Charlie Roberts is not a Welshman, though Wales would like to claim him. Fortunately for England, and perhaps fortunately for Manchester United, the nimble little centre half was born near Darlington.

He has never been anything but a footballer; indeed, it would be wonderful if he had.

One frequently hears of nature endowing a man for a particular sphere of work, but one seldom sees so complete an article so well applied as is Roberts to his "Soccer."

You see him in the street and you are told it is the famous Roberts. You are disappointed. He does not wear the healthful, lusty, muscular habit of the average ball manipulator. You would hint that he was delicate; his very sparseness puts activity out of your mind, and his lack of beam suggests a restful holiday trip as the best means of rescuing him from permanent illness.

But see him on the field! There you are presented with bottled essence of agility, the personification of unending activity, and a veritable spring-heeled jack. Acrobatics would appear to have been the particular study of this slim youth of twenty-two; and we imagine that should football fail him he might readily acquire fame on the music-hall stage as an expert in legmania.

Just as he jumps at the ball in most unpromising situation and secures it, so he jumped at fame and snatched it when it seemed unlikely to be caught. He has represented England thrice, but it must be confessed that on none of these occasions did he play his best. He did not satisfy himself, and still less did he satisfy his admirers and his club. He will tell you quite candidly that the International games did not show him to be worthy of a place, but he is equally sure that he did not play badly. He places a high standard.

His admirers expected a blaze of triumph every time he turned out for his country; his club lost his aid on three occasions, and with it the points that would have taken them into the First Division — so it will be seen how thorough the disappointment was. But Roberts is only waiting another opportunity of showing the critics that he is the man his friends represented him to be.

When Grimsby secured Roberts from Darlington they were not long in discovering how great a "capture" they had made. Other clubs, too, were quick to realise his worth, and offers in plenty poured in on his employers. They would not, however, part with him till the affluence of Manchester United dazzled them. Full £400 was dangled before their eyes, and they fell. Roberts removed.

Those who know Grimsby and Manchester will appreciate that this was no small change for Roberts. He went from the bracing atmosphere of the German Ocean to the insalubrious environment of chemical manufactories. The change may have had something to do with his present pallid appearance, for it is reported that in the same district an unwary journalist once attended a match accompanied by a silver-mounted umbrella: he retained the umbrella, but the silver evaporated!

Roberts apparently realises the danger he is in, for he devotes his summers to an exposure to the winds and spray of the North Sea. At the end of the football season he hies him to Grimsby, berths aboard a trawler, and roughs it for weeks at a time. Last summer he was accompanied by Walter Whittaker, the Brentford goalkeeper. Whittaker's first trip to the Iceland region was not of the pleasantest description, and Roberts loves to tell of the discomfiture of his burly companion in the height of a storm in the North Sea. But even Whittaker is ready to grant that Roberts's idea of keeping fit has something more than novelty to commend it.

Close upon twenty-three years of age, Roberts strips a handy 12 stone 2 lbs., and sticklers for proper proportions will gather his build from the fact that he is 5 feet 10 inches in height. Manchester United is now a member of the First Division of the League, and no man has done more to get the club there than Charles Roberts.