Rachelle O Clark
| Rachelle O Clark | |
|---|---|
 Rachelle O Clark on the cover of the 1977 issue of The Bostonian (Photo: Geoff Portass) | |
| Other names | Rachelle Stevens (married name) |
| Education | Boston Grammar School (1974-1978); Nottingham Trent University |
| Spouse | Stan Stevens |
Rachelle O Clark (now known as Rachelle Stevens) was educated at Boston Grammar School (1974-1978). She joined the boys' school in the fourth year and continued into the sixth form. A large number of girls now attend the sixth form, but in the mid-1970s it was exceptional for there to be girls in the school and we are not aware of any other than Rachelle to have joined the school before the sixth form.
Who said women can't play football?
Article written by Rachelle O Clark for the 1976 issue of The Bostonian.
On a Wednesday afternoon, if you are lucky (or unlucky) enough to be out on the school field, you may have noticed someone with a pair of fantastic legs (I have a vivid imagination), dressed in a white shirt and shorts, showing great football talent and being part of the greatest defence ever, well perhaps not. As you have probably gathered, this notable is me, or should I say, your one and only female pupil.
I must be honest and admit that during the first week or two, and occasionally even now, I felt rather bashful once I had changed into my kit ready to face those fifths and sixths on the field. I brace myself for the long walk through the school to the hall, trying to take my time as it seems to take some lads at least a quarter of an hour to get changed. Did I hear someone say the gentleman is usually kept waiting by the lady? There must be something wrong here.
Well, when all have dragged themselves onto their respective pitches, the fun begins. Fun? So far I have escaped only one Wednesday afternoon without a new collection of bruises on my legs, which are already a peculiar shade of green. I do not really mind being run over by a pair of football boots carrying about nine stone — I mean, I did slip on the grass on to my back, so there was a choice for the players concerned: run over me, or do the polite thing and walk round me. Needless to say, they opted for the former.
Being the person I am, the result was a hearty laugh and an exhibition for the rest of the week of two grazes on my leg and a mass of bruises. How's that for team-work?