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.

Carlisle 1971-1978

Carlisle 1971-1978

We moved to Carlisle in August 1971 settling into Eden Mount. 

I have a memory of Dad taking us to a midweek game soon after, Bolton Wanderers thereafter he was but an irregular attender at Brunton Park as he worked during the week and played golf on a Saturday. 

I had a similar pattern as I played at the weekend.

Me and my pals did however attend a few Carlisle games, mostly midweek and cup tie replays. Liverpool and Spurs come to mind. 

Liverpool in the FA Cup at Anfield; we didn’t go as either we had bought a new Toshiba Whirler the week before or Dad had a gold tie on. My pals went and Pete Tuer got a doing, had his scarf on his wrist and got dragged down an alleyway. ‘couldn’t get it off’. Jes laughed. 

Scotland games of course took precedent, 

The first game was the midweek Portugal Euro Qualifier; Scotland vs Portugal. Tommy Docherty’s first game. He was quoted as having Jimmy Johnstone scratching the dressing room door to get at them’. Bob Wilson was making his debut, Eddie Colquhoun was Centre half. The guy beside us confided in us loudly. ‘ Just what we needed a big centre half and a goalie with a safe pair of hands’.

We were in the North ( Big Enclosure ), we won 2-1, scorers John O’Hare and Archie Gemmell. 58,612 turned up. 

The Carlisle Scotland 70s adventure started and want a decade it was indeed. We rarely missed a game, 2 I can think of a Peru 1972 2-0 win friendly which I can only think we may have been there and I have no knowledge. The 5-0 England 1973 Centenary International grubbing was played on a freezing February Wednesday and thereafter the Husband’s were an ever present that momentous decade. Every Scotland game at home and some away.

A disastrous 1-0 1972 England defeat was a really poor result, the game was a battle and we lost. Dreadfull. Awful. 

I was at the Brazil friendly, losing 1-0 to a Derek Johnstone own goal with Jes. The year was 1973 and the greatest night of my possibly our Scotland adventure took place in September

Following Scotland would never be the same again.. 

Govan 1969-71

Chorleywood 1968-69

We moved to Chorleywood in April 1968 and we attended only a couple of Watford games, the Hornets were the nearest club. Strangely, or unbelievably one was a pre-season friendly against Morton which we attended. 

My thoughts were always towards Scotland and Rangers who were continuing to live under the shadow of Celtic.

I played for my school Russell County Primary School who were hopeless, there was no league just a few friendlies. My developing style was based on my heroes Baxter and Willie Henderson and the romantic tales of skill and dribbling. Dad told me about some Scottish player who could score direct from corners and many of my corners were indeed wasted as it turned out that that skill was impossible. 

To this day I can still nutmeg at will, my talents which are many derived from watching the Real Madrid vs Eintracht Frankfurt European Cup Final 1960. A 7-3 game which is legendary and which my father was there. He told us so. Seemingly. 

My pals, Michael Rowbottam and Mark Service wearing kilts travelled in the back of our wee Mini van to White Hart Lane to see a pre-season friendly against Rangers. Rangers lost, possibly 2-0.  We were so disappointed that the terracing was square and the view so poor. There were loads of Rangers fans there, possibly drunk. The nets were white. 

By the way he was at the 1945 Ranger vs Moscow Dynamo game. He was, and he was on the track. Seemingly.

We went to an England friendly, Bulgaria at Wembley. In 1966 I was an England supporter, however now a supporter no more.

I was obviously an attentive child as when God Save the Queen was played I booed. Dad was horrified, to this day I can’t understand his issue, maybe 90,000 nearby loyal England fans were of immediate concern. 

A 1-1 draw , a few years ago I saw the game on Sky TV and the great Bobby Charlton scored, what a player.

 My class went to Dawlish, Devon for a weeks holiday. Returning on the Saturday Dad took us to the evening game, the bi-annual England Scotland game. We were grubbed 4-1 by the then excellent England team. Colin Stein scored a headed goal from a corner, the highlight, the one highlight. An experience we would have to get used to.

Chorleywood 1968-69

Chorleywood 1968-69

We moved to Chorleywood in April 1968 and we attended only a couple of Watford games, the Hornets were the nearest club. Strangely, or unbelievably one was a pre-season friendly against Morton which we attended. 

My thoughts were always towards Scotland and Rangers who were continuing to live under the shadow of Celtic.

I played for my school Russell County Primary School who were hopeless, there was no league just a few friendlies. My developing style was based on my heroes Baxter and Willie Henderson and the romantic tales of skill and dribbling. Dad told me about some Scottish player who could score direct from corners and many of my corners were indeed wasted as it turned out that that skill was impossible. 

To this day I can still nutmeg at will, my talents which are many derived from watching the Real Madrid vs Eintracht Frankfurt European Cup Final 1960. A 7-3 game which is legendary and which my father was there. He told us so. Seemingly. 

My pals, Michael Rowbottam and Mark Service wearing kilts travelled in the back of our wee Mini van to White Hart Lane to see a pre-season friendly against Rangers. Rangers lost, possibly 2-0.  We were so disappointed that the terracing was square and the view so poor. There were loads of Rangers fans there, possibly drunk. The nets were white. 

By the way he was at the 1945 Ranger vs Moscow Dynamo game. He was, and he was on the track. Seemingly.

We went to an England friendly, Bulgaria at Wembley. In 1966 I was an England supporter, however now a supporter no more.

I was obviously an attentive child as when God Save the Queen was played I booed. Dad was horrified, to this day I can’t understand his issue, maybe 90,000 nearby loyal England fans were of immediate concern. 

A 1-1 draw , a few years ago I saw the game on Sky TV and the great Bobby Charlton scored, what a player.

 My class went to Dawlish, Devon for a weeks holiday. Returning on the Saturday Dad took us to the evening game, the bi-annual England Scotland game. We were grubbed 4-1 by the then excellent England team. Colin Stein scored a headed goal from a corner, the highlight, the one highlight. An experience we would have to get used to.

The Faither, Part1

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.

Returning from a wonderful trip to wonderful Moscow it was only at Heathrow I became angry. A woeful performance, not for the first time. The BBC were in front of me at security. It was of course their fault.

I have listened to football on the radio since I was a lad. Radio Scotland in Carlisle, Radio Scotland in Darmstadt West Germany on clear atmospheric winter nights. Back in Scotland with Radio Clyde. Richard Park and the wonderful Jimmy Sanderson. Sometimes I was at the game, often not. The phone - in. In Ayr I had to have the radio on the kitchen window ledge to receive the signal.
Jimmy passed and Radio Scotland sharpened their act.

Tighter and best of all good discussions with journalists. The occasional barney. If Jimmy Sanderson was obtuse James Traynor was controversial and stubborn and unlikeable. Probably deliberately so. Entertaining, oh yes and a must for a Saturday afternoon.

We had the period of the New Firm and Scotland’s regular qualification for tournaments and decent club runs in Europe. Really good quality players if not in the Law or Baxter quality. Rangers emerged as a real force financially, Celtic followed. Good but not brilliant.

Then came the period of decline. Dreadful football. Truly awful. 21 years of failure internationally, with more to come. Rangers self-combusted and we had the wee teams winning trophies. Great. not brilliant though,

As for BBC Scotland. The journos have disappeared, save the excellent Tom English. Punters, jings they seem to mirror the standard of oor fitba. ‘You know’.

I put forward for the case for the prosecution the word ‘brilliant’. An oft used word. You know.
Scottish football and the word ‘brilliant’. Our performance in Moscow? The preceding 2 games at Hampden? Killie losing to a team of Welsh semi-pros? Continual failure in Europe for our clubs?
I could go on. You know.

‘You know’. By a pundit using the words ‘you know’ by definition implies that since I the listener
 ‘ you knows’ then the pundit is redundant. You know.

Anyway, you get my drift. ‘Brilliant’ is a word redundant in the description of anything in Scottish fitba.

Of course the ( terminal) decline of Scottish fitba is not the sole fault of the media. We have all played our part, we are all collectively guilty. I watch Scotland and often I am not sure I recognise some of our players, a centre half who was last week on the bench for Aberdeen. Jings.

I saw Denis Law play. Jim Baxter. Henderson and Jinky Johnstone. They were ‘brilliant’.
A suggestion. In describing Scottish fitba, goals in Scottish fitba, games in Scottish fitba please use the phrases; nae bad, quite good, good, excellent, adequate. You get my drift. You know.

Westa Motivating speaker

The West of Scotland Tartan Army invited Scotland Women’s Team Manager to our Burns Supper, she announced she was thrilled to come. She was brilliant, in perfect Dutch English her speech went down a treat. The highlight was when she was heckled. She announced she had 50 odd caps, a shout from the audience ‘ had she ever beaten England?’

Yes ‘5-0’. The cheer was the loudest of the evening, she had achieved the highest Westa acholade. ‘Conqueror of the English’. We to this day await another.

When Scotland qualified for the Euros 2 years ago we invited manager Anna Signeul to a meeting. She was great, she loved the Tartan Army, our passion. In honour of their feat I offered to speak to the team, offer accepted I indeed made my first ever motivation speech.

I wrote a piece, and on the night with the Scotland team facing me I changed the talk. In the  end outlined the experience of a Scots fan watching Scotland in the finals. How despite the best laid plans of mice , managers and logic there was and would be a tragic Scottish curse that could not be broken.

The players were so bright and optimistic, I probably was the same as an 8 year old watching Scotland for the first time, we lost 4-3 to England. My first two Wembley games a total score of England 9 Scotland 2. You get my drift.

I tried to warn them, to no avail.

I was in Utrecht when a startled Scotland team lost 6-0, including a corner converted in the 5th minute of injury time. 

We lost to Portugal when we should have won then beat Spain, a higher ranked team missing a sitter in the last minute thus not going through to the next round.

Glorious defeat, just like the men, tragic. I warned them. However we have qualified for the World Cup.

This time Olympic champ. Katherine Grainger, five times Olympic medalist was the motivation speaker. A step up in class. 

We played well in the first game, the realisation that we have a lot to offer seemed to have dawned on the team after England had a third chalked off. We played them off the park, scored but it was not quite enough.

Japan tomorrow, 

Then I am off to Paris for the game that may (will) see us into the next round, the first time we have done it.

Hamish

Westa supporting Scotland women’s team

There are those kids who have no first hand evidence of Scotland participating in the World Cup. 21 years, a long long time since we were there and even then we scored 2 goals and won not one game. None, mind you we drew with mighty Norway. We did lose 2-1 to then world champs Brazil despite scoring 2. A rare talent that.
Our women’s team are there, in France and were in Holland 2 years ago for the Euros. I was there. Scotland is in the World Cup, finally. I repeat we are in the World Cup.
A squad of highly talented footballers, thrilling to watch with Technique, yes I will repeat the not often used adjective to describe a Scots footballer. Technique.
Many years ago, in the dark ages of the early 2000’s West of Scotland Tartan Army (Westa) had a major issue with their player of the year. Which hapless, nay hopeless Scot should we pick? We had our annual award ceremony in the Iron Horse coming up and the with the nomination deadline approaching we had none.
Some of us had been watching the women’s team and had witnessed Scotland winning. Yes , winning. We decided to nominate, thus choosing a women’s player as oor POTY. Democracy be damned we chose a player. Mhairi. It can finally be revealed that she was chosen as we found out she worked at nearby Greaves Sports. I popped down to break the news to her in person.
Unwise it seems. She looked shocked and possibly slightly worried. She was polite and walked backwards to the fire escape as I explained the great honour she was to receive.
The next day I got a phone call from the SFA telling me off. A right good telling off by the way. ‘How dare I’. Any approach should be made officially. Official approach was made.
Vera Pauw, the Dutch Scotland manager made contact and both she and the still startled Mhairi attended our POTY.
I imagine our trophy proudly sits on Mhairi’s sideboard to this day. Unless that is she presented it to Scotland’s Football museum. I will check the next time I am there.

Hamish

Ask a Belgian

Having been to Belgium 3 times I found it prudent not to waste my time repeating the mistake. I still have to ask a Belgian how come a wee nation is so good? Why in the last 40years have they continued to produce really good players.
I do however remember the last time we were in Brussels and lost 2-0, it could have been more. A Belgian looking at the thousands of Scots in the stadium asked me ‘ Why are you all here?’
A good question indeed. In the face of undeniable evidence that we are not very good, why do so many travel?
I didn’t.

Hamish

A new start

The nation rejoiced, we found and got the man we wanted. A man who could work with limited ability, and we are very limited, very. A narrow 2-1 win over Cyprus including a late equaliser and a very late winner. We looked organised, sat deep against a team limited in talent possibly in preparation for the visit to Brussels.
Getting the Belgium game into perspective we went there with absolutely no hope of a victory, our last win was at Hampden in 1987, a game I missed as I was unforgivabley in Corfu.
Yesterday we faced the best team in the world, ranked number one and not for no reason.
I did not travel, I have witnessed 3 drubbings in Brussels, 3 x 2-0 scores each one a thumping. I wish to travel in hope and not just for a party, I have saved my trip for a wee visit to Paris to see a real Scotland team, one with skill and one with faces of sheer delight to be representing Scotland in the World Cup.
We, the men are paying the price for neglect. The waste of our talented kids, wasted by the clubs in their pursuit of.......?
 I stop to consider the question of ‘pursuit’. Just what have the clubs done for the fan?
In the way of skill and technique? The joy of enjoying football, of caressing a ball. Game awareness.
We don’t have the answer to our ills, I have been asked many many times where are all the Scots, the one who dominated English teams of the past.
Maybe we should ask a Belgian.

Hamish

Boris & Eck a story of failure

We welcome a new manager, the nation rejoices in unanimous celebration of  Scotland’s saviour. A national good guy had taken on the top job, for the second time and was definetley not first choice.
Alex Mcleish had deserted the sunk ship following a half decent campaign that left Scotland with half decent failure. Off to Birmingham City, sharpish and the fans had not forgotten.
A qualifying campaign that had seen no hopers Israel showboating in a home annihilation of the less than gallant Scots. Bad enough we then were slaughtered in Kazakhstan, humiliated.
The press looked for reassurance, Craig Brown came to Eck’s defence as did other managers.
We were not kidded, not for one minute.
In asking the old manager’s club for a view the answer was predictable and also there was no further questioning in just what evidence was there of progress or of  hope.
Step forward to this weeks big news that following months of shamefull, nay shameless hopelessness we are to get a new (sic) PM.  Number one candidate, first off the blocks, or should I rephrase ‘off his block’, the incorrigible Boris.
His record as a government minister made oor Eck’s reign seem like one of sheer genius. I nearly crashed my car as Eddie Mair in interviewing the then foreign secretary on BBC radio 4. His, Boris’s performance was so woeful, so unprepared in his brief that said Boris was heard shuffling his papers and in fact continually answered the previous question. Eddie Mair politely suggested that the interview was not an episode of the Two Ronnies, a Mastermind sketch.
Just as oor woeful BBC Scotland journos asked Eck’s pals for reassurance the London BBC asked Boris’ father for a recommendation on Boris’ suitability for PM.
Beyond satire but sadly in either case not beyond belief.
I await my father’s views to the media on my suitability for the Scotland job.
Hamish

Poland

The Times ( London ) phoned. The question posed; ‘would the West of Scotland Tartan Army be supporting Poland in the 2006 World Cup?’
There I faced the dilemma of the headline ‘The Tartan Army wish Poles harm...shocker’ if I said ‘no’.
What a responsibility, I chose the safe option and the Times ( London ) ran a story with the subtext of Scots support Poland and therefore the thousands of Poles in Scotland were assured of of our undying loyalty. Scotland’s  almost permanent absence in major football finals had already been assured.
Three days later BBC 5 Live phoned asking where was the best pub to broadcast live from a pub in Scotland where the Tartan Army would be showing undying love for Poland in the first tie against Germany of all teams, the hosts. Calmly I suggested a pub in Inverness where I assumed there was a sizeable Polish community.
2 days later The Warsaw Metro phoned for an interview reference Westa’s  support for the gallant Polish Team. I duly obliged with a few well chosen words, they also requested I send a photo for which I posed in front of a home made red and white flag.
The next day I was phoned by a Warsaw Radio Station where Westa’s  support was now obviously big national news. The journalist had just urgently booked a flight and was now asking if I could meet him in Edinburgh where he would broadcast live from a pub full of The Tartan Army supporting Poland. I apologised and wished him ‘arra best’ and suggested a well known Tartan Army Edinburgh pub. He however gave me an hours notice and interviewed me for live broadcast.
I quickly checked the Net and was able to expand upon my love of Deyna, Boniek as my favourite ever footballers. The best ever  Pole and definitely Scotland’s favourite was of course the 1973 goalie Jan Tomaszewski who single handedley, mind you he had 2 gloves, put England out of the World Cup at Wembley.
Football did not come home that night by the way. Brian Clough called him a clown, we in Scotland however  celebrated a national hero of 2 countries, Poland and Scotland.
So, having assured the nation of Poland the  undying support of Scotland and wishing them all the luck of lucky Scottish heather they finished second bottom of the group and went home to think again.
Oh, did I mention the Latvian Football Association phoning me in 2004 asking for the support of Westa  in the Euros? I duly obliged. They finished bottom with a draw against a very poor German team as their only point. Scotland did not qualify.

Hamish