Banksy

by Gordon Banks

  Managers and coaches use friendly internationals purely for experimentation. The plethora of substitutions deny such games fluidity and continuity and consequently they are not the spectacle they once were. This, and the growing tendency of the media to assign importance only to European Championship and World Cup qualifying games, has served to devalue international friendly matches and I think football is a little poorer for that.

  To be picked for England, Scotland, Wales or Northern Ireland was considered the pinnacle of a playing career. Players would give anything to represent their country. Now you have players retiring from international football, often citing ‘the growing demands’ of the club competitions as their reason. While ever mindful that the pace of football today is much quicker than in the seventies, I would point out that, in 1971–72 when I was a Stoke City player, Stoke played a total of 71 matches that season: 42 League matches, 12 League Cup, 9 FA Cup and 4 each in the Anglo-Scottish Cup and the Anglo-Italian Tournament. Though I didn’t play in every game, I played in the vast majority and also managed six games for England. The Stoke City full back, Jackie Marsh, played sixty-nine games for the club that season. As Jackie used to say, ‘I’d rather be playing matches. It’s much more enjoyable than training!’

  The England–Scotland game was not a friendly, but a fixture in the now defunct annual Home International Championship, which also involved Northern Ireland and Wales. Football was rarely seen on television in those days, and the Home Internationals afforded people in Cardiff, Belfast and Glasgow a rare opportunity to see the top players in action. These games were fuelled by strong patriotism and tradition as exemplified by the tunes the military bands played before the games: ‘Scotland The Brave’, ‘The British Grenadiers’, ‘Scottish Soldier’, ‘Plymouth Hoe’, ‘Land of My Fathers’ and ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ set the tone for an occasion of national pride and identity.

  The match was the first to be played at Wembley since it had been redeveloped, over £500,000 having been spent on a new roof that swept around the stadium. Whether this new roof rebounded the noise of the fans back into the stadium I don’t know, but as the two teams emerged from the tunnel I was taken aback by a deafening noise which was so intimidating it almost brought on palpitations. Wembley was filled to its capacity, and most of the 100,000 crowd seemed to be roaring for Scotland.

  As we walked out Jimmy Greaves turned to me. ‘I knew they’d rebuilt this place,’ said Jimmy, ‘but I didn’t know they’d shifted it up to bloody Glasgow!’

  I was still trying to block out the cacophony of noise and forget my early nerves when there was a horrifying collision between Scottish skipper Eric Caldow and Bobby Smith, England’s centre forward. Caldow was carried off with a triple fracture of the leg while Smith hobbled through the rest of the afternoon with what later turned out to be serious ankle and knee ligament damage. In that era before substitutes and the sophisticated medical expertise of today, trainers would gamble with an injured player’s ability to struggle on.

  After that I recovered my concentration and all seemed to be going well for me until our right back, Jimmy Armfield, uncharacteristically decided to pass the ball across our back line. Heaven knows what Jimmy thought he was doing. Scotland’s left half, Rangers’ Jim Baxter, thought it was Christmas. Latching on to the gift we had presented him with, he bore down on my goal.

  I raced off my line to cut down Baxter’s vision of my goal, but he swayed like a bird on a twig. I put all my weight on my left foot and Jim rolled the ball to my right and into the net. Debutant I may have been, but I let the more experienced Jimmy Armfield know exactly what I thought of his crossfield pass. To his credit, Jimmy held his hand up and took full responsibility for his mistake.

  Jim Baxter started to run the game and we gave him all the room he needed to display his considerable skills. The England defence was all at sea and, in a moment of desperation, Ron Flowers of Wolves took the legs from under the Rangers winger Willie Henderson and the referee, Leon Horn from Holland, immediately pointed to the penalty spot.

  Facing penalties could be like participating in the Leicester City card school. Sometimes you try and bluff your way through even when you know you haven’t a strong hand. The cool Jim Baxter, however, called my bluff: he approached the ball as if he was on a leisurely stroll in the park and casually placed it into the left hand corner of my goal as I dived the wrong way. Two–nil. Once again a tidal wave of noise swept down from the terraces and assailed my ears as the Tartan army jigged as one in celebration.

  At half time Alf told us to sharpen our passing and get tighter on the troublesome Denis Law, Ian St John and Willie Henderson.

  We played better in the second half and enjoyed the lion’s share of the play, but could only manage one goal in reply, from Blackburn’s Bryan Douglas. During this second period Jim Baxter gave full vent to his swaggering skills. At one point, he received the ball out on our right and, to the amazement of everyone, progressed down the wing juggling the ball up and down on his left foot. The Scottish supporters were in raptures. In the heat of furious combat there was ‘Slim Jim’ playing ‘keepy-uppy’ as if frolicking in his own back garden. Baxter, however, reserved his party piece for last. Having juggled the ball down our right wing, he then nudged it forward, swung his left foot over the ball and turned around so that he was now facing down the pitch. Baxter then brought his right leg behind his left and chipped the ball across into my penalty area. Ian St John met Baxter’s cheeky centre with his head but I managed to collect the ball underneath my crossbar. The Tartan army went wild and even we England players shook our heads in wonder at Baxter’s artful arrogance.

  Following the final whistle, as both teams headed towards the tunnel Jim stuck the ball up his shirt and swaggered off the pitch. For all true lovers of football, Baxter’s artistry that day was a joy to behold. It was just my luck that he had chosen my England debut as the occasion on which to produce the greatest performance of his career!

  Back in the dressing room my spirits were lifted somewhat when Alf Ramsey told me that he was very satisfied with my performance. His encouraging words instilled in me the hope that my England career may only just be beginning.

  One month later, in May 1963, Alf Ramsey proved that his words of praise for my debut performance were sincerely meant, when he picked me for England’s game against Brazil, despite the finger injury I’d picked up at West Bromwich four days earlier. Having already lost a cup final at Wembley and been on the losing side on my international debut, I was praying for better fortune against the World Cup holders who were, without doubt, the best international team in the world.

  Despite being without the world’s best player, Pelé, who was injured, Brazil had enough class and quality in their ranks to offer the severest of tests for England in what was Alf’s third game in charge. The England team was Gordon Banks (Leicester City); Jimmy Armfield (Blackpool), Ray Wilson (Huddersfield Town); Gordon Milne (Liverpool), Maurice Norman (Spurs), Bobby Moore (West Ham); Bryan Douglas (Blackburn Rovers), Jimmy Greaves, Bobby Smith (both Spurs), George Eastham (Arsenal), Bobby Charlton (Manchester United). The Brazilian line-up was Gilmar; Lima, Edoiardo; Zeuinha, Dias, Rildo; Dorval, Mengalvia, Coutinho, Amarildo, Pepe.

  Brazil were unbeaten on their tour of Europe. Alf had watched them in action and had really done his homework. He had noticed Brazil liked to play the ball into the feet of their centre forward, Coutinho, so he told Gordon Milne to take up a position in front of Coutinho when Brazil were in possession to stop this happening.

  Alf warned me to be on my toes if ever Brazil were awarded a free kick outside our penalty area. ‘They are fantastic strikers of the ball, Gordon,’ he told me, ‘and can bend and swerve it either way.’

  Mindful of Alf’s words, I paid particular attention to lining up the wall of defenders in front of me when Brazil were awarded a first-half free kick some seven yards outside our penalty area. I took up a position just to the right of centre and positioned th
e wall so that it overlapped my left-hand post. I was alert to the danger – but it was all to no avail. The Brazilian outside left, Pepe, sprinted up to the ball and with tremendous power sliced his left foot across it. I’d never seen a ball cut through the air at such a trajectory. It flew over our defensive wall heading for the left side of the goal. Naturally, I moved to my left, only for the ball to veer to my right and bulge the net. I simply couldn’t believe that anyone could make a ball move so much in the air. It was a terrific goal and I consoled myself with the thought that there wasn’t a goalkeeper in the world who would have got anywhere near it.

  At half time, however, Alf was not best pleased. ‘I warned you about their free kicks,’ he said, ‘be on your toes!’ I tried to tell him that I had been on my toes, but that the swerve on the ball had duped me. Alf listened to what I had to say, but I could tell from his stern expression that he thought I should have at least got a hand to it.

  I made up for it in the opening stages of the second half, though. First I managed to claw away a fierce downward header from Coutinho, then hold on to a long-range effort from Amarildo that was heading for my goal like a snake. Minutes later I saved from both Dorval and Mengalvia. Not conceding another goal during that spell of pressure from the Brazilians turned the game. As the second half progressed we began to assert ourselves and only some desperate defending on the part of the South Americans kept the score at 1–0. England were not to be denied, however. With minutes remaining our concerted pressure on the Brazilian defence paid off. Blackburn’s Bryan Douglas latched on to a great through-ball from Bobby Charlton and calmly beat Gilmar.

  I felt the draw was no more than we deserved. After a shaky start to both halves, we had grown in confidence and, at times, more than matched the world champions. On my third appearance at Wembley I finally trooped off the pitch without the taste of defeat in my mouth and Alf Ramsey, in his third game as England manager, had gained a highly creditable draw against the best team in the world. I guess both of us were looking to the future with some optimism. I know I certainly was.

  My performances for Leicester and my inclusion in the England team led to a number of clubs enquiring as to my availability. Newcastle United, Wolves and Aston Villa made official approaches to Leicester regarding a possible transfer but Matt Gillies and the City board were adamant. I wasn’t for sale. Which suited me fine as I was very happy at the club and with life in Leicester. Another club seemingly impressed by my performances was Arsenal. Their manager, the former Wolves and England captain, Billy Wright, appeared before the Football League accused of making an illegal approach to me. In Billy’s defence, I can honestly say that I have no recollection of this. I can’t remember Billy ‘tapping me up’ after any game between Leicester and Arsenal and he certainly didn’t telephone me at home because Ursula and I didn’t have a phone! I have no idea why Billy Wright was summoned to answer allegations of making an illegal approach for my services. All I can think of is that a bit of gentle nudging on the part of Arsenal’s George Eastham, who’d often told me that I’d enjoy life at Highbury, had been blown out of all proportion. Thankfully, Billy Wright was served with no more than a warning, though even that was unjustified.

  In the long-awaited summer of 1963 I joined the England squad on their continental tour. The tour was highly successful and offered concrete proof that, after a disappointing start to his career as England manager, Alf Ramsey was getting it right. We began with a terrific 4–2 win in Bratislava over Czechoslovakia, the beaten World Cup finalists against Brazil just twelve months previously. We then beat East Germany 2–1 in Leipzig and rounded off the tour in some style with an 8–1 win over Switzerland in Basle, Bobby Charlton scoring a hat trick. Alf played me in the first two of those games and his continuing belief in me was a great fillip to my confidence. I felt that now Alf saw me as England’s number one goalkeeper, and I was determined to work hard and continue my development in order to prove him right.

  9. Down South America Way

  We have seen how, in the late fifties, football shirts evolved from the buttoned-collar-and-cuff style into V-necked shirts with short sleeves. Now, in 1963–64, football kit design underwent another major change as it kept pace with the style revolution taking place in British fashion.

  Not to be left behind, Leicester dispensed with the V-necked shirts and short sleeves and adopted round-necked, long-sleeved shirts, still in blue, but the collar and cuffs were now white with a blue band circling the middle. Our stockings also changed, from blue with white turnovers to white with two blue hoops at the top.

  Round-necked football shirts became de rigueur for just about every club, presumably influenced by the Beatles’ circular-collared suits, which themselves derived from the tailoring favoured by the Indian statesman Pandit Nehru. English football, keen to distance itself from the fifties when it had been shown to be second best at both international and club level, was determined to project its modernized image, and imitated this fashion trend. And just as slim jackets, tight trousers and miniskirts could be seen on Carnaby Street and the King’s Road, so footballers trotted out at Filbert Street and Stamford Bridge wearing long hair, body-hugging shirt and tiny shorts.

  Phrases such as ‘With it’, ‘Fab’ and ‘It’s gear’ may appear antiquated now, but were the buzz words of the mid-sixties and on the lips of just about everybody between the ages of sixteen and thirty. There existed a general feeling that the past and anything connected with it had no part to play in this new, vibrant society of equal and ample opportunity. Work was plentiful, wages had improved and, though they were not aware of the term at the time, people found they had ‘disposable income’ with which to indulge themselves in the latest fashions and advances in consumer technology. The sixties was a time of the biggest, most all-inclusive party that anyone could ever have imagined. Everybody was encouraged to ‘do their own thing’ and just about everyone under the age of forty came.

  London emerged as the epicentre of world fashion, Liverpool as the creative hub of popular music and there, at the centre of everything, were the Beatles. Not only did Paul, John, George and Ringo influence popular music, their influence swept across popular culture. Television’s top variety show, Sunday Night at the London Palladium was hosted by a young mop-headed Liverpudlian comedian who wore round-collared suits just like the Beatles – Jimmy Tarbuck. For one so young to take over as the host of TV’s most popular variety show indicated that the sixties had little time for the old ways. The essence of the sixties was that anybody could play. For the very first time, older generations copied the young, because to be young was ‘where it was at’.

  The Profumo Affair had shown the Establishment to be no purer than any other stratum of society. Lord Denning’s report on the Profumo Affair became a bestseller. The permissive society had arrived and its underpinning was the availability of the contraceptive pill.

  Harold Macmillan with his cabinet of earls and aura of the grouse moor and the Athenaeum Club was a gift to the emerging satirists of That Was The Week That Was, and a new renegade publication, Private Eye. Macmillan gave way to Sir Alec Douglas-Home as prime minister, but the stigma of snobbery and aristocratic values lived on, in sharp contrast to what was happening elsewhere in society. In 1964 when the nation took to the polls, Harold Wilson’s Labour Party swept home on his promise of a new, modern society built on the fruits of the ‘white heat’ of technology.

  As the sixties progressed, football strips became more standardized (some would say dull), with the main club colour incorporated in shirts, shorts and stockings. The traditional designs, colour blends and nuances of strips that conferred on a club its own identity were ditched as clubs sought to project an image more in keeping with these revolutionary and radical times. By the late sixties Leicester City took to wearing simply blue shirts, shorts and stockings, appearing indistinguishable from others whose main club colour was blue, such as Chelsea, Ipswich Town and Hartlepool United. Individuality gave way to the fo
rmulaic. Liverpool adopted an all-red strip, as did Bristol City, Nottingham Forest, Middlesbrough, Rotherham United, Charlton Athletic and other teams whose primary club colour was red. Many teams chose not to display the club badge on their shirts. Sheffield Wednesday, who as long as I could remember had worn blue and white striped shirts and black shorts, took to wearing plain blue shirts with white sleeves. Similarly, Arsenal, famous for their red shirts with white sleeves, for a time simply wore plain red shirts devoid of their famous ‘Gunners’ badge, white shorts and red stockings. Even Bristol Rovers, whose blue and white quartered shirt was unique in English football, adopted an all-blue strip – though Blackburn Rovers stuck rigidly to their traditional blue and white halved shirts.

  Of the clubs that retained the badge on their shirts, many adopted new designs. Badges based on the traditional town coat of arms, were considered too fussy and redolent of a bygone age, and many were replaced with minimalist designs. It was a case of out with the old and in with the new – a notion totally in keeping with what was happening in society and popular culture at the time. It was only in the nineties, when football clubs became fully aware of their commercial and marketing potential and the value of a branded image, that football strips and club badges reverted to more traditional designs – though, as with any mode of fashion, retro style is never an exact reproduction of the first time around.

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  Leicester City kicked off the 1963–64 season at West Bromwich Albion with the same team that had played against Manchester United in the previous season’s Cup final, only the second time in the club’s history that a team which had concluded one season had begun the next. With that consistency in team selection it was no surprise that we enjoyed a super start to the season. We began on the traditional glorious summer’s day, and we made hard work of our 1–1 draw at West Brom. Our first home game produced a 3–0 win against Birmingham City, and when Arsenal were beaten 7–2 three days later, we once again had high hopes of enjoying a very successful season. But, as so often, our form was to ebb and flow.