It was 42 summers ago that English football experienced its finest hour. On that July day in 1966, an industrious Polish barber in London's lively East End put down his scissors, wiped down his customer and ran out of the shop. England had just won the World Cup and my dear late grandfather was in triumphant mood. West Ham United, he proudly declared, had won the World Cup.

Nobody could give him an argument. When a blond, cherubic lad from Barking named Bobby Moore lifted the World Cup, England rejoiced in scenes reminiscent of that happy day of victory in 1945. But, for my football-loving grandad, this was the ultimate achievement.

As well as giving us the England skipper, it was two Hammers players – Geoff Hurst and Martin Peters – who scored all four World Cup-winning goals. You could forget about short back and sides, this was a day for a right royal Upton Park celebration and, although grandad was teetotal, the drinks were on him.

Two years before we hosted the World Cup, manager Alf Ramsey was sure that his England team would win the Jules Rimet trophy. How we in our foolhardiness disbelieved him.

Ramsey, a stalwart Tottenham full-back before going into management and winning the championship with Ipswich Town, stunned the footballing public by playing a system without wingers. Although both Terry Paine and John Connelly had been included in the squad as wide men, they hardly featured.

So it was that the men in red stepped into the lion's den that was the wonderful old Wembley Stadium. There was the splendidly tireless Nobby Stiles, a Manchester United half-back who gave blood, sweat and tears. One of the defining images of the victory celebrations is of a toothless Nobby jigging and prancing around like a kid with a bag of sweets.

In his most advanced attacking role, Bobby Charlton was the stunning symbol of England's success. Throughout the tournament Charlton hovered around opponents' penalty areas before the mightiest of thunderbolts would suddenly go off. Charlton packed the most powerful shot the English game would ever see.

Then there was the boiler room and powerhouse of England's 1966 boys. Alan Ball, then a Blackpool novice and soon to become an Everton and Arsenal folk hero, was all busybody movement and hungry desire. If you needed a man who was prepared to put his life on the line then Ball was that man. He was a red-headed ball of fire who never threw in the towel, prompting and searching for the ball when all seemed lost.

At the back, Bobby Moore and Jack Charlton guarded England's defence as if their life depended on it. Big Jack was Leeds United through and through and built like a telegraph pole. For Charlton, corners and free-kicks were like a special anniversary.

And finally there were the vital components of England's World Cup victory. Peters had enjoyed a moderately good season at West Ham but in the heat of a World Cup he would finally discover his true potential. He floated about Wembley with an almost perfect serenity. Ramsey described him as a player years ahead of his time.

At the end of the game the nervous adolescent would become a man for all seasons. Hurst had found himself ahead of the great Jimmy Greaves in Ramsey's pecking order and justified his selection with that never-to-be-forgotten hat-trick.

So it was that Moore was chaired aloft and England revelled in its moment of history. The World Cup had been won and everything in the English garden was rosy. They danced wantonly in the Trafalgar Square fountains, waved their Union Jacks and the world seemed the happiest place of all. Forty-two years later, and despite the best efforts of a host of managers from Revie to Sven, England still awaits another World Cup to savour.