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.
