by David Peace
…
In the dug-out, on the bench at White Hart Lane. Three days later, just three days later. Again. Bill did not look at his watch. Again. Bill waited for the moment to come. But this time the moment did not come. Again. Tottenham Hotspur scored first. Again. Liverpool Football Club equalised. But then Tottenham scored. Again. Tottenham scored. Again. Tottenham scored. And then Liverpool scored. But again. Tottenham scored. And again. And again. And Tottenham Hotspur beat Liverpool Football Club seven–two.
…
In the house, in their front room. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill stared down at his book. His book of names, his book of notes. Bill turned the pages of the book. The pages of names, the pages of notes. Tottenham Hotspur had taught Liverpool Football Club a lesson. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill kept turning the pages. The pages of names, the pages of notes. Three days later, Nottingham Forest had taught them another lesson. Nottingham Forest had beaten them two–nil. At home, at Anfield. Byrne had been injured, Byrne had not played. Moran had been injured, Moran had not played. Backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards. Two days after that lesson, Liverpool Football Club had drawn nil–nil with Fulham Football Club. Away from home, away from Anfield. Byrne had been injured, Byrne had not played. Moran had been injured, Moran had not played. Yeats had been injured, Yeats had not played. Callaghan had been injured, Callaghan had not played. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill stopped turning the pages. The pages of names, the pages of notes. Bill rubbed his eyes. And Bill closed his book. His book of names, his book of notes. In the night and in the silence. In his chair. Bill stood up. Bill walked back into the kitchen. In the night and in the silence. Bill sat back down at the table, in the chair. The bowls and the plates, the salt and pepper pots, the jars of honey and marmalade around the edges of the cloth, at the sides of the table. In the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill stared back down at the three spoons on the cloth. Banks, Norman, Sjöberg. Bill stared at the three forks. McLintock, King, Appleton. Bill stared at the four knives. Riley, Cross, Gibson, Stringfellow. And Bill stared at the last fork. Keyworth. And again the three spoons, the four forks and the four knives began to move. They began to turn. Again the three spoons, the four forks and the four knives would not stop moving. They would not stop turning. Moving and turning, spinning and swirling. Spinning and swirling, swirling and swirling. Never pausing, never stopping. Swirling and swirling. In the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill rubbed his eyes. Swirling and swirling. In the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill closed his eyes. Swirling and swirling. And in the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill said his prayers. Five prayers for five players. One for Gerry Byrne. One for Ronnie Moran. One for Ron Yeats. One for Ian Callaghan and one for Jimmy Melia. And then in the night and in the silence. At the table, in the chair. Bill said one last prayer –
A prayer against a curse.
Four times before, Liverpool Football Club had reached the semi-finals of the FA Cup. Twice Liverpool Football Club had won their semi-final matches. Twice Liverpool Football Club had reached the final of the FA Cup. Twice Liverpool Football Club had reached Wembley. But Liverpool Football Club had never won the FA Cup. Folk said the Liver Birds would have to fly off the Liver Building, off the Liver Building and out over the Mersey before Liverpool Football Club ever won the FA Cup. Folk said Liverpool Football Club were cursed in the Cup. Folk said Liverpool Football Club would never win the FA Cup. Never win the Cup. The Cup was cursed for Liverpool Football Club. But Bill did not believe in curses –
Bill believed in prayers.
…
On the Liver Building, on their towers. In the rain and in the wind. On Saturday 27 April, 1963, one Liver Bird was still looking out to sea, one Liver Bird still looking back across the city. Their wings were spread, but their wings still fixed. In the rain and in the wind. The Liver Birds had not flown away. But on Saturday 27 April, 1963, Liverpool Football Club had travelled away. Away to Sheffield, away to Hillsborough. In the rain and in the wind. Sixty-five thousand folk would travel to Hillsborough, too. Folk from Liverpool and folk from Leicester. In the rain and in the wind. Sixty-five thousand folk would travel to watch Liverpool Football Club play Leicester City in the semi-final of the FA Cup. But on the bus, the Liverpool bus. There was no Jimmy Melia. Jimmy Melia was injured, Jimmy Melia would not play. On the bus, the Liverpool bus. There was Chris Lawler. Chris was still only nineteen years old. And Chris was a right-back. But Chris liked to push forward, Chris liked to attack. And Bill knew Liverpool Football Club had to push forward, Liverpool Football Club had to attack. And so Bill had told Chris Lawler to get on the bus, the Liverpool bus. Because Chris was going to play in the semi-final of the FA Cup. But not at right-back, at right-half. So Chris could push forward, so Chris could attack. But on the bus, the Liverpool bus. Bill knew it was a gamble. In the rain and in the wind –
A gamble and a prayer.
On the pitch, the Hillsborough pitch. In the rain and in the wind. From the first minute to the last, Liverpool Football Club attacked. Attacked and attacked, again and again. They attacked and they attacked. Again and again. They came and they came. Forcing corner after corner. Save after save from Gordon Banks. Again and again, Banks dived. Again and again, Banks punched. Again and again, Banks caught. Again and again, Banks saved. Saved and saved again. From attack after attack. Chance after chance. Shot after shot. Thirty times Liverpool Football Club shot and thirty times Banks saved. Three times Leicester City attacked. The three spoons, the four forks and the four knives. Three times. Moving and turning. Only three times in the whole of the match. And all three times in the first eighteen minutes of the match. Spinning and swirling. In the sixteenth minute, Dave Gibson passed out to Howard Riley. A knife to a knife. Ronnie Moran came to intercept. Moran handled. And the referee blew his whistle. The referee awarded a free kick to Leicester City. The three spoons, the four forks and the four knives. From thirty-five yards out, Riley dropped the ball at the far post of the Liverpool goal and up went Ken Keyworth. A knife to a fork. But Liverpool Football Club were deceived by Keyworth. Deceived by a fork. And in drifted Stringfellow, the gaunt and bony body of Mike Stringfellow, drifting in from the wing to rise clear, to rise clear of Liverpool Football Club, to rise clear and head the ball down, down into the net. A knife to a knife. One–nil. One knife in all their hearts …
Their bloody, beaten hearts.
In the dressing room, the dressing room at Hillsborough. Bill looked from Tommy to Gerry, Gerry to Ronnie, Ronnie to Gordon, Gordon to Big Ron, Big Ron to Willie, Willie to Cally, Cally to Roger, Roger to the Saint, the Saint to Chris and from Chris to Kevin. And Bill said, Come on now, boys. Dry those tears and lift up those chins. Because this will not be the only time, boys. Not our only chance. I promise you that, boys. We will have other chances and we will have other opportunities. Many other chances and many other opportunities, boys. So dry those tears and lift up those chins. Because we are a team on the rise, boys. Because we are on the rise. We are on the rise!
And in the dressing room, the dressing room at Hillsborough. The players of Liverpool Football Club nodded.
But in the dressing room, the dressing room at Hillsborough. Bill knew the players of Liverpool Football Club were only half listening. And in the dressing room, the dressing room at Hillsborough. Bill watched the players take off their boots and their kits. In silence. Bill watched the players go into the bath. In silence. Bill watched the players put on their suits and ties. In silence. Bill watched the players go back out to the bus, the Liverpool bus.
And on a bench in the dressing room, the empty dressing room at Hillsborough. Bill sat down. And on the bench, in the empty dressing room at Hillsborough. Bill heard voices. We’re going to win the Cup. Voices and laughter. We’re going to win the Cup. Laughter and song. Ee-aye-addio. Song and celebration. We’re going to win
the Cup! From the other dressing room, the winners’ dressing room. And on the bench, in the losers’ dressing room. At Hillsborough, in Sheffield. Now Bill tried to stand, now Bill tried to get back on his feet. To leave this room, to leave this ground. To go back home, to go back home. But on the bench, in the losers’ dressing room. Bill could not stand. Bill could not get back on his feet. His jacket stuck to his shirt. His shirt stuck to his vest. His vest stuck to his skin. His skin stretched, his muscles ached. They ached and they screamed. Beneath his skin, within his flesh. Through his bones and through his blood. His red, red blood. And on the bench, in the losers’ dressing room. Bill closed his eyes, Bill closed his eyes. But on the bench, in the losers’ dressing room. Now Bill could hear other voices. Quietly, slowly. Beginning to rise, beginning to echo. When you walk through the storm. Other voices. Hold your head up high. Beginning to rise. And don’t be afraid of the dark. Beginning to echo. At the end of the storm. Quietly and slowly. Is a golden sky. Other voices, another song. And the sweet silver song of the lark. Rising. Walk on, through the wind. Echoing. Walk on, through the rain. Quietly and slowly. Though your dreams be tossed and blown. Around the ground. Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart. Down the tunnel. And you’ll never walk alone. Into the dressing room. You’ll never walk alone. The losers’ dressing room. Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart. At Hillsborough, in Sheffield. And you’ll never walk alone. The Liverpool voices, a Liverpool song. You’ll never walk alone. And on the bench, in the losers’ dressing room. Now Bill heard these voices, Bill listened to this song. These Liverpool voices, this Liverpool song. Their voices and their song. And Bill opened his eyes again. Bill tried to stand again, Bill tried to get back on his feet again. And now Bill stood up again. Now Bill got back on his feet again.
13. A MAN OF THE MASSES
After the season, before their summer holidays. In the boardroom, the Anfield boardroom. The directors of Liverpool Football Club looked down the long table at Bill Shankly. The directors of Liverpool Football Club smiled at Bill Shankly. And the directors of Liverpool Football Club said, It has been a good season, Mr Shankly. A very good season. We reached the semi-final of the FA Cup and we finished eighth in the League. And with an average home attendance of almost forty-three thousand. So it was a good season, Mr Shankly. A very good season. So well done, Mr Shankly. Well done, indeed.
After the season, before the next season. In the boardroom, the Anfield boardroom. Bill Shankly stared up the long table at the directors of Liverpool Football Club. Bill Shankly listened to the clock ticking. And Bill Shankly said nothing.
Tom Williams placed a document on the long table. And Tom Williams said, Now what about this contract, Mr Shankly?
I have never had a contract before, said Bill Shankly. And I have never asked you for one, Mr Williams. I have never wanted one.
Tom Williams nodded. And Tom Williams said, I know that, Mr Shankly. I know that. But we would like to offer you a contract. We would like you to have a contract. And this contract is for three years. And we believe the terms of this contract are very satisfactory. For us and for you, Mr Shankly. For us and for you …
If the directors of Liverpool Football Club do not like me, said Bill Shankly, then they can sack me. And if I do not like the directors of Liverpool Football Club, then I can go. Those are the sort of terms that are satisfactory to me, Mr Williams. For me and for you …
After their summer holidays, before their next holidays. In the boardroom, the Anfield boardroom. The directors of Liverpool Football Club looked down the long table at Bill Shankly. Again. The directors of Liverpool Football Club smiled at Bill Shankly.
Tom Williams placed a document on the long table. Again. And Tom Williams said, We know other football clubs are interested in your services, Mr Shankly. We have listened to the grapevine, we have heard the rumours. And so we know other clubs have made overtures for your services, Mr Shankly. But we want you to know how much we appreciate your services at Liverpool Football Club. The things you have done, the things you have achieved. How much we value those achievements. How much we value you, Mr Shankly. And so we do not want to lose you, Mr Shankly …
Thank you, said Bill Shankly.
Tom Williams looked down at the document on the table again. And Tom Williams said, But to speak frankly, Mr Shankly. We are worried about these rumours, very worried about these overtures from other clubs. We are very worried we will lose you, Mr Shankly. Because we want to keep you here at Liverpool Football Club. We want you to stay here at Liverpool Football Club, Mr Shankly. Because we want you to stay and build upon the things you have already done. The things you have already achieved, Mr Shankly. Because we know you want to keep building. We know you want to achieve much more, Mr Shankly. And we want you to know, we share your desire. We share your hunger, Mr Shankly. Your desire to keep building, your hunger to achieve more. As you know, the old Kemlyn Road Stand is being demolished. A new stand, a cantilevered stand is being built. We are spending three-hundred and fifty thousand pounds to build that stand. Three hundred and fifty thousand pounds because we believe in your desire, Mr Shankly. We share your hunger. Your belief in Liverpool Football Club, Mr Shankly. Your vision for Liverpool Football Club. So, of course, we do not want to lose you, Mr Shankly. To lose your desire, to lose your hunger. To lose your belief, to lose your vision. And so we want you to have a contract. A contract that demonstrates our faith in your belief. A contract that shows our commitment to your vision. So we want you to sign a contract, Mr Shankly. To sign this contract, this contract for five more years …
Thank you, said Bill Shankly again. Thank you very much, Mr Williams. I appreciate your candour, I appreciate your concern. And I also appreciate your commitment, Mr Williams. And so I will take this contract home with me today. And I will certainly consider it. I’ll consider it carefully, Mr Williams. And then I will call you.
Tom Williams smiled. And Tom Williams said, Thank you, Mr Shankly. I look forward to your call. Now was there anything else? Anything else we can do for you today, Mr Shankly?
Yes, said Bill Shankly. Yes, there is. I want to sign Peter Thompson from Preston North End. And so I want thirty-seven thousand pounds, please, Mr Williams.
Tom Williams looked down the long table at Bill Shankly. Tom Williams picked up the document from the table. Tom Williams passed the document down the long table to Bill Shankly. And Tom Williams said, Well, we will certainly consider it, Mr Shankly. We will consider it very carefully. And I will have an answer for you, Mr Shankly. When you have an answer for me, Mr Shankly, I will have an answer for you.
…
Before his deadline, his deadline looming. In the office of Bill Shankly, before the desk of Bill Shankly. Horace Yates was writing, writing as fast as he could. As fast as Bill Shankly was saying –
Well, I suppose it is the modern trend to have agreements such as this, Horace. So I suppose I have simply fallen into line. With the modern trend, Horace. With the modern times. Because you can’t ignore the trends, Horace. You can’t ignore the times …
Horace Yates stopped writing. Horace Yates looked up from his notes at Bill Shankly. Bill Shankly was on his feet again, Bill Shankly was in full flight again –
And anyway, Horace. I don’t mind anybody knowing I intend to stay at Liverpool Football Club. Because Liverpool Football Club has become my second home. My second home, Horace. And I don’t mind anybody knowing that. In fact, I want everybody to know that. So write that down. Write that down, Horace! Because deep down in my heart. Deep down in my heart, Horace. I never wanted to leave Liverpool Football Club. Because I have been completely captivated by Liverpool Football Club. My heart completely captivated by the atmosphere here at Anfield. Because it is without an equal, Horace. Without an equal anywhere in the country. Because we have the finest supporters in the country. The very finest supporters, Horace. And deep down in my heart. Deep down in my heart, Horace. I regard myself as just one of them. Just another one of the
m, Horace. Because I share their feelings. I share their feelings and their hopes, Horace. Their hopes and their dreams. I share their dreams, Horace …
Horace Yates stopped writing again. Horace Yates looked up from his notes again. Bill Shankly was back behind his desk again, Bill Shankly back in his chair. Again. Bill Shankly saying –
And the atmosphere could not have been more cordial, Horace. The atmosphere could not have been happier. When Mr Williams and I shook hands on the deal, Horace. When we shook hands on the deal.
Horace Yates said, Yes. But things have not always been so cordial. Things have not always been so happy, Bill. You have told me so yourself. Told me many times before, Bill …
You are correct, said Bill Shankly. You are right, Horace. And it would be idle to pretend there have not been some uneasy moments. It would be wrong to pretend otherwise …
Horace Yates stopped writing. Horace Yates looked up from his notes. And Horace Yates waited. Waited for Bill Shankly to spring back up again, waited for Bill Shankly to start back up –
But all those moments are a thing of the past now. A thing of the past, Horace. Now we can go forward. Forward into a new era, Horace. Together. Together, Horace. Because Liverpool Football Club are making giant strides in the right direction. Giant strides, Horace. And a lot of the spadework has already been done. A lot of the spadework, Horace. And so we have built a very substantial foundation on which to build. A very substantial foundation, Horace. Yes, much more work remains to be done. Hard work, Horace. But I believe we will be one of the truly great clubs of our time. I am convinced Liverpool Football Club will be one of the truly great clubs of our time and of all our time. And so I will never be truly content until we are the undisputed Champions of the land. I will never truly rest until Liverpool Football Club are the undisputed Champions of the land. And so I will strive to make us the Champions of the land, Horace. With every muscle in my body. With every single muscle, Horace. I will work until the day Liverpool Football Club are Champions. Undisputed Champions, Horace! And I’ll tell you this. I’ll tell you this, Horace. That day is not so very far away.