A Derby Day Trilogy by Wooltonian

My Dad had two match mates, Gerry and later Norman Williams. Norman also worked with my Dad in Branch 6 of the T&GWU. The Derby of note in their friendship was one I did enjoy. It had become standard practise for my Dad to watch me play for the school team Saturday morning, then after a quick bite at home, off we’d head to the game. In 1970 the agenda for the day rarely changed. Down the Drive, park opposite The Clarence. Two pints of Mild, one Ginger Beer and a pack of crisps and up the slope we headed. We always called in a sweet kiosk halfway up, for a supply of chewy for Norman, mints for my Dad and whatever took my fancy (as long as it didn’t exceed 1 shilling).

Our tickets that day were for the paddock as it was standard practise then for the Blues to take over the Anny. I didn’t mind the Paddock, I always got a more balanced view of the game.

The programme introduced the teams:

Liverpool: Clemence, Lawler, Lindsay, Smith, Lloyd, Hughes, Hall McLaughlin, Heighway, Toshack and Ross.

Everton: Rankin, Wright, H Newton, Labone, Kendall, Harvey, Ball, Whittle, Royle, Hurst and Morrissey.

The talk of the Paddock before the game was that of the famous midfield trio of Kendall, Harvey and Ball who were growing in reputation as one of the finest around. But little could prepare us for what we were about to receive. The Everton midfield were indeed dominating the game and then came a moment I will never forget. The following passage may cause some doubts, but I assure you it is true, no matter how unlikely it seems.

A 50-50 ball between “The Anfield Iron” and “The Turncoat” ended with Morrissey coming away ’intact’ and winning the ball (I told yer it was gonna be a mind blower). Reds were in shock all over the ground, even the Blue fans couldn’t believe it. Worse still, his pass put through Whittle. Even worse still, the cheeky little buggar chipped Clemence.

I know it was only 1-0, but what a catastrophe of events. Smith beaten in the tackle by a lightweight and Clemmo being lobbed by a precocious little twat. The Blue quarter was going nuts and for the first time we realised we were not alone in the Paddock.

Things couldn’t get any worse, but they did. Minutes later a quick one-two by the turncoat and the snotrag Ball (had a habit of wiping his nose on corner flags) led to a cross which was met on the back post by Joe Royle. My heart sunk. 2-0 and even more Blues came out of the closet next to us. An old fella stood next to me opened his jacket and announced to the Paddock, I too am an Evertonian as his hidden scarf told.

Now alright I’m only a teenager at this time, turning 13 only weeks before. But the following action really made my blood boil. The old Buggar looked me right in the eye, and ruffled the hair on my head. “never mind Red” he said.

My face was Redder than my scarf! “Never mind”? my thoughts were not suitable for print then or now, but I mustered “it ain't over yet mate” but my true thoughts told a different story. I looked at my dad for some solace or at least a modicum of hope. He looked dumbfounded.

Our relatively new front line up of Hall, McLaughlin, Heighway, Toshack and Ross gave us little to cheer in that first half. They looked like strangers in the night. They had hardly had a kick of the ball between them and no one looked more alienated than Big Tosh with his hands on his hips. But in fairness it was only his second appearance, perhaps he would improve with time. I remember Tommy Smith coming out and watching him roll up his sleeves. It was a gesture that would lift not only the team, but let the faithful know “This means War”.

Tommy had a way of lifting everyone around him with gestures such as this. Our Tommy seemed just as capable of belting one of his own if they didn’t knuckle down. Morrissey was left in no doubt by the Anfield Irons glare. “You wanna try that one again Johnny”? The look on Morrissey’s face confirmed he would not be playing in the second half. His roar across the park to Emlyn, accompanied by a shake of the fist, told everyone what was expected. No wonder Tommy was our favourite, we knew in our hearts, this was a player who would lay his life down for the cause, rather than knuckle under.

But is would be the Derby Debutant who would break our duck. Heighway (a BA from Skem - must be a misprint in the programme) broke past Hurst on the left, he cut inside and thundered one across the goal, I swear Rankin didn’t move, it was a screamer. It wasn't long before the “Moustachioed Prince” who did Wright inside and out before sending in a wicked cross. Big Tosh rose in the box and his header went flying into the net. 2-2. The Kop went absolutely wild.

The assembled Blues in the paddock had somehow turned into chameleons. Where was that ruddy old bloke? Time I rubbed his baldy bonce. He was nowhere to be seen. For the first time in the game, there was a ray of hope for the faithful. You would think that the game would then have settled down for a while both teams took stock. There was none of it.

The game burst into life, one minute yer heart raced near 150 beats a minute, then we got the ball and the 150 barrier was shattered. 54,000 scousers screaming their lungs out incessantly.

The game was there for the taking by either team. It was time for someone to gain legendary status. The noise from both sets of fans had the ground shaking. Both sets of fans could smell blood. I swear I could see steam coming out of fans ears. Their contorted faces told you how much a win would mean today. Half of the fans looked cannibalistic, the spit dribbling from the corners of the mouth, gave them a rabid appearance.

I’d have loved my school teacher to be there that day and try his “It’s only a game” speech. The eyes on fans were bloodshot as every vein in every fan looked like bursting. The veins in the fella’s neck stood next to me looked like popping. THIS WAS A REAL LIVERPOOL DERBY, not the timid affairs which some have become accustomed to of late. No one would leave this ground with their voice box intact. The noise just got louder and louder.

Everton had a chance, more than half the grounds hearts stopped, but it was saved.
Liverpool broke forward, the blue quarters began to wish they had worn nappies.
Everton had the ball on the edge of their own area, time for a respite? Yer avin a laugh, the Reds fans were baying for blood. “Get in there“, “have him“, “get him“, “get stuck in”. Frankly I had never seen anything like this. Slowly as the game went on Liverpool took the upper hand.

Newton fouled Cally, “go ‘ed you dirty get”, the ref agreed and awarded a free kick. The roar from the Kop reached new heights as the Liverpool players headed for the box. Everyone picked up their opposite number, everyone had just become a Siamese twin. And then I noticed a ghostly figure, heading toward the back post.

Was he an apparition? He was as far as the Everton defence was concerned. No one picked him up. As the free kick came swinging in Big Tosh rose elegantly in the area, Fatty Labone hardly leaving the turf. Tosh’s little flick on, was heading just wide of the far post and the ghost materialised, like a Klingon battle cruiser. The Silent Knight had stepped up for his moment of glory. As he pulled the trigger there was a half moment of pure silence. BANG, Chris had caught hold of it, sweet as a nut.

As the ball flew across the area, everyone in the ground drew a deep breath. It was the Red fans who released the trapped breath first. G-O-A-L! it had gone in off the far post. I swear the sighs from my left were just as deafening. Lawler had clinched it. As the heads of Kopites fell back, they let out the biggest roar of the game. The heads in the Anny were firmly fixed to chests. Thus ended one of the greatest Derby games both me and my father ever watched.

We headed for the car that day with adrenalin still pumping. This was a classic. Even some of the blue fans heading in the same direction as us, were still buzzin. Back in the Clarence, whether if was sheer joy or not, I’m unsure, but my arl fellah elevated me to the status of “Shandy Boy”. Real Beer with a splash of Lemmo.