Things I Couldn't Tell My Mother: A Memoir

by Sue Johnston

  I called to my editor and we both watched it unfold. It was a truly terrible day. People were tearing up hoardings to create makeshift stretchers. Fans were being brought out and laid on the pitch; at the time we didn’t know that some of them were the bodies of those who had died.

  My cousin Bob had gone to the game and of course in those days there were no mobile phones so there was no way of knowing if he was safe. He had to queue up outside someone’s house and call to let the family know he was all right.

  I drove the editor to the train station later; the radio was on and they played ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ and ‘Eternal Flame’, which was number one at the time but seemed very poignant. In between each song the DJ gave out more information about what was happening in Sheffield. Each time, the death toll had risen and the reports from the ground had become more harrowing. In total, ninety-six people lost their lives and 766 people were injured.

  Bob called the following day to say that a service was going to be held in the Liverpool Cathedral for the victims. I picked up Bob and drove to the outskirts of Liverpool city centre and walked into town. The streets were full of people heading in the same direction, heads bowed in silence. It was such a moving experience to see all these people with a common purpose. Once we got to the cathedral we realised we couldn’t get near, there were thousands of people outside who had all come with their shared grief.

  Knowing that everyone was there to hear the service and that no one wanted to go home until it was finished, priests walked through the crowds holding up transistor radios transmitting the service inside. People were passing their scarves along the crowd to be tied to the railings of the cathedral. An Everton fan standing in front of me passed his scarf forward. It was an extraordinary time for both teams. These rivals were joined in this common bond, a city-wide grief. Team flags were tied between Anfield and Goodison Park, uniting the two clubs. The service came to an end and everyone drifted off, again in silence.

  During the week following, the Sun newspaper printed a headline stating: ‘The Truth’. Underneath was a story saying that Liverpool fans had urinated on the police and had pickpocketed the bodies. It was a disgusting smear on not only the club but the people of Liverpool and their grief. None of this was substantiated. Overnight the Sun was virtually outlawed in Liverpool. To this day there is wide disregard for the Sun newspaper in the city. Other newspapers didn’t fare much better, printing ‘tribute’ editions with the pictures of those who died as they were being crushed. The whole thing seemed to be handled with an immense lack of sensitivity towards the victims’ families by the press.

  On one of the days following the tragedy I drove to the ground with John McArdle who played Billy Corkhill in Brookside and some of the other cast and crew. We walked through onto the pitch to the most breathtaking scene, the pitch was covered in flowers from the goal to the halfway line. We stood and took it all in. Flowers had been piled on flowers, scarves had been tied to the railings and again there was this terrible silence. There really was a weight of sorrow over the city. As we were walking back off the pitch a steward stopped us and said that there were some relatives here that had asked if we would meet with them. I wasn’t sure what I could do in this awful time but I was more than happy to speak with them. I was introduced to a mother whose son had died. She was absolutely desolate with grief. ‘You know how it is, Sheila, you’ve lost a son…’ she said to me, referring to what had happened in Brookside. She was in a total state of shock. I took her hand and just sat with her letting her say what she needed to say.

  The club wrapped its arms around the people involved. It was like a home for those who didn’t know where to go with their grief. The players all attended funerals but Kenny Dalglish, who was player-manager at the time, went to every single one. You could see the grief weighing in his face as each funeral passed. I think that this is why Kenny eventually moved away, the whole experience had crushed him. Of course, he is the only person who can really say this for sure. Whether or not that is the reason, he is back now but has always been a hero to the club.

  A month later we got through to the final of the FA cup and by serendipity we were to play Everton. Gerry Marsden sang ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ and it was the first time I had seen the Everton fans join in, it was extremely moving. Fittingly we went on to win. As the final whistle blew a small part of the crowd ran on to the pitch as the fences had been taken down as a matter of course after Hillsborough. Where I was sitting people began booing and slow clapping this minority of idiots and the sheer force of the sound of the crowd shamed them back onto the terraces. We were glad to win but it was a very subdued celebration.

  Soon afterwards details began to emerge that made many fans begin to question how the event had been policed and if it was something that could have been prevented. To this day the families of the ninety-six who died have unanswered questions and feel that justice has never been served. Every year there is a memorial service and every year the names of each person who died is read out and a candle is lit in their memory. It was my privilege to be asked to read a lesson at a service a few years ago.

  Outside the ground is a memorial, it has all the names etched in stone and an everlasting flame burns. It is always festooned in flowers and scarves and sometimes when I’m walking into the ground I’ll see someone kiss their fingers and touch a name, something that I find very moving every time I witness it. Their loved one’s memory lives on.

  *

  I am immensely proud to be a Liverpool fan and am proud of everyone who supports the club. For me, Joel, and my dad when he was alive, it is more than a football club, it is a way of life.

  On Brookside I was given the opportunity to do things I would never have been given in ordinary life. One time we were playing in a charity football match that had been organised: Brookside Women versus Grange Hill Girls at Goodison Park. I would obviously have preferred to play at Anfield, but the idea of being allowed on the pitch of our rivals filled me with an odd feeling of pride. This feeling was soon to evaporate, however, when it became clear that I should always be a spectator and not a player of my beloved football. I was so unfit! We all were. The Grange Hill Girls ran rings around us. If I did get chance to hoof the ball anywhere on the pitch I didn’t have the energy to go after it. I have to say we weren’t taking it particularly seriously as our goalkeeper was Ricky in a wig and false boobs. We crawled off the pitch at the end of the match. I said to Joel afterwards, ‘Not many people who can say their mothers played at Goodison Park.’ He raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Not many people would want to either.’

  My most treasured memory relating to my father and Liverpool was having the opportunity to take Dad to Wembley to a cup final. Liverpool were playing Manchester United and the tickets were like gold dust. I had begged and pleaded around the cast and crew of Brookside for two tickets to no avail and a few days before the match I had given up all hope.

  Then Paul Usher wandered over to me and casually asked, ‘Still fancy the match at the weekend, Sue?’

  My eyes narrowed, of course I did, but was this a windup? I thought he was going to laugh and say ‘tough!’

  ‘Yes, why?’ I asked tentatively.

  ‘Because I can get you two.’

  My jaw dropped. ‘Who from? I’ll have them!’ I said immediately, jumping with excitement. Paul was friends with Craig Johnston who played for Liverpool and later that day Craig dropped the tickets at the set. I called my dad with the news that I knew would make his year: ‘Dad, get ready, we’re going to Wembley!’

  I booked first-class tickets on the train as I wanted to make this a special day for my father. He had his packed lunch with him and we headed off to the final. We got on the tube to Wembley and all the Liverpool fans were singing, ‘There’s only one Sheila Grant!’ which my dad thought was fantastic. When we got to the ground it was such a delight to see Dad walk into that hallowed stadium. We had such a fabulous day together. It was lovely to see him taki
ng in the atmosphere and enjoying himself so much. On the way home on the train Dad realised that opposite us was the legendary footballer Sir Tom Finney sitting with his wife. Tom had been known as the Preston Plumber when he played for Preston North End. Dad began chatting to him and the two whiled away the hours back up north chatting about their shared histories: plumbing and a love of football. It was lovely to see these two men enjoying one another’s company; both legends in my eyes. We arrived back home having had a wonderful day together.

  The following year we played Everton in the cup final and I asked Dad if he’d like to go. ‘No, love,’ he said, thinking back to the great day we’d had the previous year, ‘I’ll go out on that. It was perfect.’

  He was right. And I have our shared love of football to thank for having that bond and those special shared moments over the years.

  Chapter Fourteen

  JOEL WAS ALWAYS such a laid-back boy and as an adult he is one of the most unflappable people I know. He wasn’t particularly flustered by any of the hullabaloo that came with his mum being in Brookside when he was younger but as he got older he did begin to become more aware and more embarrassed by it. There were times when we’d go to the local precinct and we’d be practically mobbed. Brookside was hugely popular with teenagers, they loved it – and as everyone knows, when teenagers are fans of something they are ardent fans! Girls would scream at me as we went past. Dared by their friends to say something, or so giddy with excitement at seeing someone they recognised from Brookside, they would shout the first thing that came into their head. This upset Joel, it scared him and he didn’t like the attention that we received. As he got a bit older I found that the same thing was happening when I went to pick him up from school. The kids were starting to recognise me.

  Joel went to a junior school nearby, but by the time it came to him moving up to secondary school I was very wary of him going to the local comprehensive. It is such a hard decision to have to make for your child. My parents couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just go where his friends were going but I felt that he should have a clean break from being known as Sheila Grant’s son, somewhere he could just be himself.

  I eventually found a school at the other side of town. I took Joel to see it and he liked it. I felt much better knowing that he was happy about the change too, and once there he really enjoyed it. I did on occasion pick him up from his new school, but I would hide around the corner so that he didn’t have to have the awkward conversation with his classmates that yes, his mother was in Brookside.

  *

  Brookside had been going from strength to strength, and Ricky and I did two great specials together. One was in the Costa Del Sol in Spain. We were staying in the centre of Benidorm and we got a lot of people following us around as we filmed or when we went out at night. So in the end someone on the production team suggested we hire a villa in the sticks and drive in for filming. It was a beautiful place, surrounded by orange groves. The owner of the villa was extremely kind to us and took us to a restaurant up in the mountains. There was Ricky and me and the director Chris Clough and Ken Horn who was then the cameraman. We sat down, jugs of sangria were placed on the table, and so began a night of eating, drinking and merriment. Ricky was up singing and entertaining everyone and we had a fabulous time. At the end of the night, when we were all fit to burst and sozzled, I reached into my bag to get the kitty and realised I didn’t have it. By this time the owner of our villa had gone and we were communicating in our pidgin Spanish. The others couldn’t believe I’d left the kitty behind. Ricky pulled the inside of his shorts pockets out to indicate no money. We did the washing-up mime to indicate that that’s what we might have to do to go some way to paying for our meal. In the end after a number of ‘mañanas’ and more pocket pulling from Ricky, we conveyed that we would be back the following day to pay for our meal. We were. And it became our mountain hideaway for the rest of our time there.

  Another time Ricky and I went to film Sheila and Bobby on a second honeymoon in Rome. We were perched on the side of the Trevi fountain. The fountain is famous for two things: the scene from Fellini’s La Dolce Vita and for visitors throwing coins in and making a wish. There were hundreds of coins under the water. Ricky was about to do a big emotional speech to Sheila about what this moment meant to him.

  Suddenly Ricky started twitching his head and speaking like a ventriloquist.

  I leaned in. ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Them fellas, over there,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  I turned my head slowly to see two men, very smartly dressed with a carrier bag at their feet. With them they had what could only be a giant magnet, and they were using it to fish in the fountain. They were shoving it in and then trying to surreptitiously flick the coins into the carrier bag. They were stealing the coins! Someone must have alerted the police because they were there in moments and the entrepreneurial thieves fled through the street chased by the Polizia.

  *

  Brookside was such a great programme to work on but after eight years I began to feel restless. The storylines for Sheila had always been strong and I thought it was fantastic when they decided to send Sheila off to college to get an education. I knew that this would chime with a lot of women of my generation who had brought up their families and were now turning some of their attention to themselves. This storyline, though, drove a wedge between Sheila and Bobby, and in retrospect I think it drove Ricky and me apart at that time too. We both felt that our characters were being changed but we reacted to this in very different ways.

  Sheila had an affair with John McArdle’s character Billy and then her Catholicism became very extreme. I began to worry that the stories were becoming a little out of character. When Sheila left Bobby and moved in with Billy, and in doing so lost her family, I felt that this development strayed away from who she was.

  It was always a real joy to work with John and perform the Billy and Sheila storylines, they were very popular and we even went on Wogan when the characters kissed for the first time. However, once they were together and they were accepted as a couple I felt that the storylines began to fall away and Sheila just became a bit of a religious obsessive.

  Ricky started to worry about the character of Bobby when he seemed to be shifting away from his working-class roots. Bobby had always been a family man and a trade union man. But when one script asked that Bobby act prudishly about his daughter Karen moving in with her boyfriend, Ricky saw red. Why would someone who had been a left-wing unionist all his life give a monkey’s about his daughter moving in with her boyfriend out of wedlock? Sheila, maybe, she was the Catholic, but not Bobby. Ricky began to distance himself from the producers who he felt weren’t listening to him and things began to feel awkward on set.

  Things came to a head around Christmas time. Phil Redmond would throw a party on Boxing Day every year and invite the cast and crew. This year I went along and Ricky hadn’t been invited. Later, he was very upset that I hadn’t told him about the party and felt that I had let him down. I just felt that I was in an awkward position: it hadn’t been my party to tell him about. He left Brookside soon after. If I’m honest, I didn’t feel that the character of Sheila was ever really right once Bobby had gone.

  *

  It was at this time that my friend Andy Hay who was directing at the Octagon Theatre – my old stomping ground in Bolton – contacted me to say that he was developing a play with Jim Cartwright. He said that they thought that John McArdle and I should play the parts if there was any chance we could get a sabbatical from Brookside. This definitely wasn’t the done thing, but John and I decided that we would ask.

  The idea of doing something different if only for a little while really appealed to me. Phil Redmond agreed to give us two months off and so John and I began workshopping the play with Jim and Andy and the result was Two. Two is set in a pub and the central characters are the landlord and landlady. As the play progresses, a succession of other couples come in and we are give
n an insight into their lives as well. The play was very simple with all of the characters played by just two actors, hence the name. We really loved it and thought that it worked really well, but of course we didn’t know what other people would think. With two people playing all these characters, it might come across as rushed, or confusing, we didn’t know.

  We premiered at the Bolton Octagon in the summer of 1990 and both John and I were petrified. In fact, we had been scared for weeks. In the middle of rehearsals we were sitting in the car park near the Octagon and I turned to John and said, ‘Shall we ring Phil and tell him we’ll just go back now?’ We’d become a bit institutionalised if I’m honest. The comfort and safety of Brookside seemed preferable over the unknown of going onstage every night.

  On opening night John and I stood backstage waiting to go on. I had a little peek as the auditorium filled up. It was a sell-out. The great thing about the fact that we were actors on Brookside was that people who wouldn’t normally go to the theatre came to see us. They wanted to see what Sheila and Billy could do.

  My friend Phil Thompson, the Liverpool footballing legend, isn’t a theatre man at all but he came along. He called me in the afternoon before the show.

  ‘Hi, Sue.’

  He sounded downbeat. I was sure he was calling to say that he wasn’t going to be able to make the performance.

  ‘Everything all right, Phil?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah. Fine…’ He paused. ‘Listen, this is going to sound a bit daft…but what do I wear to the theatre?’

  I cracked up laughing. ‘Wear what you want.’

  ‘I don’t need a penguin suit then?’ he said, relief evident in his voice.