We, my Dad and I were returning from the France 1998 World Cup. Sent homeward to think again. The Eurostar from Paris to London I was driving up the M40 back home. My kilt was in the car boot however I refused to take off my Scotland replica shirt, it had been on manoeuvres and had been  worn with distinction. 

We stopped at a motorway service station for sustenance, caffeine to lift the weight of disappointment from our eyelids.

Entering, my Dad sauntering we encountered a young lady selling credit cards. She beckoned us over.

‘Are you Scottish?’ 

We nodded.

‘My Dad’s Scottish’. She was not exactly proud we guessed, her accent showed no sign of Scots.

‘ We haven’t seen him for a week. We think he’s gone to the World Cup’.

All these years later Scotland haven’t been in the World Cup finals. My replica shirt is washed and pressed  for a return trip and that father living in Oxfordshire still waiting. ‘Won’t be long dear, just nipping out for a pint of milk’. 

Spain, just another Tuesday….

 The wee girl beside us, top row of Hampden’s South Stand turned round, pointed, smiled and explained ‘ this is my kilt’. Well, it certainly wasn’t her Dad’s. She was tiny, her big sister not much bigger. The new generation of Scotland fans. 

The national stadium of old was masculine and full of alcoholic testosterone. I saw Hampden from the 60’s onwards. Great Scottish heroes from Denis Law, Jim Baxter, Jinky and Kenny Dalglish. More, many more fierce some warriors. From 1973 onwards we qualified for World Cups and the odd Euros. Massive crowds expected so much and yet, we knew there would be stramashes, disasters and more, or less looking at it objectively.

However, here are the kids, parents with kids and young folk of all sexes and genders. I could bore them with tales of the Tartan Army. Scotland’s propensity for being Scottish. Grabbing defeat from the jaws of victory. We saw this twisted and fateful skill as being exclusive to us.

But now, the new set of fans just see Scotland as their football team. Win, lose or draw. Lose and it’s a loss, all teams lose, all countries. Argentina won the World Cup and still lost in the first set of matches. We suffered shame and embarrassment in 1978 under the hapless leadership, or lack of, Ally McLeod. We, Scotland are not the only country that suffers disasters and embarrassments.

The double header gathered 6 points out of 6. We never looked like losing to Cyprus and to be honest neither did we look like losing to mighty Spain.

Tuesday evening under the floodlights was magic. What an atmosphere and to finish a world class celebration. Scotland won and won deservedly, the Spanish superstars were sent home to think again. They flew home from Glasgow airport leaving a sour taste. 

So back to the celebrations. The final whistle blew and the DJ played a set of songs that had old and young dancing a Hampden jig. ‘ Yes sir I can boogie ‘ and the piece de resistance ‘ Freed from desire’.

Scotland fans now perhaps just accept that we lose, draw and win. We have no exclusive right to win and neither do we have the exclusive right to chuck it away in the last minute. Roll on the next double header. Oslo here I come, fingers crossed and just as important a credit card to buy a beer.

 The Scottish Cup 1st round and it obviously does get bigger and more important than Cumnock Juniors Fc vs Dumbarton, venue Townhead stadium.

A dreich Friday evening with my nephew starring as the linesman. My relationship with Cumnock Juniors FC stretches back over 20 years. I was acquainted with some ‘Nock’ followers and attended some of their fixtures. A Scottish Junior Cup tie against Tayport, a Junior side from the River Tay area I presumed, with a Port in addition. A healthy visiting support allocated the open terrace opposite the enclosed roofed home terrace. I have no recollection of the score other than The Nock lost.

My lasting memory was the temporary visit of some Glenafton fans. A side from the neighbouring village of New Cumnock their match had been postponed and some worthy lads thought it worthy of a chant and a loud challenge. What challenge that was I can only guess and resulted in the local Police meeting the challenge with prompt ejection.

My late career as a star, my words and description, in the sport of Walking football saw me play a few hours on the hallowed asrtomturf of Stadio Townhead. Aghast at my first sight of the dreadful changing rooms a fellow player assured me that said facilities were ‘miles better than they used to be’. Blooming heck. Nearby Ayrshire village of Auchinleck, home of the mighty Auchinleck Talbot lord it over The Nock. Dominating Scottish Junior football for many years they surely owe some of their success to decent showers and hygienic sanitary facilities. I have no knowledge of how good or terrible Talbot’s toilets are, I await a walking football visit. 

The rain in Scotland last night fell mainly over the uncovered fans. No longer a muddy pitch to act as a leveller. An exciting match with little skill, lots of fast action. Scottish Junior football of the past was famous for infamous high tackles, shoving, blood and snotters and that was only in the warm ups. No longer, referees now can apply the rules of association football freely with no licensed and necessary adaption for thuggery. It is noticeable that older fans complain of fouls missed by the ref. The same older fan who would not that long ago have dismissed decapitation of an opponent as unworthy of a strong talking to. Gentle stuff indeed.

Dumbarton ran out worthy 3-1 winners progressing to round 2. No one was hurt, even the ref left with his dignity intact. Can I in conclusion reveal my brother and myself found the star of the show was the wifie stadium PA announcer. A rather shrill high pitched voice sold the lottery tickets with Ayrshire vigour. Announcing the teams emerging for the 2nd half she encouraged the young team in the shed behind the goals to make some noise, and they indeed followed orders, ken. 

Great entertainment and not only on the astroturf.

Scotland versus England

 3rd April 2022

On this day April 13th, 1946 Scotland played England in the football Victory International. The war had ended and part of the celebrations was a match between the oldest rivals in international football; 140,000 tickets were sold with 30,000 English compatriots expected in Glasgow. All hotels were booked with pubs and restaurants expecting a bumper weekend. Rationing was of course in place however Scots and English fans were recently brothers in arms, many locals would no doubt be sharing a dram.

My young 13-year-old dad left his house, the Anderson Shelter still prominent in his garden. He was wearing his lucky tartan scarf, not so lucky as he was at the last meeting, a 6-1 heavy defeat by mighty England.

He took the tram to his father’s work who had finished his Saturday morning shift. I can only imagine the excitement and trepidation as they walked and talked the few miles to Hampden Park. Entering the massive bowl, they were surrounded by many still in army uniform. As the terraces filled 139,468 souls were entertained by the compere conducting communal singing. The Scots loud renditions of traditional songs followed by that most English anthem sung at FA Cup Finals ‘Abide with me’.

The emotion of the occasion must have been overwhelming, for our Scots players responsibility resting heavily on the single Lion on the navy-blue shirts. The English had 3 Lions on theirs, we had but one, ours however roared.
On this day June 10th, 2017 we played England once again, my late grandfather’s family walked to Hampden more in hope than expectation as we had not the players nor the talent of Baxter or Denis Law. The Tartan Army drawn to The National Stadium just as Bonnie Prince Charlie’s sodjers were to glorious failure. An act of fitba Newtonian gravity sucking us in to inevitable defeat.

England scored first, they always did, victory was theirs, it always is. In the closing minutes however a Scotland free kick.

‘He will never score from there’, and Griffiths did. Another free kick a minute later.

‘He won’t score from there, again?’. Yes, Griffiths did.

Our lungs burst; our ears rung with the Hampden roar. My family hugged, mass hysteria and dancing. Today, England of course equalised in the last minute. What a match, what drama, what a finale. We had snatched a 2-2 draw from the jaws of victory, from misery to happiness to misery.

Some 71 years before, my dad and grandfather stood as the match entered the last seconds, a no score draw perhaps befitting the occasion. All comrades together until Jackie Husband crossed and Jimmy Delaney headed the winner. Scotland had beaten England 1 goal to 0, my grandfather often joyfully related to us the scenes of sheer joy, as men hugged and danced a Hampden highland jig.

They walked home with a victory story we carry as a family tradition some 71 years later. Win lose or draw it’s the day we play England that is important.

What’s in a song?

 An abiding memory of Scotland games in the 60s and 70s were the songs ‘We’ll support you evermore, we’ll support you evermore’ always to be sung after an England goal followed by ‘All we are saying is give us a goal’ a desperate plea indeed.

Flower of Scotland for me personally does not carry a resonance and is for many best sung at Murrayfield. Many find this comical as the Edinburgh stadium is a hotbed of Unionism, nothing wrong with that however Princess Anne joining in with great gusto is perhaps signifying its sporting importance out with and separate to politics. Many years ago at a Northern Ireland friendly the friendly banter with their followers was interrupted with their disparaging comments on our ‘national anthem’.

Step forward a new hero, in the footsteps of Denis Law and Robert the Bruce in reclaiming our independent place in World fitba. 

We’ve got McGinn, super John Mcginn, I just don’t think you’ll understand, he’s Stevie Nicol’s  man, he’s better than Zidane, we’ve got super John Mcginn. My first hearing was an extremely drunk Hibs fan falling over outside Hampden in 2016, the song is now a favourite in the marvellous Holt End.

Hampden last Saturday saw the Hampden Roar return, the song echoed around the stadium and we indeed did understand. We may Yes sir I can boogie however this requires background music. Super John Mcginn  just is super indeed and is indeed a wonderful wonderful football song. 

Prague, we made the Czechs great

 Johnny Madden ( 1865- 1948 ) a former shipyard riveter, a Scot, a Celtic player dressed as a Rangers player who played and managed Slavia Prague. A career with Dumbarton Albion, Dumbarton Hibs, Dumbarton, Gainsborough Trinity, Grimsby Town, and Celtic.

He toured Hungary with Celtic perhaps getting a taste of life in Eastern Europe. He took over the manager’s post in Prague 15 February 1905. The Rangers link, his best friend was a Rangers player who helped him get the job. He  took the passing game of Scotland to Czechoslovakia,  winning the league title in 1925, 1929 and 1930.

The main stand of Slavia Prague’s Sinobo Stadium is named in his honour.

Scotland played in Prague 1999. The Czechs contacted West of Scotland Tartan Army’s 

( world famous Chairman , the wonderful  ) Tommy Madden. He was, he thought no relation to Johnny Madden, they however invited him and the Scots fans to a graveside memorial in Johnny’s honour. Tommy immediately spotted the slight flaw in the idea. A ceremony match day timing of 9.00 am would perhaps limit attendance. Perhaps some of our members would attend heading home from a night of cultural imbibing to their respective hotels. 

The Czechs had the full works, a ceremony plus speeches plus a full spread. The board of Slavia Prague, city representatives. 

Tommy represented his nation wearing a kilt, provided a speech and perhaps Tales of The Tartan Army. Later he recounted how he was the only Scot in attendance. 

Later that evening leading 2-0 against the European Champions with a scratch side the Czechs brought on 6’6 Jan Koller. Need I continue? We lost 3-2, perhaps a wheel-chaired Johnny Madden would have instructed us to boot the ball out of the park, 3 times. Stuart Armstrong please note.

Fast forward 10 years and in Slavia Prague’s stadium Levein played his infamous 4-6-0.

It may be that Craig should have chosen a career in riveting rather than fitba management.

The Faither.

As a wee boy in Aberdeen my first memory of Pittodrie was a Scotland Under 23 game against England along with my Dad. We sat in the centre stand alongside Mr Lawson who owned Lawson of Dyce, grand  makers of pies and bacon, My Dad worked there, was it a coincidence we sat there that evening? Was it a cunning plan, a career move for him? Was I pawn in my father’s climb to the top? Did I get a free pie at half time? So many questions, it was 24th February 1963, I was 6 and if I, even at this age went to the social work with accusations of parental cruelty then  I think there still would be a case. Is there a statute of limitations on Scotland disasters?

The game finished 0-0, My Dad remembers Billy Bremner was pitted against Alan Ball in midfield, so although there was no goals there certainly would be a few tough tackles flying.

Thus all these years later I can reflect on 56 years of watching Scotland and Scottish fitba. This disease has no known cure, why should there be? I should ask social work, or better a psychiatrist.

Other early memories of Pittodrie are of course at best hazy, a visit of  Kilmarnock, me  entering the terraces to see a pipe band welcoming the 1965 Scottish Champions. A draw methinks, turns out 1-1 was the score, not 2-2 from memory.

Enter my wee brother Scott and a 1965 Cup Final trip to Hampden, he was 5. This was the game that marked the start of the Stein era, Jock that gigantic figure that would dominate Scottish football from his management of Dunfermline and the Hibs and on until his sad death. Celtic won 3-2 to defeat said Dunfermline courtesy of a late Billy McNeil header. We stood at the corner of the ‘Rangers End’ and ‘Wee Enclosure’. I make no apology for such descriptions, those were the widely used terms of the times, later thankly to change.

We drove down from Aberdeen to Glasgow probably staying with my Grandparents, Nana and Pop of whom I will devote a separate chapter alongside my maternal Grandfather Gramps.

A year later we three attended our first Auld Enemy game. Again the same spot. Hampden was then massive, truly massive and then a bit. Attendance at the cup final was 118,000 and the England game 123,502. Scott and I must have gazed in wonder. Our first Scotland goal was a magnificent Denis Law header from a corner taken directly in front of us. I am so glad I saw Denis at his best, the King. An Aberdonian my Dad tells me I spoke to Denis ( King ) at a phone box. A story I trust is true. 

Parents have a certain wisdom. I innocently questioned my Dad as to why the Queen was at the English Cup Final and not the Scottish one. I was introduced to republicanism. More of that not that long into the future.

We were regular visits to Dons home games. The visit  of Celtic circa ‘67, perhaps as European Champions saw a Tommy Gemmell penalty saved by Bobby Clark. He scored the retake and in the rumpus that followed the controversy,  the referee, alleged villain, was banjoed by a pitch invading fan. Dad told us the fans paid for his court fine. I seem to remember Celtic scored five. Perhaps the perpetrator should have played in goal. 

Celtic reached the European Cup Final and we watched the final live on a black and white TV. At half time with Celtic 1-0, a dodgy penalty, we played football in the garden. As Scots we were supporting a Scottish team, a habit we have follow followed ever since. 

The 1966 World Cup was held in England and mysteriously all England’s games were played at Wembley. Football was of course coming home. As an 8 year old I wanted England to win, no excuses because of age, I just did. During the tournament we went on holiday to The Maidens, near Girvan in a hut with no TV so we possibly would not have seen all the goals. We watched the final in Stirling on the way home. The vision of Bobby Moore, boo, would be ever present for years, holding the Jules Rimet Cup. We went to see the dreadful World Cup film in the cinema. Dreadful. 

We lived in a beautiful big house, 119 Broomhill Road and to pay the mortgage we had students living in the attic. We watched England win the cup in a student’s house. 

I do remember the opening game a 0-0 England draw with Uruguay, other memories are of the great Bobby Charlton’s goals, Alan Ball and Nobby Stiles. I have not supported England since that day, I habit I have followed ever since. 

Every Christmas Santa brought Hugh Taylor’s Scottish Football Annual, starting with number 10. A loose colourful cover with wonderful picture from that year’s Scotland England game. Santa must have on the way passed by my Nana  and 

pop’s house to get each annual signed, very thoughtful of him as that night he had many other chimneys to drop through. 

I have a memory of being in my Gramp’s flat in Govan prior to the ‘64 game. They had a spare ticket, they discussed whether I should go. I didn’t go, I had to wait 10 years to see us beat England. I was 6, did I not have human rights? 

To this day Scott and I treasure Hugh Taylor’s Annuals. My almost encyclopaedic knowledge of irrelevant Scottish football facts derives from many many hours pouring over the books.

Highlights; 

Annual 10,I have the green book minus the cover lan Gilzean’s 1964 headed winner, the picture of the ball sitting in the back of the net. A net that folded beautifully over the white ball. Ever since I have loved nets. I studied nets. Why did some clubs have crappy brown nets when white was so brilliant? Rangers suddenly had brown nets, why? Stanchions . Hampden’s were distinctive, a curve and lovely folding nets, unfortunately Queens Park bought new white tight nets. The ones where the ball would bounce out and not lie enveloped in a white net.

Annual 13,the first hard cover, a picture of Ronnie Simpson’s late save. We had beaten England 3-2. A picture of the Scotland fans standing on Wembley’s sacred turf. Surely this would never be repeated? Surely?

On the opposite page Law ( King ) and Ronnie McKinnon celebrate a Scotland goal and the net visibly lifts as the ball hits the back of the white Wembley net. Beautiful. 

The end of the match report had a picture of....you guessed it Martin Peters, ( Alf, Sir Ramsay of, described him as ‘ahead of his time’. ), lifting the crumpled net to get the ball from the back of the net. The vision lives with me to this day.

I may mention nets later on, Hearts for example had an almost round stanchion and had for a period striped nets.

In those days I am it sure if the whole game was live on TV, perhaps only the second half. After our annihilation of the World Champions Dad gave me money for a new football and I ran up Broomhill Road to the shop and imitated scorer Jim McCalliog  goal celebration. On the Monday a girl mentioned in the class that she had been on a bus, number 2 to Auchinyell no doubt and had wondered what I had been doing.

Celebrating Scotland being World Champs that is. We did not hold this title for long as we lost to Russia not long after.

Celtic won all that year and we went down to Glasgow to see the Dons lose 2-0 in front of 130 odd thousand fans. I stood beside a classmate Neil Carsey and Dad got a speeding ticket on the way home.

We had various matches Pittodrie, invariably in the wee corner stand. On European tie, a Belgium team methinks, must have been in the cup winners cup as cup losers. As a boy amongst other thing was my interest in track suits. The foreign teams seemed to have really good ones and I am sure a cracker was evident that night. 

Fitba boots were not in abundance in the mid 60s for a mad footballer like me. I seemed to have been picked for Broomhill School as a 7 year old, I am sure of this, they must have been desperate and their results were dire. We were regularly thumped. 13-0 and a 16 goal humiliation. Our strips were a Hibs top, black socks with green tops. Far too big. I loved looking at the width of the top turnover. Loved wee thin ones. 

My boots for a boy of size 3 were a Puma 300 size 5. Only ones available. A beautiful Puma flash with green rubber soles. I was taken aback when a 333 model appeared with white soles. Screw in soles came later.

The sports shop was Peter Craigmyle, former referee, on King Street.

My father came to the games, a piece of advice for me as a right winger was not to talk to the opposition, I had been guilty of this heinous crime as a I remember once in an away game.  

We were often taken to Pittodrie for the second half, entry free. Please note modern clubs this is a vital introduction for kids to senior football, no longer available. 

Latterly Scott and I would take the bus to games, we were so young, however in those days it was perfectly natural.

As a wee boy I was Rangers mad, a visit of the hordes from Glasgow filled me with great excitement. I once had a home made flag which my pal, the Jannie’s son and a I took to a 4 goal win.

Dad once , that I remember, played for Lawson of Dyce, I stood behind the goals chatting to the goalie. Wonder if he had Puma boots on?

Aberdeen FC goes on, our visits are now seldom , mostly for Scotland games. Our stay however ended in 1968, I had a Saturday visit to my teacher Miss Mackie’s bungalow which meant as missed my last Aberdeen home game for about 10 years. Scott went.

A postscript in that on the way to Chorleywood we stopped off to stay with Gran and Gramps. He took us to the last game of the season, Rangers vs, guess who....The Dons. Rangers were to finish 2nd whatever the score however they would go the entire season unbeaten if they did not lose. Aberdeen won on the same day Dunfermline beat The Hearts in the Scottish Cup final, on the same day!!!

Sportsreel was the TV football programme on Saturday night. Midweek games were late and the routine was that we went to bed and were promised that we would be woken for the highlights.

Scotland played Italy in 1965 and I have an extremely hazy recollection of the late John Greig’s winner. 

When will we see the likes again, highlights are a rarity midweek, shame.