by David Peace
Back in their house, in their front room. Nessie Shankly watched Bill Shankly prop the Sword of Honour up in the corner against the wall. Nessie watched Bill Shankly then step back. Bill Shankly standing before the sword, staring at the sword –
You must promise me this, love. That when I die, the day I die. You must pack up this sword, this Sword of Honour. And send it back to Kevin. Will you please promise me that, love?
Nessie Shankly nodded. Nessie smiled. And Nessie said, Well, yes, I promise you, love. But you know you’ll be burying me. You’ll bury us all, love. And so make sure you tell the girls and all.
Bill Shankly nodded. And then Bill Shankly turned away from the Sword of Honour. And Bill Shankly walked over to the bookcase. Bill Shankly took out one of his scrapbooks. His scrapbooks of cuttings, his scrapbooks of pictures. And Bill Shankly opened the scrapbook. Bill Shankly turned the pages of the scrapbook. Bill Shankly found the page he was looking for. And Bill Shankly walked back over to Nessie Shankly. Nessie still standing before the Sword of Honour, Nessie still staring at the Sword of Honour. Bill Shankly held out the scrapbook towards Nessie, the scrapbook for Nessie –
You see this, love? This sword here, in this picture here. That is the Sword of Stalingrad. King George commanded that sword be forged as a homage from the people of Britain to the people of the Soviet Union who had defended their city during the Battle of Stalingrad. King George commanded Churchill present Joseph Stalin with the sword at the Tehran Conference in 1943. But before Churchill took the sword to Tehran, the sword was exhibited all around Britain. And wherever it went, people came to see this sword, loads and loads of people. And finally, it was put on display in Westminster Abbey. And again people came from miles around, long queues of people. Not only to look at the sword, that magnificent sword. But to show their gratitude to our allies in the Soviet Union, to show their respect for the people of the Soviet Union. And it was like an icon to people, it was an inspiration to people. Not the sword, but the people of Stalingrad. Their bravery and their courage. Their fortitude and their resolution. All their sufferings and all their sacrifices. This was an inspiration to the people of Britain, a lesson for the people of Great Britain. Their hearts, their hearts of steel. An inspiration and a lesson. And so on one side of the sword it says in English, TO THE STEEL-HEARTED CITIZENS OF STALINGRAD. THE GIFT OF KING GEORGE VI. IN TOKEN OF THE HOMAGE OF THE BRITISH PEOPLE. And on the other side, it says the same again in Russian. And you know what, love? That Sword of Stalingrad was forged by the same people who forged this Sword of Honour. The sword they gave to Kevin, that Kevin gave to me. The same people, the Wilkinson Sword people.
Nessie Shankly shook her head. Nessie smiled again. And Nessie said, I didn’t know that, love. I didn’t know any of that …
I don’t think many people do, said Bill Shankly. And if they ever did, they probably don’t remember now. People often forget.
84. IT WAS TWENTY YEARS AGO TODAY
Bill never forgot. Bill always remembered. Every hour of every day. Every day of every week. Every week of every month. Every month of every year. Every year and every season. Every season and every match. Every single match. From the first match to the last match. Bill always remembered, Bill never forgot. But Bill did not really care for anniversaries. Bill did not really celebrate anniversaries. The march of time, the passage of time. But people kept reminding Bill of this particular anniversary. People would not let Bill forget this particular anniversary. On his doorstep, on the telephone. In the house or in the street. In conversations and in interviews. Journalists and well-wishers. Asking Bill for his thoughts, asking Bill for his reminiscences. Asking him and reminding him. About the march of time, the passage of time. From that first match to that last match. And in the street or in the house. In interviews or in conversations. Bill smiled. And Bill said, Oh well, yes. It was very different then. A different time, a different world. And Anfield was very different then, when I first came. A different place, a different world. The Kop was open, yes. But the present-day stands had not been built, no. And gates had dropped to about twenty-one thousand. Unbelievable, really. Bloody unbelievable. When you think of what Anfield is now, the gates they get now. Every week, every Saturday. Bloody unbelievable. But then, back then. There was an air of depression about the place. Not like now, not like these days. And I remember when I came over to Liverpool with my wife to have a look around. And we went to the training ground. It was like a wilderness. A bloody wilderness. There was only the one pitch. And a tumbledown old shed for the lads to change in. And there was even an old air-raid shelter still there. A bloody air-raid shelter. Because nobody could be bothered to pull it down. Not until I came.
In the house or in the street. Bill smiled again. And Bill said, I mean, all you could really say was that it was there. But that was all. That was Liverpool Football Club then. A hell of a lot of potential. But not much bloody else. Not much else except the people, of course. And that was why I came. For the people, the Liverpool people. Even then, they were fantastic. Fantastic people. But I knew they were fantastic people. The Liverpool people. Before I came, I knew. Because I had seen some boxing contests at Anfield. Peter Kane against Jimmy Warnock. Ernie Roderick fighting the great Henry Armstrong. And I had a nose operation in Liverpool, too. Before the war. So I knew the people and I knew the city. I knew the city was like a Scottish city, the people like Scottish people. Full of a kind of Celtic pride, if you know what I mean? And so I mean, I’ve always identified with Liverpool people. And so I promised myself that we would build something here, something they could always be proud of …
In the street or in the house. Bill nodded. And Bill said, So that was why I came. Yes. Why I left Huddersfield Town. But I mean, if the board of Huddersfield Town had been ambitious, we would have won even more than Liverpool did! I mean, just look at the players we had there in those days, back in those days at Huddersfield. Denis Law, Ray Wilson, the Yorkshire cricketer Ken Taylor, Bill McGarry, Ray Wood and several more. What bloody players, what a bloody team. But Huddersfield was a seller’s market. That was all it was. A bloody seller’s market. I mean, I wanted to be buying, not bloody selling. I wanted the money to buy Yeats and St John. I wanted them for Huddersfield. And can you imagine, imagine if those two had joined the players we had at Huddersfield Town? Imagine what a team that would have been. What a bloody team. I mean, I think they would have won everything. But they wouldn’t find the money to buy Yeats and St John or any of the players I wanted. And instead they sold the players we had. Bloody sold them. That’s the difference. The bloody difference between Huddersfield and Liverpool. And so look at Huddersfield Town now, where Huddersfield Town are now. In the Fourth Division, the bloody Fourth Division. And it breaks my heart to see them there, it really does. I mean, when you think of the history of that football club. The things they did, the things they won. The managers they had and the players they had. And their supporters. It breaks my heart, it really does. But that is why Huddersfield Town are in the Fourth Division and Liverpool Football Club are the League Champions. And have been the League Champions six times since 1959, since I first came. And won the FA Cup twice and the European Cup twice. And the UEFA Cup. That’s the difference.
In the house or in the street. Bill shook his head. And Bill said, But you know I was offered the job at Anfield eight years before? Eight years earlier. George Kay was still the manager then. And he had been the manager for fifteen years. It was George, of course, who was the manager when Liverpool won their fifth title in 1947. And he took them to the FA Cup Final in 1950, too. The final they lost to Arsenal. And did you know George also played in the very first Cup Final to be played at Wembley Stadium? Oh yes, he was the captain of West Ham in the White Horse final. Anyway, George was not a well man. He could not go on. And so Liverpool advertised for a new manager. And I applied for the job. I mean, I was at Carlisle. And I was still very new to the job. But I was ambitious. I have always been ambitious. Not for me, b
ut for the supporters. I mean, right from the start I tried to show the supporters that they are the people who matter. The supporters, the team and the manager are the only people who really matter. Not the directors. But at Carlisle, it was the same story. The same story as at Huddersfield later. The directors lacked the ambition. The ambition and the belief. I mean, we had a good run in the Cup at Carlisle. Eighty thousand folk had watched the two games against Arsenal. And they had got good money for Ivor Broadis, too. But the directors would not use the money from the Cup or the money from Ivor. Again, Carlisle were a selling club. Not a buying club. And so I applied for the job at Liverpool. And I was invited over to Liverpool. I was very surprised to be invited. And I remember, when I got off the train at Lime Street, I saw Andy Beattie. Andy bloody Beattie! My good friend from my Preston days, my old friend from my Scotland days. And so I knew where he was going, why he was there. And he knew where I was going, why I was there. And I remember, we both looked at each other and we both laughed. And we both said, Well, that’s two people who won’t be getting the bloody job then! But you know, I was actually asked if I would be the manager? Oh yes, they offered me the job. But right away I said, Who picks the team?
In the street or in the house. Bill shook his head again. And Bill said, And of course, in those days. Back in those days. Nobody asked directors questions. Especially not a question like that. And so they told me they picked the team. They were in charge of selecting the team. They met in a little committee on a Friday and they made their choices. They made their selections. And then they would call in the manager. And they would tell him who they had picked. They would tell him who was playing. Whether he agreed or not, whether he liked it or not. And so I said to them, I said, Then you don’t need a manager. You need a trainer. And I am not a trainer. I am a manager. And so I pick the team. I say who plays. And so you don’t want me and I don’t want you. So no thank you, gentlemen. And goodnight!
In the house or in the street. Bill laughed. And Bill said, But you see, they never forgot me. Oh no! Nobody else had asked them that question. Nobody else had spoken to them like that. Oh no. And so they always remembered me. Especially Mr Williams. He never forgot me, he always remembered me. My enthusiasm and my passion. But when they came calling, when they came calling in 1959. That was still the first question I asked, still the first thing I asked them, Who picks the team? But by then, you see. By 1959, they had changed their tune. They had learnt the hard way. Oh yes. And so they said, You do, Mr Shankly. Because you will be the manager. And so I said, Yes! Yes then, I will be the manager of Liverpool Football Club then. And so it’s true to say, very true to say, I was the first genuine manager Liverpool Football Club ever had!
In the street or in the house. Bill smiled. And Bill said, Well, that’s a good question, a very good question. What would have happened if Bill Shankly had come to Liverpool Football Club in 1951? Eight years earlier. Well, I have no doubt. No doubt at all. We would have conquered the world. The whole bloody world. I mean, I was thirty-six years old then. And I was at my best, I was in my prime. I had helped Carlisle to take sixty-two points in a season. And then later at Grimsby, we got sixty-six points from forty-two games. Because I was at my best, I was in my prime. The height of my ambition, my desire to succeed. For the people of the club, the supporters of the club. Whatever club I was at, whether it was Carlisle or Grimsby Town. Workington or Huddersfield. And so that was what I would have brought to Liverpool Football Club in 1951. And what I did bring to Liverpool in 1959. That ambition, that desire. And my passion. My passion for the game, my passion for the supporters …
In the house or in the street. Bill shook his head. And Bill said, But you know, it was a constant battle. A constant struggle. I mean, when we won the Second Division championship. When we were promoted to the First Division. The shareholders gave us all a silver cigarette box. You know, a wee little pat on the head. And I remember looking down at that silver cigarette box in my hands. And then I looked up at the shareholders. And up at the directors. And I said to them, I said, Do you think we have won something? We have won nothing! This is bloody nothing. This is only the start! Only the bloody start. Now we’re going after the real prizes. The real bloody prizes.
In the street or in the house. Bill smiled again. And Bill said, And we won the First Division. And we won the FA Cup. And we won the League again. And we went into Europe. We went after Europe. And they were wonderful days. Oh yes! Truly wonderful days. Because it was all new, you see? All new. So people didn’t expect you to win trophies all the time. And so the atmosphere was unbelievable. Bloody unbelievable. Because of the supporters. The supporters of Liverpool Football Club. They were unbelievable. They are unbelievable. Bloody unbelievable. And they inspire the team, you see? And so the team know who they are playing for, the players of Liverpool Football Club always know who they are playing for. Playing for the supporters, playing as part of a team. Because football is a team game. And so there is no room for prima donnas in a team. Because no man is more important than the team. And everyone is part of that team. Not just the players, the eleven players on the pitch. But the manager, the coach, the tea lady and the ball boys. Everybody is part of the team. They are all part of the team and so they have all got to be the best there is. The best they can be. Because they are all part of the same team. They are all the same. And I tell you this, our great team of the sixties. They were all paid the same money to a penny piece. There was no man who got more than another man. And that’s the way it has to be. That’s the way it must be. The only way …
In the house or in the street. In conversations and in interviews. The journalists nodded and the well-wishers smiled. And they said, Yes, it was twenty years ago today, Bill. Twenty years ago today.
And Bill said, I only wish I could start all over again …
But in the street or in the house. The journalists and the well-wishes thanked Bill for his thoughts and for his reminiscences. They thanked Bill for his time. And they said goodbye. Until the next time, the next anniversary. They left Bill alone. In the house or in the street. But Bill never forgot. Bill always remembered. Every hour of every day. Every day of every week. Every week of every month. Every month of every year. Every year and every season. Every season and every match. Every single match. From the first match to the last match. Bill always remembered, Bill never forgot. Bill bore these memories, Bill carried these memories. A great weight Bill bore, a piece of wood Bill carried. A piece of wood which left Bill with splinters, splinters in his back. In his shoulders and in his neck. But splinters which gave Bill faith, splinters which made Bill believe. Believe in the things that had been, once. Believe in the things that could be, again. After the resurrection, before the resurrection –
Bill said, I only wish I could start all over again …
85. BEFORE THE REVOLUTION
In the winter. Under dark and heavy skies. In the middle of the week, in the middle of the day. In his suit and in his tie. Bill Shankly stood before Anfield. Before the camera. The Italian television camera. The television crew and the interviewer. These men who had come from Rome to find out why English football was now the most successful football in Europe. These men who had come to ask Bill Shankly why. And in the winter. Under dark and heavy skies. They switched on their camera and they switched on their lights. And the interviewer looked up at the clouds and then back down at Anfield. At the houses around the ground, at the streets around the ground. The boarded-up shops and the paint-splattered walls. An abandoned old car and a smashed-up phone box. The newspapers and the crisp packets blowing across the pavements. Across the broken glass, across the dog shit. And the man from Rome said, This city is like a cemetery. This town is like a ghost town. Twenty per cent of this city’s labour force is unemployed. In the town centre, in the job centre. There were just forty-nine jobs on offer. Everywhere we have been, we have seen derelict buildings. Empty factories. Huge tracts of wasteland. And wilderness. And everyone we have spok
en to, everyone talks about closures and redundancies. About British Leyland and Fisher-Bendix, Dunlop and BICC, Plessey and GEC, Lucas and Girling, Courtaulds and Meccano. People don’t seem to know what is happening here. People say there is nothing happening here in this town. Nothing here but the football.
The football is not nothing, said Bill Shankly. His eyes narrow now, his jaw set now. The football is everything! And now more than ever, in times like these. But I do not deny the things you have seen. I do not deny the things you have heard. No, no. But men hear what they want to hear, men see what they want to see. But there are some things some men cannot see, some things some men will never see. Some things some men do not want to see. Hidden things to some men, invisible things to some men. So where you only see empty factories and people on their knees. I still see a beautiful city and a great people. Proud people, passionate people …
And before Anfield. Before the camera. As Bill Shankly spoke. Men stopped to listen. Men and boys. In their coats. Their thin coats. With their scarves. Their red scarves.
And now more than ever, said Bill Shankly. His eyes wide now, his jaw forward now. Now in these times. It is the football that helps to keep them proud, it is the football that helps to keep them passionate. Because there is still an intense and powerful passion for football in this city. An intensity you will find nowhere else except in Glasgow. Because it comes from the heart here. And it flows in the blood here. In the blood of the people, in the hearts of the people. And what we do on Saturday provides a purpose and a focus for the people. For the working people, for the working man. Because football is the working man’s sport. And so he is the club! The working man is the club. You cannot make a football club without him, without the ordinary working man. Oh no! And you cannot cheat him. Or he’ll find you out. Oh yes! But if he trusts you, if the working man believes in you. Then he will follow you. And he will follow the team. Because he will recognise you are committed to him, the team is committed to him. And he will put all his pride and all his passion into the team. With fervour and with love. In his blood and in his heart.