By Robbie Ashcroft
April 5 2008

For the next few years, each home match we stood in amazement looking and listening at the Spion Kop. In our eyes it was the eighth wonder of the World, I had been to some away games and nothing compared to this. As I began to grow, probably 12 or 13 years old, I started going into the pub with my Dad and sat with the other lads in quiet delight. We were always told that if a policeman walks into the pub, then get up and quickly walk out the other door and wait outside.

I was fortunate enough to travel to many away games with me Dad and his mates, usually in some clapped out Ford Anglia, it was funny! No matter were we went we always bumped into someone he knew in the pub. As time passed I looked forward to meeting my football mates in the pubs around Anfield. I can remember one particular occasion when sitting in a pub with the other lads, (The one that used to be on the corner of Netherfield Road and County Road) when in walked this huge policeman and his smaller police mates. Before we could get out, they took off their long overcoats placed them on some chairs nearby and asked us if we would mind their coats. The police ordered some beer then sat down with my Dad and his mates and started playing cards. We where totally gobsmacked!!!!!!!

Five or six young teenagers sitting by policemen in uniform watching them play cards and supping ale. In time me and my own mates and my football mates decided it was time to rebel, we wanted to go into the Spion Kop. The Spion Kop had a reputation of being full of drunken high-spirited young Liverpool men and was not for the faint hearted or the weak.

Our first game in the Spion Kop was to be Roger Hunt’s Testimonial. For the next week my Mum, Dad and Brother kept saying, “I hope you know what you are letting yourself into” On the way to the match, none of us mentioned the Spion Kop, but I think we were all nervous but wouldn’t admit it. We got into the Spion Kop, even the fella on the gate said “Are you sure, you want to come in here” moved near to the middle and claimed a barrier to sit on. Easy!!! What is all the fuss about?

As the crowd began to build up we noticed how cramped our space had become. We must have climbed up and got knocked off the barrier two dozen times at least. What a night, suddenly all of us seemed to know all the words to all the Liverpool songs; we sang our hearts out. For the first time in our lives we where independent and had been fully introduced and accepted into the world famous Spion Kop. The smell of sweaty dockers, urine and tobacco would never be forgotten. “Sir” Roger Hunt was my first Liverpool hero, I will never ever forget you or your testimonial.

Before I left School, in the early 70’s we where told that the employment situation in Liverpool was the worst in the United Kingdom and that the majority of us would not get jobs. I and most of my mates got jobs in unemployment hot spot called Liverpool, this enabled us to go to all home games and more away games. At the height of our fame, we had a “mob” of 14 Bootle Boys, Several of us from Netherton used to get off the 56 at Spellow Lane then walk up to Stanley Park and meet up the other lads, We used to get in the Spion Kop around 1.30 find our speck and look and learn. We travelled mob handed because we had seen many other lads relieved of their Liverpool scarf’s and or match money by older so called Liverpool supporters.

In those days, we were fashion conscious and keen to see what other lads were wearing, Platform shoes big baggie flares and printed penny round collar shirts with odd characters (cartoon baseball players etc) printed on them seemed to be the order of the day.

The centre of the Spion Kop was always jam-packed full of older lads, even when we played smaller clubs in the league or FA Cup etc. A lot of the lads in the centre where skin heads, they wore Dr Martin boots, bib “n” braces and looked as mean as hell.

Each home game, we used to sit on the barriers and watch the skins walk past, some had spray painted their Dr Martin boots “Gold” or “Silver”, and they really did look intimidating. Some of those that wore Bib’s “n” braces used to decorate them with Liverpool badges from that era, anyone remember the two fingers with “Up Liverpool” on it?

In all the years that we stood on the Spion Kop, I only once lost me mates, that was a 0.0 draw against Spurs in the FA Cup in 1969.

Part 6

In 1970 –71, we reached the FA Cup final against Arsenal, My Dad got tickets, and I assumed if I got one, he would let me go ”I was wrong”. I could have got a ticket for £5.00, but my Dad said NO it’s too much to pay and there may be trouble. I was devastated, some of my mates managed to get tickets and I had to stay at home and watch it on the television. I was gutted. Of course the house was bedecked in Red and White and turned into a shrine, the dog wore its usual Liverpool top and shorts were introduced (with a hole cut out for his tail), the salmon butties made an appearance too.

My dad and his mates left Liverpool bedecked in red and white on the Thursday “before” the final on the Saturday, he rang up to let us know he had arrived safely on the Friday. In later years he told me they arrived in London on the Thursday afternoon, booked into their lodgings then went out on the Town. They arrived back at the hotel on the Saturday morning having spent all that time on the ale. I never did tell me Mum, she would have gone up the wall.

The game itself turned out to be a bit of a dour event, both teams cancelling each other out. Soon extra time was upon us. Stevie Heighway scored a belter at Bob Wilson’s right hand post, unfortunately Arsenal proved too strong for us that day with Charlie George scoring the winning goal from outside the box. Then lying down on the pitch with both arms held aloft. God I hated him. When my mates returned home, I asked if there was any trouble, there had been some so I suppose my Dad was right.

The next day (Sunday) we travelled into the City centre to welcome the Tricky Reds back home. We had to get off the bus on London Road because of the vast amount of supporters walking in the road. At the Piction library the crowds where immense, a sea of people everyone bedecked in red and white with quite a few wearing blue and white.

The team walked onto the rostrum and the place erupted, the great man himself Bill Shankly acknowledged the crowd, and then told us how sorry he was that he couldn’t bring the FA Cup back home. Shanks then “proclaimed” that the team would go one better and bring “The Championship” back to Anfield the next season. The place went bananas, as we acknowledged and celebrated Shanks remarks.

The Derby games were incredible, Everton used to have the whole of the Anfield Road, and the noise was out of this World as both sets of supporters used to try and out-sing each other. Even now thinking back to them days, I don’t think the atmosphere ever came across on Match of the Day because the BBC used to turn down the crowd noises so the commentator could be heard. I particularly enjoyed the Derby games at Anfield, we would all leave Netherton around 11.30 in the morning (red mates and blue mates) and wind each other up on the way to the boozer. Our favourite watering hole then was the “Half Way House” on County Road, being 15 or 16 we had no problems getting served, many a pint was supped between Red and Blue before a walk up to the match.

After the Anfield Derby games, we used to get down to County Road as quickly as possible and get the bus back to Netherton, the daft Evertonians used to walk across Stanley Park and wait at their usual bus stops. More often than not, the bus was full with Liverpool supporters when it reached their bus stops. Of course the driver very rarely stopped to let them on. Year after year, we always grabbed the best specks in our local boozers.

The Goodison derby games where just as passionate, with thousands and thousands of Kopites filling the Park end, paddock and enclosure. We tended to frequent the enclosure because it was dead handy to get out of and leg it up to the bus stop(s) to beat our blue mates yet again back to the boozer. For games at Goodison, we always turned up bedecked in red and white and for some reason used to walk around the ground at least once, some sort of show of strength thing?

We very rarely drank in the Anfield area after a Derby, we tended to meet up and drink in Netherton. Derby days were an excuse to have a real good drinking session with no time limit to get home. One thing that still sticks in my mind to this day is that the Red and Blue mates who had gone to the match very rarely caused trouble. It was the ones that didn’t that did? In time we wanted to see more of Liverpool FC, it was time to travel away to watch the tricky reds on a regular basis. For some reason we always used to travel by “Soccer Special” train from Lime Street, we would often arrive early at Lime Street and take a walk around clothes shops such as “Patches” “ Sexy Rexy” and “Issy Crown” to see what was new. It became a ritual to pop into the “Punch N Judy” café on the corner of Lime Street and Skelhorne Street and fill our faces with half-cooked hot dogs on stale buns.

Away games were brilliant, in those days you where allowed to take as much ale with you as you could carry. It became a bit of a competition between us to see who could turn up with the most obscure brand of ale. Every other Friday night we became regulars at Ashe & Nephew stocking up with a couple of Watney’s party 7’s and countless brands of cans of lager for another journey into the unknown.

It didn’t matter if it was a local trip to Manchester United / City away or a long trip down south countless cans of ale would be consumed. Many a fellow red was left on a bench at various railway stations to sleep off the excesses incurred on the train journey(s). The British Rail people at Lime Street must have been Liverpool supporters or just plain daft, we used to turn up at Lime Street around between 10 to 14 of us. Eight of us would board the train, and then one of us would get off the train (with 6 train tickets in his pocket). Pass them onto the others, then one by one get back onto the train. Boarding the “Specials” on the way home was just as easy, because the local police wanted us out of their Cities as soon as possible.

Once the train had started, you had to keep an eye out for the ticket inspector. Likeminded supporters would keep “Dixie” on the lookout for the inspector. Once spotted, the lads would struggle to get under the tables so they wouldn’t have to pay, sometimes we would show him a valid ticket walk past him and collect other tickets to pass onto the fare dodgers.

Nine times out of ten the inspector would know what was going on, every now and then they would clamp down and make people pay for train tickets. It was not uncommon to have a whip around for someone you never knew.

Getting home from Lime Street was also a challenge, if we knew the bus driver we would just pile onto the bus and give him a couple of bob when you got off. If we didn’t know him, we would stand around him and pay whilst the others smuggled themselves on board.

In 1974 the Tricky Reds saw off Carlisle United, Doncaster Rovers, etc to reach another FA Cup final. My Kop season ticket didn’t qualify for a Final ticket, I was sickened, would I miss out on my first time to Wembley? Not bloody likely, despite asking every Tom, Dick and Harry I couldn’t get hold of a ticket, I had booked a spec on one of the many Wembley “Soccer Specials” nothing was going to stop me.

We purchased our Wembley kecks from Flemmings in County Road, these were blue jeans with the Flemmings badge (Liver bird and Union Jack) on it, you could buy “Red” kecks but these were not for us. I purchased a new silk scarf for this “Special” occasion it was printed with “Kings of the Kop” on one side the other side had the player’s name printed on it. My red beret from 1965 came out of the drawer to make its first of many Wembley appearances.

On the Wednesday before Cup final day I managed to buy a ticket in the Liverpool end for a fiver, this was an extortionate amount to pay for a ticket, but I gladly paid it. Lime Street station was awash with red and white, everyone seemed to be dressed in red this was going to be some very special football occasion. Wednesday turned into Thursday, I had a knowing glint in my eyes. My dad again bedecked in red and white said “tarra” to us all and away they went on another journey in an attempt to drink London dry. The crafty bugger had told me Mum that his works had booked a coach down to London, but for the wrong day and that he couldn’t let his mates down. If she only knew?