Alright, you Reds—lend us your ears. We’re not just talking about a player here, or even a coach. We’re talking about a cornerstone of Oakwell. A lad born in Barnsley, who became the beating heart of the club. This one’s for Eric “Winnie” Winstanley.
Born on 15 November 1944, while the world was still at war and Vera Lynn was probably belting one out on the wireless, Eric came into the world just a short walk from Oakwell. Raised in a community built on coal, graft and loyalty, it felt inevitable that one day, the boy from Barnsley would pull on the red shirt. And when he did in 1962, he wasn’t just filling a shirt—he was stepping into a legacy he would help define for decades.
Grit in his boots, thunder in his tackles, and a quiet authority that spoke louder than any rant ever could. He wasn’t a shouter. He didn’t need to be. Winstanley let his boots do the talking—and more often than not, it was the opposition forwards who were left speechless.
Centre-Half with a Striker’s Swagger
Let’s get one thing straight—Eric wasn’t just a lump who hoofed it and hoped. The man could play. He racked up 410 league appearances for the Reds, and here’s the kicker—he bagged 35 league goals from centre-back. That’s not defending, that’s daylight robbery in the opposition’s box. In fact, he still holds the club record for most goals scored by a defender—a record that’s stood for over half a century.
His reading of the game was immaculate. He’d be two steps ahead of you before you’d even made the pass. Strong in the air, sharp in the tackle, and never afraid to carry the ball out and get the crowd on their feet. He wasn’t just stopping goals—he was starting attacks.
Then there’s the kind of tale you tell your grandkids, pint in hand, voice getting louder with every retelling: Watford, 1969. We’re 2–0 down and it’s looking grim. The gaffer chucks Winnie up front, more out of desperation than tactics. What happens? Hat-trick. We win 3–2. From rock at the back to match-winning striker in 90 glorious minutes. You couldn’t make it up if you tried—but it happened, and it’s been folklore ever since.
Nowadays, our lot can’t even nod one in from a set piece without the lino having a think about it for five minutes and the ref doing jazz hands. But back then? Winnie just got on with it. Boots laced, sleeves rolled, job done.
Skipper, Leader, Oakwell Icon
At just 19 years old, he became the youngest player to captain Barnsley. That tells you everything you need to know about the bloke—he didn’t just play like a leader, he was one. Commanding respect, steady as a rock, and wearing that armband like it was stitched into his skin.
And this wasn’t a captain in name only. Winstanley led from the front—or the back, rather. He marshalled the defence with calm precision, organising, instructing, encouraging. You always felt safer with him out there. Even when things got scrappy, he stayed cool. And he expected the same from those around him.
He left Oakwell in 1973 to join Chesterfield, where he played for a further four years. But Barnsley never left him. He returned to the club as a youth coach, later becoming assistant manager and stepping into the caretaker role when called upon. In truth, he probably wore every hat going at one time or another.
He spent over two decades shaping the next generation of Reds. Quietly, humbly, brilliantly. You won’t find many players or coaches who’ve had such a lasting impact across so many eras. He saw managers come and go, players rise and fall—but Winnie remained, like the white lines on the pitch: steady, constant, and essential.
And when we made it to the Premier League under Danny Wilson in ’97? Winnie was right there. A proud Barnsley lad who’d helped lay the foundations long before that top-flight dream ever seemed possible. For those who were there, it was as much his achievement as anyone's.
The United Testimonial and Tropical Detours
In 2001, Old Trafford’s finest rolled into Oakwell for his testimonial—Giggs, Blanc, Yorke, the lot. Sir Alex himself brought the team down as a mark of respect. That alone tells you what the footballing world thought of Eric Winstanley. And guess what? We only went and beat them 1–0. That’s Barnsley for you—never knowingly starstruck.
That testimonial wasn’t just a ceremonial send-off. It was a celebration of everything he gave—on and off the pitch. Thousands turned out, not just to clap, but to say thank you. Thank you for the tackles. The goals. The years. The memories.
Later on, Eric swapped Yorkshire skies for Caribbean sunshine, taking on a role with Saint Kitts and Nevis. From Monk Bretton to the West Indies—football really does take you places. He also had spells coaching at Doncaster, Scarborough, and York, always with that same understated wisdom. He didn’t need headlines. He just needed a pitch, a ball, and a bunch of lads willing to learn.
No One Like Winnie
We lost Eric in May 2021. A proper gut-punch for the club and everyone connected to it. Because Eric Winstanley wasn’t just a name in the programme—he was the programme. A bridge between generations. A symbol of everything that made Barnsley Football Club what it is: proud, tough, grounded, and local.
He’s rightly enshrined in the Oakwell Hall of Fame, but more than that, he’s etched into our hearts. You don’t forget players like Eric Winstanley. You pass their stories on—through songs, through memories, through rants in the pub. His legacy is Oakwell’s scaffolding—the stuff you don’t always see, but everything else is built around.
Once a Red, always a Red.
A Pint, a Mic, and a Barnsley Legend
We owe a debt of gratitude to the great man himself. Back in June 2009, we had the privilege of sitting down with Eric Winstanley for what turned out to be a truly special evening.
What was originally planned as a single interview became a three-part series, simply because there was so much insight, warmth, and history in what Eric had to share. In one sitting, he gave us a rare glimpse into his life in football—his passion for Barnsley, his memories of Oakwell, and the values that made him such a respected figure in the game.
The result was a conversation that felt more like a fireside chat than a formal interview—recorded nearly live from the Legend’s Lounge at The Full House, Monk Bretton. Pint glasses clinked in the background, the odd cheer went up from the bar, and there we were—face to face with a man who had seen it all.
You can listen to all three episodes here:
OnThePontyEnd.com: The Podcast
The Eric Winstanley Specials
On Apple Podcasts
4 June 2009 | 11 June 2009 | 17 June 2009
On Spotify
4 June 2009 | 11 June 2009 | 17 June 2009
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