The Prince
13th April 2009, 08:05 PM
A 364 day fight for justice.
I didn’t go. I’d moved down to London to start a degree course the previous October and couldn’t afford it, plus I had some exams the following week. I’d ummed and ahhed a few times that week as the game was simply huge. Forest were one of the teams closest to us and had beaten us at the City Ground during the incredible 1988 season so, for once, it was not a standard win. There was every chance they’d beat us. It was also the F.A. Cup and we’d only just won it in 1986 after a twelve year gap and we still had the non-event of the previous year’s final to think about. There was a sense of finding our feet again in the competition.
My plan was to go to an Animal Rights demo in the morning with some mates and then get back to my room to listen to it on Radio Two. A lad I went to school with was on the floor above me in my Halls of Residence so I invited him down with the promise of tea and an afternoon of us urging the radio to give us good tidings. The demo was a march through South London which culminated in a good shout at a laboratory after a minute’s silence. So, on the morning of Hillsborough I took part in a minute’s silence to commemorate the dead. That’s never occurred to me until this minute.
I’ve a vague recollection of making back for Football Focus in the telly room before heading back to my room. No pictures, no live game, no internet stream back then, just an imagination and a wanting to be there. My mate Fiona was at the game. We’d been to almost every game together since 1985-6 and now I was living away from home she made a point of buying me a programme for every game I missed.
The early radio reports concerned ‘crowd trouble’ and people spilling on the pitch, reported with a tone of ‘here we go again’ with Heysel still an open wound in our collective psyches. Just as in May 1985 I believed everything but blaming our fans and hoped that the game would re-start. In 1985 there was a story about NF involvement at Heysel and at that moment I thought it might be something to do with a little overcrowding but nothing serious. A week earlier there was surprise shown that Liverpool had been allocated the Leppings Lane and Forest the Kop when our end was over-crowded the year before against the same opposition. I’ll admit, ignorant as I was, that all I was only interested in was the match. Ten minutes later Alan, the mate from home, knocked on my door and burst into the room with a shout of ‘What’s the score?’ He told me later that my face was white. ‘There’s been a delay. People are dead.’ We both sat down and went through the horrible dance through the emotions of anticipation and excitement leading up to the match and then on to confusion and fear. We sat in silence for a while and I hoped that no more would be hurt and that, whatever transpired, the club, city and fans could get through it. Selfishly, now that I knew that there was nothing little about the over-crowding and that people had died, I prayed that it wouldn’t be our fault. Four years earlier I’d endured Terry Venables telling the nation that only National Service could sort things out and I didn’t want to hear that again, particularly while there was still blood on the turf. I knew the ‘Scousers again’ headline wasn’t too far away. Of course, even after it was proved that it wasn’t our fault that stench still clings to us.
I left the room when the death toll reached the forties. I can’t remember any specific reports as I knew it was always going to rise. Somewhere in the middle of that crowd was Fiona and I was a moment of a ‘why not’ decision away from being with her. I went to the public phones in the Halls lobby and called home. My Dad said he knew I hadn’t gone but he was obviously glad that I rang. I then called a friend and asked if anyone had heard from Fiona. Not yet. The rest of the day was a blur as I got spectacularly drunk – not through sorrow as such as I was still too numb to think about it but due to confusion. A few people asked if I was okay whether I had someone there.
At midnight I phoned home again and was told that Fiona was okay. A few broken ribs but she was on here way home. She hasn’t been to a game since and, as with a mutual friend of ours, she can’t go into a crowded shop without knowing exactly where all the exits are. These are the people who are forgotten about, the fans whose lives have been irrevocably changed by the 15th April. Fiona, being Fiona, thoughtfully bought me a programme that day and handed it over a few months later. It had Des Walker on the cover and was very, very creased. I’ve never opened it. I put it in a box with my other programmes and it remains there to this day. Later I discovered that on the day of the final she sat alone in her bedroom and cried throughout. She’s never seen any footage of the Disaster and neither have I. I’d feel like a sick voyeur but that’s just a personal thing.
I stayed in London as I couldn’t face home. There was a service in my Sixth Form college that my best friend and sister attended, neither of whom had any connection with LFC at the time. They were there for Fiona and possibly to represent me. The following days were spent talking to people in corridors and lecture halls as I explained about the people I knew that were there and how they’d escaped the pen. The papers on the 16th contained horrific and unnecessary images. I remember one paper bluntly stating that it refused to show pictures of blue-faced fans or faces pressed up to bars as people were still grieving or hadn’t been told where their loved ones were. That paper was the Sunday Sport.
For me 15th April is the only day when Justice is irrelevant. I don’t want to think about Duckenfield or the SYP. I choose to think about the dead and the people they left behind. They are the only people who matter on that day. The cover up, the S*n and its retinue of lies and deceit are secondary now. When Thursday comes the frustrations and anger will re-appear but on the 15th there will be the briefest of hiatuses. At 3.06pm I’ll find a quiet part of the office to sit in and reflect for a while. I work with another Scouser and I know she’ll do the same.
Rest in peace
I didn’t go. I’d moved down to London to start a degree course the previous October and couldn’t afford it, plus I had some exams the following week. I’d ummed and ahhed a few times that week as the game was simply huge. Forest were one of the teams closest to us and had beaten us at the City Ground during the incredible 1988 season so, for once, it was not a standard win. There was every chance they’d beat us. It was also the F.A. Cup and we’d only just won it in 1986 after a twelve year gap and we still had the non-event of the previous year’s final to think about. There was a sense of finding our feet again in the competition.
My plan was to go to an Animal Rights demo in the morning with some mates and then get back to my room to listen to it on Radio Two. A lad I went to school with was on the floor above me in my Halls of Residence so I invited him down with the promise of tea and an afternoon of us urging the radio to give us good tidings. The demo was a march through South London which culminated in a good shout at a laboratory after a minute’s silence. So, on the morning of Hillsborough I took part in a minute’s silence to commemorate the dead. That’s never occurred to me until this minute.
I’ve a vague recollection of making back for Football Focus in the telly room before heading back to my room. No pictures, no live game, no internet stream back then, just an imagination and a wanting to be there. My mate Fiona was at the game. We’d been to almost every game together since 1985-6 and now I was living away from home she made a point of buying me a programme for every game I missed.
The early radio reports concerned ‘crowd trouble’ and people spilling on the pitch, reported with a tone of ‘here we go again’ with Heysel still an open wound in our collective psyches. Just as in May 1985 I believed everything but blaming our fans and hoped that the game would re-start. In 1985 there was a story about NF involvement at Heysel and at that moment I thought it might be something to do with a little overcrowding but nothing serious. A week earlier there was surprise shown that Liverpool had been allocated the Leppings Lane and Forest the Kop when our end was over-crowded the year before against the same opposition. I’ll admit, ignorant as I was, that all I was only interested in was the match. Ten minutes later Alan, the mate from home, knocked on my door and burst into the room with a shout of ‘What’s the score?’ He told me later that my face was white. ‘There’s been a delay. People are dead.’ We both sat down and went through the horrible dance through the emotions of anticipation and excitement leading up to the match and then on to confusion and fear. We sat in silence for a while and I hoped that no more would be hurt and that, whatever transpired, the club, city and fans could get through it. Selfishly, now that I knew that there was nothing little about the over-crowding and that people had died, I prayed that it wouldn’t be our fault. Four years earlier I’d endured Terry Venables telling the nation that only National Service could sort things out and I didn’t want to hear that again, particularly while there was still blood on the turf. I knew the ‘Scousers again’ headline wasn’t too far away. Of course, even after it was proved that it wasn’t our fault that stench still clings to us.
I left the room when the death toll reached the forties. I can’t remember any specific reports as I knew it was always going to rise. Somewhere in the middle of that crowd was Fiona and I was a moment of a ‘why not’ decision away from being with her. I went to the public phones in the Halls lobby and called home. My Dad said he knew I hadn’t gone but he was obviously glad that I rang. I then called a friend and asked if anyone had heard from Fiona. Not yet. The rest of the day was a blur as I got spectacularly drunk – not through sorrow as such as I was still too numb to think about it but due to confusion. A few people asked if I was okay whether I had someone there.
At midnight I phoned home again and was told that Fiona was okay. A few broken ribs but she was on here way home. She hasn’t been to a game since and, as with a mutual friend of ours, she can’t go into a crowded shop without knowing exactly where all the exits are. These are the people who are forgotten about, the fans whose lives have been irrevocably changed by the 15th April. Fiona, being Fiona, thoughtfully bought me a programme that day and handed it over a few months later. It had Des Walker on the cover and was very, very creased. I’ve never opened it. I put it in a box with my other programmes and it remains there to this day. Later I discovered that on the day of the final she sat alone in her bedroom and cried throughout. She’s never seen any footage of the Disaster and neither have I. I’d feel like a sick voyeur but that’s just a personal thing.
I stayed in London as I couldn’t face home. There was a service in my Sixth Form college that my best friend and sister attended, neither of whom had any connection with LFC at the time. They were there for Fiona and possibly to represent me. The following days were spent talking to people in corridors and lecture halls as I explained about the people I knew that were there and how they’d escaped the pen. The papers on the 16th contained horrific and unnecessary images. I remember one paper bluntly stating that it refused to show pictures of blue-faced fans or faces pressed up to bars as people were still grieving or hadn’t been told where their loved ones were. That paper was the Sunday Sport.
For me 15th April is the only day when Justice is irrelevant. I don’t want to think about Duckenfield or the SYP. I choose to think about the dead and the people they left behind. They are the only people who matter on that day. The cover up, the S*n and its retinue of lies and deceit are secondary now. When Thursday comes the frustrations and anger will re-appear but on the 15th there will be the briefest of hiatuses. At 3.06pm I’ll find a quiet part of the office to sit in and reflect for a while. I work with another Scouser and I know she’ll do the same.
Rest in peace