89

by Amy Lawrence

  TONY ADAMS:

  I was happy because they’re both fantastic players, David and Bouldy, and our full-backs were amazing offensive players, magnificent at getting forward. I think it was more their strength than defending at that point in their careers. It made sense.

  ALAN SMITH:

  Not surprisingly we worked hard on it in training. It wasn’t something he sprung on us on a Friday. We’d work on shape. We all thought, why is he doing this? But he had Liverpool in mind and in the meantime it worked OK at Old Trafford.

  JOHN LUKIC:

  That was an interesting game. It finished 1–1 and Tony scored at both ends. I remember the equalising goal was late on in the game and it came off Tony’s shin, looped up over my head and I do remember thinking to myself, this is not going to end very well. I just got a hand to it and because it was so wet couldn’t get any purchase on the ball at all.

  TONY ADAMS:

  The only thing I was bothered about in this system was I had to play on the left side. I was on my left foot. At that point I kept on putting it in the stand. I remember Alex Ferguson on the sideline. ‘Show him the left foot! He can’t kick it with his left foot.’ I actually put one in my own goal. So I blamed George. You should never have played a back five and I should never have swung at it and looped the ball over Lukey’s head and I should never have been a donkey and all my problems would have been fine.

  ALAN DAVIES:

  We all loved Tony. Tony was talked about from a very young age as being a big prospect and he made his debut against Sunderland when he was 17 and he made a mistake and we lost and he seemed really ungainly and scrawny and skinny. But everyone talked very warmly of him and he made a big impression early and he got in the England team age 20. I remember him saying they give you two shirts: one to keep and one to swap, and he kept them both. He was patriotic. Lionhearted. He was an impressive character. But he’d gone away to the European Championships with England in the summer of 88 and England had played really badly and he’d had his trousers pulled down by Marco van Basten. Van Basten was perhaps the best player in the world at that time apart from maybe Maradona. Adams came back a bit chastened from that experience. He was Arsenal captain and, it transpired, drinking a lot. We didn’t know about any of that. But he comes back from that having had that experience and because he’d been made to look bad by Van Basten, he’s a target for Tottenham fans, Chelsea fans, United fans, everybody. They want him to fail now. The Mirror did a splash on the back page and put donkey ears on him. The donkey chant wasn’t exclusively for Adams. Eeyore, Eeyore from the away end was any time, anyone. Air kick. Miskick. Do something rubbish. You’d get a donkey chant. The Mirror pinned it on Tony Adams. Made him the donkey and it felt very unjust. It was just one of many things in Tony Adams’s career that he’d bounce back from.

  PAUL MERSON:

  I lived about ten minutes from the training ground. Coming back from Old Trafford Tony asked, ‘Any chance of staying at yours and coming to that pub you go in?’ Because we wouldn’t have got back till half ten so the pubs were nearly shutting, but the bloke in the local always used to give us afters. I said, yeah, all right. I’d just moved in. Brand new one-bedroomed house. I rang up my girlfriend at the time and asked her to put the sofa bed out for Tony; we’re going to go to the Rose & Crown. We get in about four in the morning. Next day the missus wakes me up. She’s been downstairs. Tony’s still asleep. She’s got the paper. Donkey Adams. Headlines. I thought, oh my God. She said, ‘Are you going to tell him?’ I didn’t want to. I thought I’d better let him buy it at the garage. The amount of stick he took for that was bordering on pathetic. He’d done nothing wrong that day. It was ridiculous.

  LEE DIXON:

  We kind of knew he’d be OK with it because it was Tony. He was a big character, George used to call him the Colossus. He absolutely loved what he stood for. The way he, at such a young age, was captaining the side.

  DAVID O’LEARY:

  I’d seen Adams grow up at the club. I used to watch the youth team and I’d see what young players are coming through and he was always this young kid who had this way about him. I’d come in on a Monday morning and he’d be this big apprentice on the side and go ‘All right, David? How’s the wife and kids? Did you have a good weekend?’ And I thought, who is this? But that was his way. He had great determination, willpower, steel about him. A leader.

  LEE DIXON:

  Having spoke to him now, knowing the clean and sober Tony Adams, you know he’s a vulnerable human being. Back then I think part of his problems was all that stuff he was carrying around. We thought, yeah he’s fine. He’s Tony. He’d come in sometimes a bit worse for wear on a Thursday and wouldn’t do much training on a Friday and then we’d play Everton at home on a Saturday and he’d be awful. Me and Bouldy and Nigel would be cleaning up after him, last-ditch tackles, and Tony would be like, ‘Oh, sorry, lads.’ Then at the end of the game, a minute to go, the announcer would go, ‘And today’s man of the match is Tony Adams!’ We’d all think, are you kidding me? The crowd loved him. The sponsors loved him. Everybody loved Tony because he was just this amazing big strong Arsenal captain. The weight of the world was on his shoulders at the time and Tony played hard, drank hard off the pitch. He had a lifestyle that the lads didn’t know an awful lot about because he’d go off and he’d go on these binges. I read his book and it’s a fascinating insight into him. I thought I knew him and realised I didn’t know him at all.

  In a successful team striving to achieve something, if you perceive somebody to be all right then that’s all right. You move on to who else needs looking after. Nobody really tells you how they are feeling or who they are as a person. It doesn’t happen in football because it’s a very testosterone-driven situation. You don’t show a weakness to anybody. It’s sometimes quite difficult to deal with because you’re not all right most of the time because of the pressure.

  TONY ADAMS:

  It is well documented now but in those days I didn’t feel things and I just got drunk really. It hurt deeply but I didn’t allow myself to feel. I got drunk at the drop of a hat so that was my way of dealing with things. So all those horrific feelings about humiliation just fuelled my drinking and self-loathing and confirmed my self-destruct button really. But that’s another story. At that time I used to say, well, as long as they’re having a go at me, at least they’re not having a go at Rocky or the players that are doing the damage. But it was hurting. I’ve not heard it for a long time now. I went to a funeral I suppose about seven years ago in Hornchurch and a cabbie just jumped out. ‘Oi, Donkey!’ I think that was the last time I heard it. But there you go.

  SEVEN

  96

  15 April 1989

  In Memoriam

  John Alfred Anderson 62 years

  Colin Mark Ashcroft 19 years

  James Gary Aspinall 18 years

  Kester Roger Marcus Ball 16 years

  Gerard Bernard Patrick Baron 67 years

  Simon Bell 17 years

  Barry Sidney Bennett 26 years

  David John Benson 22 years

  David William Birtle 22 years

  Tony Bland 22 years

  Paul David Brady 21 years

  Andrew Mark Brookes 26 years

  Carl Brown 18 years

  David Steven Brown 25 years

  Henry Thomas Burke 47 years

  Peter Andrew Burkett 24 years

  Paul William Carlile 19 years

  Raymond Thomas Chapman 50 years

  Gary Christopher Church 19 years

  Joseph Clark 29 years

  Paul Clark 18 years

  Gary Collins 22 years

  Stephen Paul Copoc 20 years

  Tracey Elizabeth Cox 23 years

  James Philip Delaney 19 years

  Christopher Barry Devonside 18 years

  Christopher Edwards 29 years

  Vincent Michael Fitzsimmons 34 years

  Thomas Steven Fox 21 years

  Jo
n-Paul Gilhooley 10 years

  Barry Glover 27 years

  Ian Thomas Glover 20 years

  Derrick George Godwin 24 years

  Roy Harry Hamilton 33 years

  Philip Hammond 14 years

  Eric Hankin 33 years

  Gary Harrison 27 years

  Peter Andrew Harrison 15 years

  Stephen Francis Harrison 31 years

  David Hawley 39 years

  James Robert Hennessy 29 years

  Paul Anthony Hewitson 26 years

  Carl Darren Hewitt 17 years

  Nicholas Michael Hewitt 16 years

  Sarah Louise Hicks 19 years

  Victoria Jane Hicks 15 years

  Gordon Rodney Horn 20 years

  Arthur Horrocks 41 years

  Thomas Howard 39 years

  Thomas Anthony Howard 14 years

  Eric George Hughes 42 years

  Alan Johnston 29 years

  Christine Anne Jones 27 years

  Gary Philip Jones 18 years

  Richard Jones 25 years

  Nicholas Peter Joynes 27 years

  Anthony Peter Kelly 29 years

  Michael David Kelly 38 years

  Carl David Lewis 18 years

  David William Mather 19 years

  Brian Christopher Matthews 38 years

  Francis Joseph McAllister 27 years

  John McBrien 18 years

  Marian Hazel McCabe 21 years

  Joseph Daniel McCarthy 21 years

  Peter McDonnell 21 years

  Alan McGlone 28 years

  Keith McGrath 17 years

  Paul Brian Murray 14 years

  Lee Nicol 14 years

  Stephen Francis O’Neill 17 years

  Jonathon Owens 18 years

  William Roy Pemberton 23 years

  Carl William Rimmer 21 years

  David George Rimmer 38 years

  Graham John Roberts 24 years

  Steven Joseph Robinson 17 years

  Henry Charles Rogers 17 years

  Colin Andrew Hugh William Sefton 23 years

  Inger Shah 38 years

  Paula Ann Smith 26 years

  Adam Edward Spearritt 14 years

  Philip John Steele 15 years

  David Leonard Thomas 23 years

  Patrick John Thompson 35 years

  Peter Reuben Thompson 30 years

  Stuart Paul William Thompson 17 years

  Peter Francis Tootle 21 years

  Christopher James Traynor 26 years

  Martin Kevin Traynor 16 years

  Kevin Tyrrell 15 years

  Colin Wafer 19 years

  Ian David Whelan 19 years

  Martin Kenneth Wild 29 years

  Kevin Daniel Williams 15 years

  Graham John Wright 17 years

  THE END OF INNOCENCE

  by Laura Lawrence (Sheffield Wednesday supporter), first published 15 April 2012

  I’ve been reading Hillsborough: The Truth by Phil Scraton. Truth is subjective and personal according to a person’s agenda. Even in the preface Phil Scraton says, ‘I was determined that the disaster itself and the investigations which followed should be subjected to external, independent scrutiny.’ Scraton is an academic. He is also a Liverpool supporter, so can his truth be objective?

  I was ten years old on 15 April 1989. In a novel, that would make me an unreliable narrator of a story, but I can only tell you the truth of what I saw that day.

  I’d spent the morning colouring in scraps of paper that my mum had given me. I loved making things. Today I was making a banner to hang in my bedroom window. I coloured the scraps in red and white, which would normally have been a travesty in my family but today I had decided I was supporting the local team. Today I was a Nottingham Forest fan.

  As I hung the banner from my window I watched the cars pulling up and parking on the street as they would on any other match day. In the distance I could see the blue of the South Stand between the new leaves on the chestnut tree across the road and a sea of red flowing down the street. A minibus pulled up on the junction of the road and out jumped a rabble of happy and vocal Liverpool fans. I can remember feeling disappointed because I’d made my banner and I hadn’t seen any Forest fans to wave it at.

  When I went downstairs Des Lynam was on Grandstand. Des was always there on a Saturday in our house. Today was no exception. In fact Hillsborough was on the TV so the draw was all the more exciting. Between Des and the buzz on the street outside I remember being enthralled.

  Now, my nan always sat in the nosy chair. It’s the armchair that faces the television but it’s also in the bay window. If anything happens outside you can guarantee that Nannan knows about it first. At about 2.50 p.m. I remember her saying quite openly, ‘Look at this lot. They’re going to be late.’ About 10 to 15 Liverpool fans were walking down the road with crates of lager in their arms, all of them with a can in hand. Pissed and loud. It’s a 15-minute walk to Hillsborough from my parents’. With dozens more following down the street, she was right. They were going to be late.

  It was 3 p.m. now. Kick-off had begun or so we assumed.

  The next thing I remember was Des saying, ‘We’re getting news from Hillsborough,’ and then the footage coming on to the TV. There were people on the pitch and no one seemed to know why. I could tell from my parents’ faces that whatever it was there wasn’t going to be any FA Cup football today.

  An ambulance drove on to the pitch and my dad went outside.

  The news was coming through that people were dying. We could see the ground from where we were and the reporters were saying people were dead. I don’t think I fully comprehended what that meant until later that day. I’m not sure I really understood what death was.

  Over the next hour or so people started to make their way back to their cars but the happy vocal fans were now silent and weeping. They were like zombies, not knowing what to do with themselves. The overriding image of that day will always be my dad out on the street bringing people into our house and mum making them cups of tea and getting them to contact their families. It’s amazing the mundane things you remember. I remember we had a burgundy push-button phone in the dining room and there was almost a constant queue to use it.

  In the family we have an enormous steel teapot that’s used for family celebrations. My mum had taken it down from the top of the kitchen cupboards and was making tea for around 30 Liverpool fans, who were now sitting in the living room watching the events unfolding only a mile down the road.

  I’d never seen a man cry before that day. I’d also never heard my dad swear. In one five-minute period I saw and heard both.

  Standing at the bottom of the path my dad was talking to people and ushering them into the house to get a drink when a man wearing stonewashed jeans and jacket, across the road, just fell to his knees in the gutter. My dad ran across the road to bring him into the house. The man almost howled as he wept. He just wanted to be left alone. He was almost fighting with my dad, shouting at him to ‘fuck off’ and leave him alone. But he didn’t leave him alone. I heard my dad say, ‘Get in that fucking house and call your family because somebody out there thinks you’re dead.’ The man just looked at him and cried. Dad brought him up the stairs and into the house. I remember talking to him in the garden as he drank a cup of tea. He was a nice man but he was broken.

  Now every stereotypical image of a Scouser is the curly perm and tache but I really did meet a Liverpool fan like that on that day. He was tall and rotund. I could see his belly peeping out from under his red Liverpool shirt. We were in the garden and I was listening to conversations and delivering cups of tea. I’d heard other Liverpool fans saying how many people there were in such a small space. So when I took the Scouse stereotype his tea I felt knowledgeable enough to join in the conversation.

  I gave him the mug and said in my most confident voice, ‘They should have let the Liverpool fans have the Kop because you’ve got more fans.’ He looked down at me and then back to h
is friend and said to him, ‘Out of the mouth of babes.’

  Remember the minibus that pulled up on the street when I was hanging my Forest banner? Now they were all sitting in the living room watching the TV. All except for one. A member of their group was missing. His name was Billy. In between other people calling home the members of the minibus were ringing all the hospitals and anyone they could think of to try and find him.

  As the death toll began to rise everyone was thinking but not saying that Billy may be gone.

  After what felt like hours but it couldn’t have been more than two, screams came from the living room but they were screams of relief. Billy was being interviewed on Calendar, the ITV local news programme, and he was in the hospital. He’d broken his leg and was describing to the reporter what he had seen. It was the first time since they climbed out of the minibus earlier that day that I had seen them smile.

  In the days and weeks after, my parents received a lot of cards from the families of the Liverpool fans. We even received one from Billy’s family. The card read, ‘Strangers are friends that we haven’t yet met.’ The lads from the minibus also came back and brought my mum flowers the next time Liverpool played at Hillsborough.

  If mobile phones had existed I would never have had this experience. Our plastic burgundy phone was a lifeline that day and the source of comfort for many families.

  I don’t remember when the house emptied but I know it was dark. My nan had decided to stay the night so I was sleeping on a camp bed in my brother’s room. It was very late when my dad came upstairs and I was still awake. He peered through the banister and asked me if I was OK. I wasn’t sure but I knew I was safe and there were others out there who weren’t. Suddenly things felt different.