful. Instead, he had a great knack of suggesting that if I didn’t do them then bad things would happen. Not punishment of any kind. Oh no, worse – I wouldn’t get quicker, more agile or have more stamina. In other words, I might come up short when it came to making the grade as a player.
For me, that threat was enough. Out I went no matter the weather and did my spikes. I still did them even after I turned professional. I used to hide them at West Ham’s Chadwell Heath training ground because I was embarrassed but after training, when all the other older pros had gone home, I would run up and down outside the gym. Dad would sometimes catch sight of me from his office across the way and I would see him smile or nod. I became quite superstitious about it. Of course, it didn’t help having Dad ask me all the time – even when I was in the West Ham first team. That was the thing with Dad. He didn’t want to have to tell me. He wanted me to do it of my own accord.
It wasn’t just me he affected in that way though. When Rio Ferdinand and I were apprentices at West Ham he would take Rio after training and do an hour’s practice on his heading. Rio is an incredibly talented footballer. He can do things with his feet that a lot of ball players would struggle to. But when it was decided that he should be a defender, he wasn’t the best with his head. Dad coached him and after a while Rio took it upon himself to find someone else to help him practise. The most important lesson was mental discipline and all of the players at the very highest level have it.
Gianfranco Zola used to hit more than a hundred balls every day after training was finished at Chelsea. When everyone else headed for the showers Franco stood in front of the goal and concentrated for a while longer. Bang, bang, bang. He was like a metronome. Even he, one of the most sublimely talented footballers I have ever played with, knew he needed to practise. It’s common among the elite and rare among the ordinary. Wayne Rooney does it when we are training with England. So do I.
Dad introduced me to that, was instrumental in instilling it, and it has been crucial to my development. Now I come across young kids who think because they have a contract with Chelsea they have made it. They drive nice cars and can’t wait to get into them and speed off after training. There are some good ones who will hang around and do a bit extra. I often stay on and practise shooting or free-kicks and one or two of the academy lads want to learn. They’ve got a chance of making it. I did my spikes and my agility training. I also practised in the park with the ball for hours.
Even before I signed for West Ham my Dad would take me to Chadwell Heath when the players had a day off and he would work on different aspects of my game. He would smash balls off the wall of the gym and make me stand with my back to the wall. I had to turn when I heard the ball rebound and react to whatever came my way. Dad knew that agility was a big part of succeeding in the middle of the park and I had to bring the ball under control. At times it was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially when it was freezing in the wind and miserable with rain. I still went though. He was obsessed with that kind of thing and in turn he made me obsessed. I was only 14 at the time.
I remember Tony Cottee was the man at West Ham then and Dad told me that Tony’s Dad had brought him to the ground and done the same thing that we were doing. It was his way of goading me into trying even harder, a sort of ‘He did it and look where he is’ kind of thing. I remember thinking that if Tony Cottee did it then I wanted to do it. It wasn’t usual to do that kind of work with a 14-year-old and I realized even then that my life was different from other kids. Most boys that age would never take up that kind of training but I was fortunate that Dad saw weaknesses before they were even there.
He was ahead of the game for that reason. He had a vision of how football was going and where it would eventually end up. When he played in the seventies, the game was much slower and less technical, athletic and competitive. It was completely different. Teams are tactically more aware now as well as physically stronger and my Dad, unlike a lot of others, saw that coming. He told me I had to increase my pace and strength. He would go on and on at me and I got fed up and angry with the constant nagging. When I was eleven I played in a game which hadn’t gone well. Dad was angry with me but I didn’t know what I had done wrong. He sat me down and got a pen and paper and explained to me how important it was when you played in midfield to cover runners. Before then, if someone played a one-two around me I would try to intercept the ball and the guy running would get played in behind me.
It’s the kind of thing that most kids don’t get coached on until youth level and there I was having it drilled in to me aged eleven. Covering runners is not fun and was probably the last thing I wanted to do. I was like every other kid who just wanted to get the ball and play without thinking about the consequences of the guy running in behind me. As you get older though, you realize their importance defensively and it gave me a head start.
I was already a very competitive child. Hardly surprising given my Dad’s career though my Mum was always the one who encouraged me to keep going and do better. Right from the start Dad was great at identifying the things I should work on and needed to improve but it was Mum who told me I should do it for myself. There is a photograph from that time which was taken at one of the summer schools. Even now Mum reminds me of it. I was not a good-looking child by any stretch and there’s me with my chubby little face and geeky teeth. ‘Who would have thought that you would be the one who ended up playing for Chelsea and England?’ she likes to say.
I am not alone in our family in having the honour to have played for my country. Dad played for England as did my cousin Jamie. When we were growing up, I can’t say that it felt unusual to be surrounded by people who were so immersed in football. How could it be? It was mostly all I had known and I just assumed that every family was like mine. I was wrong.
Bobby Moore used to come to our house to see Dad. I would walk into the lounge and the two of them would be there chatting about West Ham and football, with Mum fussing around with tea and biscuits. It never occurred to me that the man who had lifted the World Cup as captain of England was sitting on my couch.
Even when we went to Uncle Harry’s it didn’t really register that there was something very different, very special about my family. It was just us. I used to go to their house in Bournemouth on holiday every year and it was like going to the beach. My cousin Mark was also a very good footballer but his career was cut short by a bad knee injury. Whenever we all got together we talked about football. There were exceptions but not many.
Summer down at the Redknapps was a great season and they had a big party for Jamie’s birthday. The whole thing was over two days and when I turned up I was star struck. A few of the Liverpool boys were there, including Robbie Fowler. Trevor Sinclair was there too, though there was no doubt who the stars of the day were. It was the time of the infamous ‘spice boys’ and the lads had turned out in force. Jamie was very trendy and always first with new fashions. Quite a few times I got back from Bournemouth and told Mum what she needed to be buying to make me look good. On this particular occasion the lads were in Ralph Lauren shirts and tailored jeans.
There was a big barbeque in the garden of the house and it was crazy. There were gorgeous girls everywhere and, of course, Jamie was the king, the one they all wanted to talk to. It was an incredible sight. Jamie was cruising around with his mates, talking to everyone. I, on the other hand, felt a bit self-conscious. I was a lot younger and would not have blamed Jamie if he hadn’t even noticed that I’d turned up. Thing is, though, he always had time for me. I can’t imagine that too many big cousins who were in his position and at that party would have but he was very much like a big brother. When you grow up with someone like that you are always looking to them to set the standard and example. I went on my first boys’ holiday to Cyprus with Jamie, Don Hutchison and couple of Jamie’s mates from Bournemouth. I’m not sure how I ended up going at 17 but I persuaded my Mum it would be okay.
I had already been to Bermuda with my parents that summer. Dad did some coaching out there with former West Ham striker Clyde Best. I put some suntan oil on my face when I was there and came out in a big rash. I couldn’t believe it. I was going on holiday with Liverpool’s pin-up boy and his mates and I looked a real mess. They were brilliant though. He didn’t need the responsibility of having his little cousin there but he looked after me despite my beetroot face. While we were there we went into the main square of the town and before we knew it there was a huge crowd of people asking for autographs and to have pictures taken with him.
He was being really nice to everyone who approached him. I know now that it can become a nuisance. After all, you are there with your mates and trying to relax. In fact, I have seen players in that situation react very differently. I’ve seen some be very rude and tell people to get lost and the like – especially after a couple of beers. But Jamie was polite and it set something going in me. I thought that if I ever got to that level then I wanted to be like him. I appreciated how he was dealing with everyone. It was a lesson I wanted to be able to emulate. There’s no doubt that the more famous you become the harder it is to have time for everyone. Even now, you can be in a rush or have the baby in your arms and the last thing you want to do is sign an autograph but I think about Jamie in that square and what it taught me.
There was something about Jamie – he could cope with the demands and the pressure even though he was only 22 at the time. He just handled it and got on with things. We didn’t get to spend too much time together because of the distance between us when he lived in Liverpool but he always had good advice for me on the phone and I could call him whenever I wanted. He always had time for me and wanted to know how I was doing.
Even when I was 18 I was still learning from him. He came to train at Chadwell Heath when he was recovering from an injury while he was at Liverpool. We had a goal painted on a wall in the gym and in the corners of the goal were circles no bigger than the size of a ball. Each circle had a different number attached so that the top right corner was 1 and bottom right 2 and so on. Jamie and I wandered in there after I had finished a session and started messing around. He lined up a shot and shouted a number.
‘One.’ And the ball flew dead on target.
‘Four.’ Different corner. Same result.
‘Two.’ And again. And so on.
It was my turn. I was lucky to hit the goal never mind a circle. Jamie didn’t laugh or take the piss. He stopped me and started lining my body up and then gave me some advice. That was Jamie all over. Always wanting to help. I guess because of that it was quite weird when we came up against each other on the field.
I played against Liverpool with West Ham and we were head to head in midfield. He went in hard on me and it was a little bit over the ball on the knee. He got up straight away, panicked that he had hurt me. Like me, he is very family orientated and I would not have thought for a moment that he had tried to do me but he was concerned that I was okay.
The tables were turned a few years later when we faced each other again when he was at Spurs. I caught him with my studs and almost ruined his good looks with a scar. I remember feeling the same panic he must have felt all those years ago. He ended up with about thirty stitches in his mouth and had to have surgery. He reminds me of it sometimes. I cringe at the thought.
I love Jamie the person – our relationship as mates has really blossomed over the past few years. We speak all the time and one of the things which says a lot about his character is that despite all the difficulties he had with injuries and sheer bad luck there has never been a single shred of jealousy about him. He has been a positive influence and encouraging voice throughout for me.
Jamie is one of those people in life who genuinely wants to know about others, their thoughts and views on the game as well as on life. He makes people comfortable and that’s why he is such a natural on television and why he will succeed in management if he chooses to go into it.
Jamie was as good a role model as I could have wished for and as I got older the competitive spirit which had emerged in football began to manifest itself in just about every sport I took part in. As well as football I played cricket and was good enough to play for Essex at Under-12 to Under-15 level.
By that time my week was crammed full of sport. On Monday nights I went to Chelmsford to do nets with Essex cricket team. Tuesday was West Ham training and Wednesday was school team match or training. Thursday was Arsenal training while Friday was Tottenham and then on Saturday there was a school team game and then back to Sunday playing for Heath Park.
There was a point when I liked cricket almost as much as I did football. I was about eleven or twelve and Dad had played cricket for England schoolboys and was very good – probably better than me. He pushed me a bit but was wary that it might become as important as football. I liked it because I went to a school where they paid a lot more attention to cricket than football. I enjoyed batting and bowling. I was happy doing them and was more of an all-rounder, and that was what made me love the game as a younger kid.
At 14 I was playing in the first XI at cricket a year before I was at football which made it appear that I was better at cricket than I was at football but that wasn’t true. Maybe the cricket team wasn’t quite so good. I was a very stubborn little batsmen. I wasn’t strong enough to whack it everywhere but I was dogged. I would just block what I couldn’t hit far and stay in as long as I could – the Geoffrey Boycott type.
When I got older I had to field and that’s when I lost patience as well as interest. A lack of patience is one of my weaknesses. My Dad also started to slip into conversations the fact that professional footballers earned a lot more money than cricketers. That may sound odd but as you get older and money starts to mean something to you, it has an effect. Not just the money but the glory as well. Football is the national game and number one sport after all.
I’m not sure how far I would have gone in the game – I can’t imagine I was going to be a Freddie Flintoff – but it got to a stage when it was getting on my nerves. Mum and Dad had to pick me up at school at Brentwood and we set off on the journey to Chelmsford which took about fifteen minutes. I had to get changed in the back of the car which was a nuisance and I remember having the hump about it and started to make excuses so I didn’t have to go.
I glossed over the issue with my parents with some petty story but the the over-riding reason for quitting was my obsession with perfection. There were a few people who were better than me at cricket and I didn’t think that I could bridge the gap and that frustrated me. It was fine with football where I was good and thought that I could be better than everyone else. Being honest, that was why cricket faded out of my life. I accepted my limitations but it didn’t mean I wanted to remind myself of them every time I played.
I focused on football and at 14 went to Lilleshall for the annual trials. At the time, Lilleshall was the FA’s school of excellence for young footballers. They provided a two-year residential course which consisted of schooling as well as expert coaching. It was exciting but I was also nervous. I had broken my arm a couple of months before and I had it in my head that I wasn’t as fit as I should be. There were thirty-two kids trying out for sixteen places. We had two days of tests and training as well as playing games.
I got down to the last twenty-four which meant I was on the way. Then we did the bleep test where basically you run between two electronic markers until you drop. The highest level was around fourteen and I only managed to get to eleven. I wondered what they thought of me as a result but there was nothing I could do. I was absolutely exhausted.
The day ended and I went home to wait for the final selection process which was done by letter. Two weeks later the envelope dropped through the door. It was nerve wracking. I had tried to prepare myself for the disappointment by telling myself that my broken arm had handicapped my chances. Deep down, I knew that wasn’t true.
I was right about not getting in though. I was gutted. It was hard to accept the rejection. I was at a stage where I was regarded as one of the best players in Essex and I wanted to be the very best. To be told that I wasn’t even in the top sixteen in the country was a heavy blow. Lee Hodges, who I later played with for West Ham youths, was accepted though he decided to turn it down.
I wondered what Dad would think. In the end, he wasn’t that bothered. Lilleshall had a reputation for being very old school and the kind of coaching they utilized wasn’t necessarily what I needed. Players who have graduated from there have good things to say about it. You can’t argue with the talent of the likes of Joe Cole and Michael Owen who went there and have become top professionals. In retrospect, though, it may have been a lucky escape for me.
I had been exposed to very different methods and levels of coaching. After the age of ten I started attending academy football at West Ham, Tottenham and Arsenal. They each had their good points – and their bad.
West Ham were quite antiquated in their attitude. They didn’t really encourage you to become part of the club. There was a kind of arrogance where they just assumed that because you were a local boy who supported them then you automatically wanted to be part of their set-up. It was very impersonal. Spurs were actually the best. I had my eyes opened when I turned up to train and came across kids who were technically superior in many ways. It was all about the ball and what you could and should do with it. Not tricks but ways of beating a man on the run, or from standing still. I came up against boys there and thought ‘I want to be able to do that.’ They also had a different way of dealing with you. There was a meal after the session and everyone was friendly and encouraging.
Arsenal were something of a mix of the two. I enjoyed the coaching there though it was more physical. The people were very well trained in the latest techniques and seemed to know what they were talking about. For a few years I flitted between all three though it was clear in Dad’s mind where I would end up playing.
West Ham were in my heart, as they were in his, and I played my youth football there at the same time as I was playing for Heath Park and my school. It was hectic but I was doing what I loved. I never really stopped to think about much else though there were times when I had to.
I began to realize that after I joined a new team or club and got to know people, some kids developed a certain attitude towards me. It usually didn’t take too long. It had nothing to do with how fast I was, how good I was at football or cricket or how I spoke or looked. It was because I was Frank Lampard’s son.
The majority were fine and I made some very good friends. But some kids can be cruel and are easily made jealous and I was the son of a famous footballer. I never hid the fact of who my Dad was. Let’s face it, with a name like mine it would have been quite an act to pull off. I took a bit stick for it though and there were occasions when kids were determined to beat me at this or that because of who my Dad was.
It wasn’t just kids either. At Heath Park there was a lad called Danny who played centre-forward. He went on to play at youth level with West Ham as well and scored a lot of goals though he disappeared after a year or so. His Dad used to come along to games and would slag off everyone except his lad. He would always have a dig at me because I was ‘Lampard’. It really got on my nerves. I remember one game his son scored seven and I got eight but all he could shout was ‘Come on Lampard, pass the ball!’
Michael Black and I would just slag him off on the quiet. It was our way of dealing with it, though one day Michael had enough and told him to ‘F*** off.’ He was only 13 and this guy was silenced for the first time. I preferred to just stay quiet and get on with my football. To be honest, I didn’t really mind most of the time. I got used to kids reacting in different ways. When I turned up for a football game or athletics meeting most people were absoluetly fine but there was the odd time when I sensed someone was looking at me a bit differently.
I was shy but I wasn’t ashamed. Far from it. And in a way, it worked in my favour because it made me more determined to do well. Not to prove them wrong but to prove to myself that I was better – better than them and better than the cheap shots about my Dad.
I was already good at football but that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to be good at everything. I concede that it may not have been the most healthy attitude at times. On one occasion I remember I was due to do a cross-country run after school and was so obsessed with how well I would do that I got a stress headache. It got worse throughout the day and was really thumping by the time I was changed and ready to race. I should have told the teacher and just abandoned it. But no, I was determined. I did it and I won but at the end I was just hanging in there.
It wasn’t all about winning all of the time. I dropped in and out of other sports with the fashion just like most kids of that age. I had fun doing other stuff and hanging out with my friends but I can’t deny that the desire to win was something which burned fiercely within me. Like the time I scored the own goal, there are other episodes which stand out in memory which I realize instilled in me the competitive edge which has been so essential to my development as a footballer and as a person.
When I was about seven I was due to run a 200-metre race. There was a another lad there who was bigger than me and was expected to stroll through it. I looked at him and thought I could take him. I was determined to beat him. The race went off and I fell a bit behind and then disaster struck; I fell over half way through it from trying so hard to keep in touch. I was distraught and had to be picked up off the track.
It was hard to get over. I was still in tears when I got home, and spent the rest of the day upset and hiding in my room. No one could talk me out of it. I was embarrassed but worse still, I knew what it was to fail.
Sport was extremely important in my life and usually came first for me but I was aware that I needed more than just games to get on in life. I suppose for a lot of boys who go on to become professional footballers schooling gets tucked away with your old uniform. My experience was a bit different.
Dad earned a good wage as a player and he and Mum wanted me to have a better start in life. I was sent to a fee-paying school to get a good education that would help me decide for myself what I wanted to do. Going to Brentwood was a great opportunity and one I’m glad of.
It’s quite a posh school which has a bit of a reputation for producing high achievers. Sir Robin Day, and the comedian and actor Griff Rhys Jones went there as did Noel Edmonds. It was quite daunting to arrive at a place where the motto is ‘Virtue Learning Manners’, especially when you’re a footballer’s son from Essex.
It was a lot less stiff than I expected and I adapted quite quickly. My childhood – especially my craving for football – was undiminished by the fact that I went to school with kids who had been brought up without the obsession with football which I knew as the dominant force in my life. There was a real mix of different kids – some had parents who worked in the City, others were well off because their Dad happened to have done well in the building trade. I brought a strong sense of my own identity along with my determination. I was still an Essex boy with working-class parents who loved nothing more than football.
It was a new and interesting environment. None of my neighbours went there and I had a different outfit to some of the other boys around my street – including shorts and a cap in summer. It was very traditional but after a while the embarrassment wore off. Well, almost.
My parents felt a bit uncomfortable with some of the others at my school and they weren’t really the type to get involved in meetings or administration. It didn’t bother me except for one particular instance when it would have been nice if they had been paying attention to what was going on.
Mum took me in the car to school as usual but as we drove through the gates I realized that something was very wrong. All the children were wearing a different uniform. Well, actually, they all had the same uniform on – neat black shorts and shirts. It was just me who was wearing something completely different. I ducked down in the car like some kind of criminal and told Mum to keep driving. Why was I still in tweed blazer and trousers? Apparently, the uniform had changed for spring term but no one in our house had noticed. I was mortified and had the day off school while Mum went out and bought the new outfit.
She still laughs about that and it’s a silly story but there is a serious point to it – people took the piss out of me because of where I went to school. All my Heath Park mates certainly did – mainly because I went to school on Saturdays so when everyone else was going out to play football with their mates or heading off to a game I was sitting in a classroom learning French and algebra.
It was very annoying. Like most kids, at one stage I really had the hump with school but I am thankful for what I experienced there and I made a lot of friends. My view of the world is a lot more rounded than it might have been and I think Brentwood played a big part in that.
On the whole, I was a pretty good student. There were a few minor scrapes that every kid has, though bizarrely the only real problem I had was the fact that I made the football first XI when I was in fourth year. A few of the older boys resented me for it. I was still just a young kid but I was good enough to play and I think some of the others were hoping I would fall on my face.
I didn’t. They let me know how they felt at the end-of-year school dance when a couple of the older lads sauntered up to me to ask what I was doing there. It was more of a threat than an invitation to explain so I ignored them. I had done nothing wrong except put a few noses out of joint by being good at football. I was punching above my weight – something I have done most of my life.
The teacher in charge of our school team was a nice guy from Oldham called Chris Boukley and he took me under his wing and encouraged me to play even when the older lads were trying to intimidate me. Some kids tried to make an issue of my background being different to theirs but I had my own group of friends and I wasn’t the only kid from ‘new money’. There were quite a lot of us at Brentwood, and at football we used to play away games at the really posh schools like Eton. It was a very different world to mine. There were children from very wealthy and privileged families at my school but it was nothing like Eton.
You find your own way and make your own society in those kind of situations and I didn’t hang out much with that crowd. We talked about politics and history but we still played football at lunchtime. I enjoyed learning but football was still my main ambition in life. Having to attend lessons on Saturday was difficult for me as was the fact that I played for the school team but was also playing at youth level for West Ham. It was only a matter of time before the two would clash. When they did, it was spectacular and the fallout was excruciating.
Dad bunked me off school so I could play an FA Youth Cup tie for West Ham. I never really thought much of it at the time. I was desperate to play of course and presumed I could get away with it. Anyway, my Dad was taking me. I played, we won the match and had a good game. Perfect, I thought. Wrong. I went to school the next day and there was a horrible buzz going about that I had been found out. The school team had also had a game the day before – the quarter-final of a cup competition. They lost, turning my absence into a major scandal when it might have been a minor irritation.
I sat in class like a condemned man waiting to be sentenced. I was guilty all right and if anyone doubted it they only had to look at my face. I was hoping for the best but knew it was a real issue when the headmaster marched into the room and shouted ‘Lampard! Come with me.’
I was taken to his office and sat there ashamed and silent. He fetched a copy of the local paper and spread it in front of me. I was puzzled. Then I noticed a photograph of me playing for West Ham in all my glory. There goes my excuse that I was sick then. They took truancy very seriously, as they did loyalty and responsibility to the school and your fellow pupils. He told me that I had let down the school, my team-mates and myself. He didn’t need to rub my face in it. I knew already. Worse was to come. He sent me to see Mr Boukley to apologize.
I really liked him. He had paid me a lot of attention when I first arrived and had made me feel like I could succeed even when I had doubted myself. I was dreading the meeting. Of all the people that the headmaster had pointed out that I had disappointed he was the one I felt worst about. The rebuke was pretty brief but I was upset with myself after I saw Mr Boukley.
I was also pissed off that I got two hours’ detention on Saturday afternoon – the worst possible. They made me write an essay that might teach me a valuable lesson: ‘How Loyalty is More Important than Self-Interest’. I thought about it for a while and decided that I could be clever too: ‘It’s true, loyalty is very important but sometimes you have to look after your own interests because no one will do it for you,’ was my conclusion. I was quite pleased with myself. My teacher, however, didn’t find it so entertaining and got the right hump.
As far as the academic side went, I studied pretty hard while I was there. I was no fool and I guess the desire to succeed came across in class as well. I got ten GCSEs – an A
in Latin, three As, five Bs and one C – grades I needed to go on and study for my A levels. The school tried to put a case to me that I should stay on and I was promised that I would captain the football first XI. Mr Boukley made the point that it would be good for me regardless of my football ambitions to get a sound academic base. I could get my A levels and still go on to play football afterwards.
I thought long and hard about it. I got good grades in my exams and enjoyed studying French and Spanish. I went home and spoke to Dad. I had known for a couple of months that there was an apprenticeship for me at West Ham and that seemed the obvious thing to do. More than anything I wanted to play football, to be a footballer. But, when it was put to me that I should continue learning, it did turn my head.
My Dad turned it back. He was adamant I should take up the offer at West Ham. I didn’t need that much persuading. I think I might have got bored with school. I wanted to play football more and more. I entertained the idea of staying on just in case I didn’t make it in football and ironically, that was partly because all my life my Dad had told me how hard it was to become a professional player. It was what I had always wanted. It’s true that when the school offered me a different option I wavered a bit but not enough. Dad was very clear: if I didn’t do my apprenticeship then I wouldn’t learn the real basics of the game. You need to know the background in football even when it means scraping the mud off of other people’s boots and scrubbing the dressing room floor. Hardly the glamour of the professional game but essential.
It’s easy for me to say I have no regrets. I don’t. A lot of my mates went to a rival school and they went on and did A levels and then on to university. I have more experience now and I can honestly say that I’m not a great believer in further education for subjects other than science and technical ones. The likes of medicine and law are essential and clear about what they aim to achieve. I don’t mean to sound snobby or judgmental but I went and stayed with some mates when they were at university and I didn’t like the way they were living. There seemed to be a lot of time spent doing very little and experimenting with smoking dope and stuff and I have to admit that on that basis I wouldn’t necessarily send my kids to university.
A lot of them didn’t know what they wanted to do when they went to university and changed their minds a few times in the process. I realize that higher education can be of great benefit and is quite a privilege but I also think it can be a bit of a waste of time unless you apply yourself. It can also give you bad habits in life. I have this argument, even now, with my mate Billy Jenkins who spent five years at Durham University. We have known each other since we were five – he is the son of the former West Ham physio Rob Jenkins and we’ve always been close.
School was definitely enough for me as far as that academy was concerned. It was a positive experience and it gave me confidence as a person. Now I have an interest in the front of the newspapers – in politics and world affairs – as well as the back pages and football.
When I was a young professional I looked at players who had more to offer than just the stereotypical image of someone who is not very bright but earns a lot of money. I realized that people respect you if you have a bit more substance, if you are more than just another football player. It’s important to be aware of more than football but unfortunately in our profession life can be very sheltered and being ignorant of the world is easy.
You get some kids who can’t handle those who speak in a different way from them and react badly. I like to hold my own in conversation about politics and have been up until five in the morning with some of my mates arguing the issues of the day like Tony Blair’s policies or the war in Iraq. I enjoy that kind of banter as well as all the football kind and I make no apology to anyone about the fact that I have interests which extend beyond training and ninety minutes of football. When I speak in public I am confident and, I like to think, quite articulate. For a footballer, that can be quite unusual. There is an unfortunate image of footballers – particularly some of the younger ones – as people who can barely string a sentence together. That may work okay in the dressing room but football is an integral part of society and maybe the clubs and the FA could take more responsibility for their younger players and the way they present themselves.
The schooling I had made me more fortunate but I still had to apply myself. My parents were not so lucky, though just as I had Dad as my football role model, he had one also. His grandad was a player in the army and so was his Uncle George. Dad was brought up with football and even as a five-year-old was playing with boys who were nine. It was part of the culture. Where he came from there were only three career options for any lad making his way in the world. You could work in Tate and Lyle’s sugar refinery in the docks at Silvertown, you could live off your wits making money where you could, or you could become a professional footballer. Those were the only ways to better yourself and he decided at a young age that he wanted to be a footballer. He, like me, was frightened that he might not make it. At 15 he signed for West Ham when all his mates went to work in the docks. He earned £5 per week which was the same as those who were carrying sacks for a living.
The single-mindedness and determination which I have developed in my life and career were there in Dad. Even when he was a youth and might have been able to get away with going out for a beer with his friends, he would stop himself from the temptation because football was too important.
I had a different upbringing but we both took the decision very early in our lives that we wanted to make a career in football. He has always impressed on me the importance of doing things right, of being dedicated to achieve success. A lot of professional players whose Dads were also pros would be lying if they said they were not hard done by as children in terms of the way they were pushed.
I was pushed and Dad has never denied that. I always responded to his demands of me, not always in the way he wanted but he has a knack of knowing how to get the best out of me. He has put me through some really rough times. He never shied away from criticizing my performances and there have been occasions when I think he went too far. He admits that too. There have been screaming matches after games – times when he has had to drop me home and then go off to walk around the park near the house to calm down because things got out of hand between us in the car.
The worst I remember was after a defeat when I was about 14. We had a furious argument about the game and how I had played. I don’t recall the detail but when we got back I was in tears. He tried to calm me down and took me to Gidea Park and we walked for about twenty minutes. He could see I was inconsolable and knew my Mum would bollock him when she saw me in that state. I managed to breathe deeply and got rid of the tears and we went back to the house.
Of course, there was no point in trying to hide it. Mum could sense there was something wrong but I ran to the bathroom, locked the door and got in the bath. I couldn’t contain myself and was crying my heart out. I was still sobbing half an hour later. Mum has always been very perceptive in how best to handle me in situations like that. She knew there had been an almighty row and left me to get it out of my system before coming to talk to me. Eventually I emerged and she calmed me down. It wasn’t just about what had happened in that particular match. At that time I was plagued by the insecurity that I might not make it in football.
Being told by Dad that I had played crap was bad enough. But being told every single fault in your performance by someone who had made it and knew what it took was worse. Mum helped me a lot in that respect and however substantial the debt I have to my Dad in helping me in my career I owe just as much to her for picking me up when I was down. She knows what to say and when. When to leave me alone to figure things out for myself and the right moment to reassure me when situations seem impossible. I don’t blame my Dad for what he did. I know it was for the right reasons: for me, to make sure that I achieved my potential and realized my ambitions.
I also think some of what drove him to push me so hard was the fact that his Dad was not around to motivate him in the same way. His father was killed when he was only two years old when the truck he was in was involved in an accident with a bus about half a mile from where they lived. His grandad replaced his Dad as the male figure in his life, aided by his Uncle Ken. The insecurity which he suffered about whether or not he would make the grade came from not having his father around. Ironically, some of mine came from my Dad always being there.
My Mum is the counterbalance. She has a way about her that makes her capable of coping with anything. She has seen me take all kinds of vile abuse from supporters as well as achieve a lot of success but she is very down to earth and calm and has maintained the same level through all of it. When it’s been bad she has been there with the right kind of support. There have been times when I was younger when I would have a bad game and my Dad was too harsh on me – partly because he was such a strong character. Mum could provide balance with the right words and when things were going badly at West Ham she heard a lot and but never let on and always tried to shield me from it.
She is the ultimate proud Mum who is very protective of me and I can only imagine how hard it’s been for her on occasions when people have been slagging me off around her and she has had to bite her tongue and remain dignified. I have needed that in my life as much as I have been lucky to have Dad to teach me and drive me on in my career.
Dad is very thick-skinned and you need that to be a professional footballer. I have a bit of that in me but I have my Mum’s nature which makes me a bit more sensitive in certain circumstances. We have both learned to develop a stronger side to our personality especially through everything that happened at West Ham and that has made the bond between us stronger.
The fact that I have two sisters who have also enjoyed the same levels of support and affection that I have makes me wonder even more at just how Mum achieves it. My sisters Natalie and Claire and I are very close. We had our childhood skirmishes the same as every family but they are both older than me and were very protective towards me when we were teenagers. Despite winding me up and calling me Wurzel Gummidge when I first spiked my hair, they would look after me when I first started to socialize in Essex.
Only four years separate the three of us but that felt like a big gap when I was about 12 and hated everything about the female race. All I wanted was to kick a ball around which was very annoying for two girls who were becoming young women. And they let me know it.
We all lived at home for a long time and while we would get on each other’s nerves at times my childhood was quite ordinary but also idyllic. We did everything together. Christmas is a very special time for everyone and in our house we always had my grandparents round and it just felt right. Actually, it felt like that on any given Sunday when Mum had all of us for dinner.
That was part of her secret. No matter the arguments or fall-outs, and no matter who they were between, Mum knew the importance of bringing us all together. Every night the Lampards would sit down and eat dinner at the same time. Every night. There were some exceptions but no excuses. It worked.
As I grew up I began to appreciate Natalie and Claire more. They were very understanding towards me even though I could often be the annoying little brother. Because of the football and, I suppose, because I was the only son, Dad had always paid me a lot of attention. He was great with them too but there must have been times when they felt a bit left out. Remarkably, Mum would mediate and negotiate through all of this.
I’m glad they persevered with me and I distinctly remember my feelings change towards them when I was 15. There is a time when most boys finally start to appreciate their sisters for who they are. I did and fell in love with them. After that, there hasn’t been a moment when I have not felt their love and support. Not once.
As the youngest in the family, I looked up to them and respected them and I was lucky that I learned how much it meant to have them at quite a young age. Natalie can be quite combative and there were a few instances when she got involved with punters at West Ham when they were slagging me off. It’s not just fans though. She loves football and has very strong opinions and it’s not unusual for her to call me after an England game and say ‘Why did Eriksson take you off when so and so was s***?’
We are lucky because we still spend a lot of time together with our partners and our children and the environment we grew up in has very much continued and grown bigger. Mum has been the central figure in our family life and still is now with the grandchildren whom she is very much involved with.
Life, however, can become quite heated at times in a family which is as competitive as ours but she is a very calming influence. If I have had a bad game then I would always call Mum whereas I don’t want to speak to Dad. He will only tell me the things that I did wrong and I punish myself enough for them. Not with Mum. She might not even talk about football with me but having a conversation with her just helps me get some balance back. It’s not that she doesn’t have an opinion or isn’t passionate about my football. I know that she has had arguments with Harry if I wasn’t playing at West Ham. They wouldn’t be straightforward ‘Why’s my boy not getting a game?’ either. She was more subtle than that. She would just throw in a remark about some other midfielder who maybe wasn’t playing so well and Harry would suddenly pick up what she was getting at. She wasn’t alone. One evening her Dad – Pop to me – was at Harry’s house for dinner at a time when I wasn’t getting a game. Pop had been talking football with Harry and working his way towards the subject of me and why I wasn’t in the team. Eventually, he ran out of patience and asked outright.
‘So Harry, why’s young Frank not getting a game at the moment?’ Pop asked.
