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Hillsborough remembrance and related information

Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:13 pm

Memories from the stand

A student in Sheffield at the time, Gill Whibley recalls her memories from the stand and the reaction to the tragedy from the people of Sheffield

Tuesday April 15, 2003

I was a student at Sheffield University in 1989 so an FA Cup semi-final at Hillsborough meant that as well as going to the game, I could get a lift back with all my freshly-washed clothes and a food package from home.
My Dad, his friend Dave and I set off from Liverpool in a heavily laden car across the Snake Pass to my student digs. After unloading my belongings, we left the car behind in the Broomhill area of the city and set off for the ground.

Being an adopted local, and having been to see Sheffield Wednesday play a few times before, I knew which bus to catch and the walk down to the away end. I'd always been in the visitors' end with friends when their teams played away at Hillsborough.

We walked past several Liverpool fans - who appeared in good form - on our way to the ground. Spirits were high. I was excited, I really believed we were going to Wembley. Dad joked about the prospect of meeting Everton in the final, they were playing Norwich in the other semi-final at Villa Park.

As usual, we arrived in the ground early. We took up our seats in the stand. I had always enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere inside the ground as tension mounts ahead of the kick-off.

With about five minutes to go I noticed something odd. The Leppings Lane end looked to be filling up much more quickly in the middle sections, with the section farthest away from me virtually empty.

I pointed it out to my Dad, who'd already noticed, he expressed his concern. It didn't make sense, he said. Why had everyone with tickets behind the goal turned up, and hardly anyone on the either side of the goal not?

As 3pm got closer and closer, his anxiety increased. He thought that he should say something to the police. I - and I have to live with this - discouraged him. I'd had run-ins with the police at the anti-poll tax demonstrations and student "grants-not-loans" marches and didn't trust them. I thought he'd be arrested for causing trouble.

The game kicked off. I kept one eye focused on the crowd, my Dad had both. He just couldn't believe what he was seeing. He was worried, "People are going to die in there," he said.

A couple of people were already clambering over the top of the fence. One supporter walked round the edge of the pitch in front of us, the game still in play, holding his arm at the elbow. His forearm was broken in several places, it looked like a set of stairs. I felt sick.

Then came Peter Beardsley's shot at goal, and the surge in the crowd. I watched helpless as people started to pour onto the pitch. It wasn't clear what was going on at first, the Forest fans seemed to think it was Liverpool trouble-makers invading the pitch, and shouted abuse. It didn't last. It was soon apparent what was going on and an eerie hush fell over the Kop end.

As the injured spilled onto the pitch, I watched in horror with my hand over my face as the first few were carried in front of me on the torn down advertising hoardings, clutching arms, legs or chests. Then a moment I'll never forget. One fan, his coat pulled over his head to cover his face, was carried by four others, heads bowed, walking slowly. I'd been fighting back the tears, now they flowed. I felt helpless, sick, frightened for those still inside.

People started to leave the stand, no one was being allowed on to the pitch from where we were, none of us had any medical training, so we took the decision to leave. It felt disrespectful to watch the suffering and do nothing.

The three of us went back to the house I shared. It was just at the back of the Hallamshire Hospital, and as we sat in the kitchen, all you could hear were the sirens ambulances racing from the ground. I couldn't stop crying.

One of the other lads who lived in the house had also been at the game. He was in the same stand as me with one of his friends, so I wasn't worried about him, well only for a short while. They arrived back not long after us. My Dad and Dave left for the journey back to Liverpool.

Eventually, the sirens stopped. I spent the night in a sleeping bag on the floor in my friend's room, too distraught to be alone. None of us slept.

I saw my Dad the next day when he returned to Sheffield, this time in a professional capacity. He was the Principle Building Surveyor, responsible for licensing, at Liverpool City Council and he came back with his boss, the City Building Surveyor, to meet with senior police officers and see the ground for themselves ahead of an emergency council meeting on the Monday.

My Dad helped to prepare a report, on behalf of Liverpool City Council, into the disaster. His involvement in the licensing process at both Liverpool and Everton meant he was party to the decision to remove the perimeter fences at Anfield and Goodison.

Now the Chairman of the Football Safety Officers Association, my Dad has seen his passion for football and the provision of a safe environment to watch from become his vocation.

I found it hard being in Sheffield, close to the scene. I avoided the local papers; after the treatment by the Sun, I feared the city might be defensive and attack the Liverpool fans in the same way.

It was confusing, being in the city that had seen the death of so many, so far away from Liverpool. In some ways it felt like a betrayal, but it was also comforting to be at home and surrounded, like Liverpool, of talk of nothing else. It would have been harder for me to have been a student somewhere completely detached from what had happened.

As I remember, three students at the University lost their lives in the disaster. I vaguely knew one of them. The main entrance of the University became a memorial site, everyday there were more flowers and messages. Being so close to Merseyside, there were many students who came from Liverpool at the college, and everyone was moved by what had happened.

The following Saturday, a friend and I each took a collection box into the centre of Sheffield city centre. The student union had helped organise people to take part, raising funds for those affected by the disaster. We stood outside a large department store and I cried all day. I had no idea what reaction to expect, I was emotional, but determined.

Most people were incredibly generous and supportive. One woman, choking back the tears, said that on that night she had held her son and sobbed, he'd been to Hillsborough many times as a Wednesday supporter and was the same age as some of those who had died. People couldn't understand how it could happen at a football game.

Everyone who put money in the collection box had a kind word to say, some were ashamed that this had happened in their city or at their team's ground. A few recognised it could easily have been them or their loved ones. Some were disgusted by the reaction of the police. Others just gave my hand a squeeze as they dropped in their coins.

There were only a handful who seemed to have swallowed the lies fed by the Sun. They regurgitated the rubbish, laying the blame at the Liverpool "hooligans", "look at Heysel, it must be true", but they really were the minority. Mostly I felt compassion and a shared sense of loss.

I still take it personally that the city in which I lived could not provide the answers or deliver the justice that are, in many ways, still missing.

I applaud the work of the Hillsborough Justice Campaign and this year I am taking part in the London Triathlon to raise funds and, I hope, awareness for the work that they do.

Gill Whibley was born in Liverpool and is a lifelong Liverpool supporter. She lives in north London and works as a journalist
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:13 pm

That Lad

Peter Etherington has written two books on the subject of Liverpool Football Club, 'One Boy and His Kop' and 'My Youth, My Kop'. Peter was in the Leppings Lane in 1989

By Peter Etherington
Tuesday April 15, 2003

April fifteenth, nineteen-eighty-nine.
Semi-final day, the weather was fine.
Set off for Hillsborough in our mini-bus.
Laughing and singing, all twelve of us.
Bevvy in the alehouse. Reds having the crack.
We didn't know then some wouldn't come back.
Walked down the hill on the way to the ground.
This was dead weird, not many bizzies around.

There's normally hundreds. Usually loads.
They must all be busy blocking off the roads.
Forest fans in one way, Liverpool another.
Can't have them meeting. "Don't want the bother."

One bizzy on horseback shouting over the din.
"Stop bloody pushing. You'll all get in."
"Come on lads, they've opened a gate."
"Hurry up, we don't wanna be late."

Straight up the tunnel and into the dark.
Couldn't even see the players out there on the park.
Something's not right. This is all going wrong.
My ribs are getting crushed in this massive throng.

I fell on the terrace, looking up at the sky.
God, I was scared. I don't wanna die!
Punch, kick, scrap, fight.
Got to do anything to get back upright.

I was like a wild animal. What's happening here!
Survival instinct. Stark bloody fear!
"Get outta my way lad. I can't get my breath!"
I didn't realise he was so near to death.

"Open the fence! Please! Let us out!"
That lad went under. It was his last ever shout.
Help me! Pull me up! Grab hold of my hand!
Get me out of this hellhole and into the stand!

I was safe. I survived. I was free from that hell.
How many dead. I just couldn't tell.
Looked down at the pitch, there was that lad.
A man weeping over him. That man was his Dad.

He was trying to revive him with the kiss of life.
But that lad was gone. How would his Dad tell his wife?
Many years on. Still no justice done.
That man's still grieving for his dear son.

Was it me? Was it my fault? Was I to blame?
I still ask myself at the Eternal Flame.

© 2003 Peter Etherington
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:14 pm

Jimmy McGovern: Hillsborough 14 years on

by Jimmy McGovern, Liverpool Echo

WHAT more do the Hillsborough families want? I've heard it said. "They've had everything. The Taylor Report, the inquest, judicial reviews, a legal scrutiny and the private prosecution of two senior police officers."

And I agree. They've had plenty of Law. A bellyful of Law. But they have never had Justice.

Take the case of Eddie Spearritt. Fourteen years ago today (15 April), at Hillsborough, the South Yorkshire Police ordered Eddie Spearritt, his son Adam, and hundreds of other Liverpool supporters through a gate, down a tunnel, and into the centre of two overcrowded pens.

The crowd swirled, as dense crowds often do, and Eddie and Adam found themselves at the front of the pen, hemmed in by wire and metal spikes.

On the other side of the wire was a policeman. He was looking at the ever-worsening crush but doing nothing.

Eddie called out to him that Adam was dying and that he must open the emergency gate and help the people trapped inside. The policeman clearly heard this but did nothing. Eddie lapsed into unconsciousness. Adam, his son, died.

The game was stopped at 3.06pm. By 3.40pm the pens were empty. By 4pm all the injured were in hospital. But Eddie Spearritt was not amongst them. Eddie Spearritt, desperately ill, did not reach hospital until five o'clock. Why?

The hospital was a few minutes drive away. Why did it take almost two hours to get a seriously injured man to a hospital a couple of miles down the road?

A reasonable question. A few years later, Eddie asked it of the consultant who had treated him that day. The consultant had no real answer but suggested that Eddie might have been admitted to hospital before five o'clock and considered non-urgent and put to one side.

Eddie found that difficult to accept. His injuries that day were critical. He was in a coma. He was sent to intensive care. His family was told that he might not last the night. That is NOT the type of case to be deemed non-urgent and put to one side.

There is, in fact, only one logical explanation and it is this: Eddie Spearritt was pronounced dead, probably at the ground, subsequently showed signs of life and was then rushed in for treatment.

And if Eddie Spearritt was pronounced dead, how many others were wrongly pronounced dead and denied the medical care that might have saved them?

Eddie decided to put this question to Lord Justice Stuart-Smith when, in 1997, the judge came to Liverpool to conduct a 'scrutiny' into the Hillsborough Disaster.

Eddie, by then, had scant faith in British judges but what little he had evaporated when, at the start of the proceedings, the judge said to the Hillsborough families: "Have you got a few of your people here or are they, like the Liverpool fans, going to turn up at the last minute?"

Sensitive souls, these judges, aren't they?

Nevertheless the scrutiny went ahead. It was a disgrace. If you want to learn just how bad it was, buy Phil Scraton's excellent book Hillsborough, The Truth. But, for now, I'll simply discuss the answer he gave to Eddie Spearritt. Some records, the judge said, suggest that it was five o'clock when Eddie got to hospital. Other records suggest that it was earlier.

Other records! Eddie now went back to the consultant who had treated him and asked him if he could have a look at these other records. The consultant didn't have a clue what the judge was on about. There were no other records. The judge had simply fobbed Eddie off.

Eddie Spearritt's case is crucial to our understanding of the sense of injustice that the Hillsborough families feel. South Yorkshire Police, remember, kept trained ambulancemen waiting outside the ground while, inside, untrained fans fought desperately to keep fellow fans alive.

How many more lives could have been saved if the medical response had been quicker and better? That is a question that has never been put because the coroner at the inquest and the judges at the judicial review refused to allow it.

And yet Eddie Spearritt is living proof that at least one man was left for dead who should not have been. So how many others? That is a can of worms that quite a few people would like to keep shut.
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:15 pm

The 15th of April is fast approaching, a time where many will sit back and reflect on events that transpired on that now infamous afternoon back in the spring of 1989.
Hillsborough had played host to another semi-final involving Liverpool a year earlier. The program from 89 showed a picture of a full Lepping Lane end with a brief paragraph that read "As you look around Hillsborough you will appreciate why it has been regarded for so long as the perfect venue for all kinds of important matches. It is a stadium that befits such occasions and the large crowds they attract"; 1 year on the story was very different.
The warnings were there from the beginning. A larger support than Forest they were allocated the smaller end of the ground (just as they were the year before), by 2:30 a bottleneck had developed, 3 gates and seven turnstiles to accommodate upwards of 10,000 fans, hindered further by Coaches arriving late, delayed by road works.

Too many fans inside the ground and too many still trying to get in meant conditions in the paddock were getting desperate, people’s movements were restricted by the sheer number of people already inside and those still trying to get in.

96 people died that day because of gross incompetence by the South Yorkshire Police. In particular Chief Superintendent Duckenfield, who failed, perhaps through lack of experience (he is said to have had minimal experience of handling games of this size), to realise what was going on. And who, by his own admission, “froze” when faced with a decision that affected the lives of so many.

As if events of that day weren’t bad enough they were worsened by one of the most sickening smear campaigns this country has ever seen. The despicable Kelvin McKenzie saw fit to inform the British public of what he described as “The Truth” appalling stories of fans robbing the dead and abusing police who were trying to administer aid to the injured and dying. NOTHING could be further from the truth, unfortunately McKenzie’s power was such that those around him were powerless to stop these lies being printed.

The Headlines caused uproar in the city, the paper was burned in protest at the lies that dirtied the names of those that involuntarily gave up there lives following the team they loved.

“The Truth” haunts Liverpool the fans and the families of those who died to this day. The Boycott of The S*n is ongoing and figures released show that the Boycott is indeed having an affect with Millions in lost revenue in the north-west, and the admission from people working for the S*n that it was a disastrous move on there part.

To this day the truth about what really happened is not the thing that stands out to the masses, those that haven’t felt compelled to discover what actually happened are happy to believe lies and rumours.

The belief that Hillsborough was caused through Hooliganism is a popular but totally inaccurate myth helped along nicely by companies like the BBC who happily sell the rights to footage of Hillsborough which has then, in the past, been used to explain the affects of football violence.

Magazines like FHM and MAXIM further feed the beast, using horrific images of the events to inaccurately portray football violence and dismissing what happened in the name of humour.

The pursuit of Justice by the families is ongoing, battling against the lies and deceit is a daily struggle.

We all have a part to play in this and there are numerous sites and people within the LFC community that you can get in touch with for details on how you can help.

I never went to the game at Hillsborough; I suppose I can consider myself lucky that I didn’t have to witness the trauma and grief first hand. Watching events unfold from afar was more than enough to leave a lasting impression on me. The birds eye view of an overcrowded pen overflowing onto the pitch was a frightening but compelling image.

At eight years old I couldn’t begin to realise the enormity of what had happened or the extent to which it would affect peoples lives. It was only a few years later on discovering that relatives were at Hillsborough (not in the affected paddock in the Lepping Lane end but the surrounding areas) and the effect it had on them that the true scale of the thing hit home.

Not until you read accounts of what happened or take time to educate yourselves on the subject do you truly appreciate the gross injustice, the immense pain, and the incredible affect it has on everyone involved.

Every Liverpool supporter has a responsibility to ensure that the memory of what happened lives on through the generations. Education is the future of Justice (read an excellent article by Curly on that very subject).

Shanks once said that “football isn’t a matter of life or death…it’s far more important than that”. It’s only when you take a step back and think about what happened both at Hillsborough, Heysel, and the Bradford fire (as well as disasters throughout the world) do you realise how insignificant football really is.


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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:15 pm

John Aldridge: "Whenever I think of Hillsborough I am drawn to the story of young Lee Nicol from Bootle. Lee was fourteen but looked about ten. He reminded me of my son, Paul. Lee was in the middle of the crush at Leppings Lane but was still alive when he was pulled out. I went to see him in hospital. He looked a lovely kid. As he lay there in a coma, I whispered words into his ears. I asked the doctor about his chances of recovery. 'He's clinically dead, John,' he said. I hadn't realised how badly he was injured. That news ripped into me. My heart went out to Lee's family, decent people who didn't deserve to be victims of such a tragedy."


Kenny: " One morning, before everyone was in, I went out on to the pitch and tied my children’s teddy bears around a goalpost at the Kop end. The goals, the pitch and the whole Kop were covered in flowers, scarves and tributes. I remember describing it as the ‘saddest and most beautiful sight’ I had ever seen. It really was like that. It was sad because of the reason whey the tributes were there, but it was magnificent to see them. On the Friday night, after everybody had gone, I walked through the Kop with Kelly, Paul and Marina’s dad, Pat. Paul looked at all the tributes, the flowers, the scarves and said: ‘Why did it have to happen to us?’ Kelly, Paul and I stood at the back of the Kop with tears falling down our faces. Walking through the Kop was so emotional. A lot of tributes had been left by people in the place where their loved one had stood. People who had lost the person they stood next to to watch games would leave something special in remembrance. Seeing two oranges left beside one of the barriers really moved me. It was difficult not to weep on coming across little tributes like that. They were so insignificant and yet so full of meaning. Perhaps the two people took it in turn to bring oranges to matches, something to share at half-time. That really got to me. I wondered whether the person who laid the oranges ever returned to the Kop. I came across somebody’s boots, left there by his mourning family. Everywhere I walked there were endless messages, each of which embodied someone else’s grief. It was so difficult to pass through.

"The shameful allegations intensified the anger amidst the trauma. We spent the week consoling the bereaved and attending funerals. On the Saturday we held a service at Anfield. At six minutes past three there was a minute’s silence across the country. Then everyone at Anfield sang ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone.’ We tied scarves between Anfield and Goodison. We just wanted to show the unity existing on Merseyside. The following day, there was a final service on the pitch. It was really quiet, just the wind rustling the scarves tied to the crossbar. When somebody shouted out ‘We all loved you,’ we all broke down."


Alan Hansen " have heard people say that they should now ‘let it go’ and ‘get on with their lives’, a view that stems partly from the massive changes that have taken place in English football as a result of Hillsborough. But for the tragedy, and the Taylor Report in January 1990, which enforced the transformation of British football grounds into all-seat stadiums, it is possible that the long history of stadium neglect, and spectators treated as turnstile fodder, would have continued. The new-style British club stadiums, which are among the most impressive in the world for safety standards and facilities, have made it easier for clubs to be better run, and therefore improve the quality of their football. However, though a great deal of water has passed under the bridge since Hillsborough, my attitude to those who feel that the HFSG should now forget its grievances is, ‘It’s easy for you to talk – you didn’t loose anyone.’

"Had I lost someone, I would never have let it go."


John Barnes: "The tributes were not just at Anfield. I walked into Stanley Park and saw all the Everton scarves tied together. They stretched from Goodison Park to Anfield, a symbol of the unity between the two clubs. All football fans were united in their grief. Even those from Manchester United sent gestures of sympathy. Every fan had reason to mourn."


"Running in the wind
Playing happy families
Let in unaware
Having children, getting by
Tears from my eye, I cry, I cry
The virgin in me
Halted in its tracks
The person in me
Buried in Sheffield
Fascinated by spirits
And all I want is some justice
Respect is everything
But sometimes never enough
People aren't too honest
But be a good boy and make me proud
We'll live through you
Make you what I never was
So free in the wind
Running in the sea
Being free like you not me
Noises, screams, photos, cries
This is life, is it fate
You live, you learn, you die
You'll learn, all lessons from past
You laugh, you learn
You cry, you learn
Respect is all, tell me what you know
You pray, you learn
You live, you learn
Please don't block your tears
We are the sweet crusaders."


Red Ped:
"H is for Hillsborough,Heysel and Hell
His for half time, happy as well
H is for Heaving,
His breatH and His Heart
H is the finisH but isn't in start
H ends crusH and H ends enougH
H starts the Heaven in skies up above
H is for Heavy, in ligHt and in weigHt
THere's no H in early and no H in late
There's no H in open and no H in gate
There's a big H in pusH but missing from mate
No H in escape no H in set free
There's no H in living or in let it be
Two H's in HillsborougH, more tHan enougH
No H in Justice, not good enougH."


Scouse Ste:
"96 souls have passed away,
On a morbid April day,
Asphyxiated, crushed to death,
At Hillsborough, they drew their final breath.

What went on that fateful day?
All those bodies turning grey,
Old and young, there for the FA Cup,
It isn’t right; it’s [censored] up.

The papers over the next few weeks,
Headlines too sick to speak,
Said we were p#ssed, that we’d robbed our own,
No pity for the 96, who never came home.

This was sh##e, I was there.
Leppings Lane, the worst nightmare.
Crushed and squashed, my skin turned blue,
I was lucky, I escaped, my mates too.

I have a memory of this young lad,
Up against the fence, without his Dad,
I picked him up, and over the fence,
Emergency services, acting without sense.

Those f***ing police, it was all their fault,
Duckenfield, in hell you’ll rot.
You liar, you cheat, you filthy rat,
If I saw you know, Id kill you.

And as for the S*n, SPIT, SPIT, SPIT.
McKensie I HATE YOU, you f***ing Sh*t,
You lied you ****, no apology,
When you die, Ill dance with glee.

That’s the end, thanks for reading.
I don’t know where this all is leading,
I guess my final message is,
JUSTICE and RIP the 96."


"I focus on a white cloud in the sky.
It fades to darkness and a peaceful quiet descends
A warm comforting wave folds over my body

I'm floating, spinning, am I flying ?
Where am I going? why cant I see?
I think something's happening but I'm not scared
Was I watching the reds? No, it must be a dream

But Brucie was looking right at me! I could swear it. He was pointing and shouting
Why was he doing that and not playing?, I'll ask me dad later
Where is me dad? wasn't he standing next to me?
I wonder where he's gone to?

I look around and there's me Granddad
This isn't right I MUST be asleep I came with me dad I remember I did!
"Alright son don't worry now your Nan and me are here for ya"

I sense, but don't panic, I don't feel anything but warmth inside,

I know. I know I understand now its clear
I look around and see mum and dad in the front room holding each other and crying,

I understand

I'm with my granddad now, "Come on son lets go"
I understand at last, but I don't know why."
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:16 pm

by curly

Easy to Forget

It's easy to forget in this joyous time,
what happened back then in '89.
I myself was only 3,
not old enough to remember the carnage and misery.
You'll think, why does he care?
He wasn't even there,
No friends or relatives lost,
you haven't felt the cost.
I don't see it that way,
I care about what happened on that fateful day.
I care about something I didn't even see,
Because I know,
10 years before,
It could have been me.
Now I’m part of the greatest family,
The club that is Liverpool FC
In 89 96 loyal reds,
Went to see a semi-final of the cup,
Not knowing that they’re never see their beds,
That is why we must never give up,
We all go to the game,
Otherwise it wouldn’t be the same,
We see the eternal flame burn,
But do we ever think, we might never return?
In a world of plastic seats and Sky TV,
It’s easy to forget,
That those 96 were just like you and me.
That is why as the years roll on,
No matter how much we’ve won,
We must never forget those 96 names,
Who can no longer go to games.

The Fight

The fight for Justice msut never die,
We owe it to the mother who will always cry,
What's wrong with reading the Sun?
After all it's only a bit of fun.
Try telling that to the dad,
who sees you, a red, reading that paper.
You wonder why he gets mad.
It's because that @#%$ you just read,
branded him a yob who robbed the dead.
Think of the lad who had to watch his friend die,
the lad who has never learnt to cry,
You're reading the paper that said he killed his own,
no wonder he feels alone.
Others were to blame on that fateful day,
but they just hide it away.
Families still don't why their son had to die.
The fight for justice,
Now ask yourself, why?
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:17 pm


We all turned up late, without tickets and bladdered,
even a ten-year-old boy, well that's what I gathered.

We forced open a gate and started to push
Towards the front of the pen, caused the terrible crush.

Two girls at the front, screamin' and cryin'.
"Open the fence! There's people here dyin'!"

"Get back in there, you bloody Scouse yobs!"
South Yorkshire Police just doing their jobs.

Then they all realised something was wrong.
Scousers stopped singin' their favourite song.

That poor Scouser Tommy who took the King's shilling.
That poor Scouser Tommy who was ready and willing.

That poor Scouser Tommy who fought in the war.
Gave his life for his country. I wonder what for?

Brave bobbies put up with so much that day.
Even got peed on, that's what they say.

It was us! It was our fault! We killed our mates!
A manslaughter charge surely awaits.

But hey, don't worry! We won't go to jail!
We'll do a deal with the Judge; British justice won't fail.

How do I know all this is true?
It said in the Sun. I believe it - don't you?

Peter Etherington.
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:17 pm



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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:18 pm


Thirteen years later. Thirteen years on.
We've all cried for justice but we've had none.
We've had platitudes, condolences and "Never mind dear"
But we've never heard the words we so long to hear.

"We were wrong. It was our fault. We shouldn't have opened the gate."
We'll never hear those words no matter how long we wait.
"We didn't have enough ambulances, stewards or men."
We're not hearing it now and we didn't hear it then.

"Okay, we were wrong. You should have had the big end."
They'll never take the blame for our 96 friends.
"We didn't want a mix of Forest and Scouse."
They're all throwing stones from their big glass house.

"People WERE alive at six minutes past three."
They'll never admit it but they'll always be free.
"Well I can retire now. I've got a nice fat pension."
Said the horrible pig whose name I can't mention.

"We should have delayed the kick off, even if it was for an hour."
We'll never hear those words from their Ivory Tower.
"We know it wasn't your fault. We shouldn't have called you drunks."
We'll never hear those words from the reprehensible skunks.

What they're really saying is, "Yes, it was your fault, you trouble-causing Scousers.
Drunken and thieving you moaning mickey mousers."
They don't give a toss about us and our kind.
I wish they could have the demons in my mind.

all the above are taken from RAOTL
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:19 pm

Following the HJC press release 15 04 2002 Tom E posted this yesterday:

"I think now is the right time. All of the work that has been done on h'boro needs to be published. and with this new action comming to light now would be as good a time as any to sort it out. It will not cost much to compile it all, and run off a small publication. I am sure that Andy Knott from RAOTL will be able to give us tips on the printing. Also, and this is just an idea, why not record some of the poems? i have the technology to do so. To start with, we need it all in one place - in one format too. Let me know what you think, and i'll set up a hotmail account, that we can mail it all to, then we all have access to it.

Worth a try? "

Hillsborough Song by Bassman

Its taken me 11 years just to write this song
Every time I'd come to it, the feelings were too strong
And every time I think of it I just cant get my head around
The fact that all those lives were lost in a Sheffield football ground
6.30 in the morning I jumped up out of bed
In less than 9 hours I would see the boys in red
I'd never been to a semi before, I never will again
Cant take my mind away from what happened then
I arrived in Sheffield at 1pm, my father, friend and me
We met some Nottingham Forrest fans who predicted they'd get three
A laugh, shake hands, a knowing smile, all the usual craic
No way they'd get 3 past us with Jocky at the back
2.30 standing outside the ground, debating to go in
The crowd was massive even then we decided to wait a bit
I cant remember clearly just what happened then
I know we got inside the ground but didnt get to the pen
Games off I heard someone call I thought this cant be right
A few questions later and we heard there'd been a fight
Go home, the match will be replayed we dont know when or where
I heard there was a couple dead, for the match I couldnt care
Liverpool later on that day we just found out the news
60 dead and counting, please dont let it be true
At home the TV lied to me, over 80 dead?
No this isnt right I thought, someone would have said
All these years later and it stands at 96
2 lads were from my school, a place where we would mix
They'd never skive off school again, or get sent home
But we think about you everyday and
You'll never walk alone...

Justice Poem by Mikey

Remember 96 died they were on our side we MUST never forget until JUSTICE is set, Liverpudlians never forget the courts we have met because of their conscience so inept Mr McKenzie, Mr Duckenfield, Mr British Justajoke your time will be found your lies are just smoke screens you can't go to ground.
YOU are GUILTY..............
Death.......... (96)...... Slander......... (over 5000+) don't forget we 'p#ssed OVER OUR BROTHERS / COPPERS AN ALL)................(ROBBED THE DEAD)...... and 'DRANK THROUGH IT ALL'
We should be bitter, we want and we WILL get justice, Sickness of the people that titter and jape doing in a 'friendly' way 'the gate crush escape '. ONCE this happens in a naïve type of haze, 2 fingers in the eyes hurts more than a graze.
As Timbo would note I wrote such a quote before which was lost in a cyberspace host.............., basically all that I want is to know what JUSTICE is about and for the guilty to choke on their cancerous snouts. McKenzie, who does he work for? How does he live.....? Let's see his life a life of a spiv ?.
I'd like to see him looking at his fate, 11,000 pushing his head through a gate ........... the difference is... I wouldn't be taking photos to titillate......, I'd be blowing in air to help my dead mate.
If I am out of order mail me......................., I look forward to not hearing from you.
Sorry but it has to be said.
Allez les rouge.

Justice Verse To Liverbird by Rich

A verse I just made up to A Liverbird...... What do you think, honestly?
It's obviously open for change.
On April 15th '89
It should have been a joyous time
96 friends we all will miss
All the kopites want JUSTICE
I thought such a topic deserves such a mention in what I consider our best song.

The Sun by PSM


I believe the Blacks are bad
The Left is loony
God is Mad
The government's the best we've had
So I read The SUN.
I believe Britain is great
And other countries imitate
I am friendly with The State,
Daily, I read The Sun
I am not too keen on foreign ones
But I don't mind some foreign bombs
Jungle bunnies and play tom-toms,
But, I read The SUN
Man, I don't like those Russian spies
But we don't have none
I love lies,
I really do love Princess Di
I bet she reads The Sun
Black people rob
Women should cook
And every poet is a crook
I am told -so I don't need to look
It's easy in The SUN
Every hippie carries nits
And every Englishman loves tits
I love page three and other bits,
I stare into The SUN
I like playing bingo games
And witch-hunting to shame a name
But why aren't newspapers all the same?
So why not read The SUN.
Don't give me the truth, just give me gossip
And skeletons from people's closets
I wanna be normal
And millions buy it,
I am blinded by The SUN

Chris, 16

The SUN # 2 by PSM

14th January: With all the talk of Bascome/The Sun, I’ve decided to write a poem (Inspired by Peter Evo):
The SUN # 2

I hate The Sun, the no-mark *****
And what's this about Brucie' and his goalkeeping fix?
It's the same old Sun, up to their normal tricks
I hate The Sun, remember the ninety-six?
NINETY-SIX died, show some respect
And who could forget all those horrible lies you kept?
You're a no-mark paper that's proven upon the Page 3 set
But still millions buy it, where's all your sense?
It can't be the quality, it's only ten pence.
We all now know, what happened back then
NINETY-SIX people, crushed in a pen
So why all the lies, where's all your proof?
You don't kid us lot, for we know the truth
I can't believe these things you said. Why?
NINETY-SIX souls, we all shall miss
And who are we, to claim Justice?
From a national rag, who is best noted for tits
You are humans, as they were
So why show no f##king care?
I cannot understand, our national pride
Imagine it had happened elsewhere, not just a bit on the side
April 15th 1989, NINETY SIX people died
The whole nation was sad, in unity we cried
Eleven years late, it was washed aside.
It was a tragedy, a horrific death - they were all innocent
So why be so horrible, I trust you had consent?
Still eleven years on, you are still called "The Scum"
But as long as the knobhead editor is still having his fun
You told us lies, you told everyone. But why?

£330,0000..Justice My a#se by Red Ped


Last Thursday an ex South Yorkshire policeman, Mathew Long, was awarded £330,000 for the suffering he has been caused by late onset Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I don't know the full details of the role this man played on the day which caused him this upset but it raises a few questions. Where exactly was he on duty during that day? Was he in the canteen supping tea when the gates were opened, or was he on the fence between the pens and the pitch pushing people back in?

We know he couldn't have been carrying the victims on hoardings because that was done by the people who had climbed out of the pens.

Was he in the line of policemen who stretched across the pitch to 'stop trouble between fans'? Or was he one of the policemen who had to restrain a drunken (allegedly) Brian Clough in the tunnel? Maybe he was in the police cctv box watching the pens filling up and doing nothing about it. He may have been guarding a gate outside the Leppings Lane end.

It may have been him who told lies to the S*n about drunken fans picking the pockets of the dead and p#ssing on their bodies.

I really don't know where he was, what he was doing or what it was that has caused him to suffer so much that he should be awarded £330,000. I don't even know what the £330,000 was for. Is it loss of wages ? Is it for future counselling that will help him overcome his suffering? I don't think it was offered to compensate for the physical pain and suffering he has endured because he wasn't in the pens and anyway the paper said it was for 'late onset post traumatic stress disorder'. I think that means his head has been cabbaged since the 15th April, 1989 (nearly 12 years or approximately 4337 days, a long time with a headache) but he didn't realise until the last couple of years and when he did realise the suffering he has been caused it was enough for him to take early retirement with an enhanced pension on the grounds of being too sick to continue in the job. So given that he has already secured an early retirement and an enhanced pension what is the £330,000 for ?

I have no doubt that there are South Yorkshire policemen who have suffered Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as a result of their being on duty at Hillsborough on 15th April 1989 and I have no doubt that there are SYP officers who have suffered late onset PTSD. Indeed I am absolutely sure that this is so because I was in Pen 3, have suffered from PTSD as a result, and know first hand of Pen 3 & 4 survivors who have continuously suffered from PTSD since 15th April,1989 and survivors who have suffered late onset PTSD. Every single of one of them has had to fight and struggle for their suffering to be recognised by those who are paying compensation but not accepting liability, even to the point where they (SYP Insurance reps) denied a survivor, whose step brother was killed, could feel as much in his death as a 'natural' brother would. Which shows the lengths they would go to to deny a survivor his suffering, yet one of their own turns up eight or nine years later crying about his suffering and they throw the book (cheque book), the till and all the loose change they can find at him.

On the day, 1st March, 01, this ex policeman received his £330,000 compensation for late onset PTSD, a man who survived Pen 4 ( whose testimony, incidentally, contradicted the official version of events) lay in the High Dependency Unit at Fazakerley Hospital struggling to get oxygen into lungs which were suffering from Fibrosis, a condition he had diagnosed on New Years Day. At 5.45a.m. that man died, he was 44. He had spent 60 days struggling for air to keep him alive in the same way that he had struggled for air in Pen 4 on 15th April, 1989. He left behind a wife, three children and at least (I don't know them all) five grandchildren.
This man had received compensation of less than £3,000 a couple of years after the disaster. Money he took to get him and his family over the particular Christmas it was offered. It was obvious to him and those who knew him that he has continued to suffer Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, (needs to know the way out of any building as soon as he gets in them, aware of his mortality every day, can't make body contact in queues etc etc). A psychologist has recently written a report on his behalf which says as much and his legal action against the solicitors who mishandled his suffering was about to see the light of day in court at the time he died. But his lungs never held out and the tragedy of it is that, despite his heightened sense of mortality, he was not insured,(too costly, deal with that when it comes,) leaving his family with a huge debt just to have him cremated. Of course, his friends and extended family will have a whip round to help out and I'm sure we'll manage to cover the funeral bills at least.
Or as the man himself would say "Something will turn up if it's only your toes".

I don't wish to see this ex policeman, or anyone for that matter, denied his rightful compensation for injury or distress he has suffered, whether he was at work or not, but what really makes me angry, bitter and frustrated about Hillsborough is the continuous and continuing denials of the effects that being in Pens 3 & 4 had, and is having, on those who were in Pens 3 & 4 and those who were genuine in their rescue efforts. Hillsborough doesn't make sense to me and never will. But it does make sense that people who have, or do, suffered PTSD (late onset included) as a result of being in Pens 3 & 4 or taking part in the rescue be awarded their rightful compensation.
What really bothers me about this particular £330,000 compensation is the same bother I have with everything else related to Hillsborough, it makes me angry, bitter and frustrated and I know why but am helpless to do anything other than hope it will get better but it doesn't.
Those responsible, not just SYP officers, should have been charged with criminal offences by the DPP straight away. The whole shebang was twisted and distorted from the minute our witch PM was on the pitch. On the Monday, the South yorkshire Stitch Up Committee was sorted by Norman 'ba#ta#d' Bettison and any chance of getting a case into a 'real' criminal court went out the window with the video tapes from the control room. The longest inquest in history, where the only mention of some killed victims was in the roll of honour before the minutes silence, a massive public inquiry, in two halves, which apportioned a lot of the blame onto the police for lack of control ( and what did that result in? absolutely nothing except stewards now taking responsibility for safety in stadiums).

8 years later, a Labour government offers the Stuart Smith stitch up which reveals absolutely nothing we didn't know already, (except the conniving ways the establishment have of getting their own out of the sh##e and leaving the victims to suffer the consequences,) and says there are no grounds for any criminal or other legal action.

And amongst all the kick off that went on, one MP reveals he didn't wish to order a new inquest because he wasn't sure that was what the bereaved families wanted (sic) and one T Hick reveals a conversation in a radio station corridor between a legal rep and a politico which effectively shut the door on that one.
Then we had the Billy Smart Performing Monkeys parade in Leeds, where the two most senior police officers on duty on the day of the disaster were on 'trial' for manslaughter (and other incidentals) yet the only people threatened with being imprisoned were a bereaved father and a Pen 3 survivor, both threatened with contempt of court proceedings for speaking publicly about the disaster. The survivor was threatened with jail for using the words 'Killing Fields'., the same words which had accompanied a picture of a victim being treated on the front page of a national daily newspaper on the Wednesday after the disaster.

The showtime parade in Leeds was useful for one thing, besides showing British Justice to be a nonsense, it had an effect on my understanding of Hillsborough. For years I wondered if the criminal charge that was needed should be murder or manslaughter. It was both, murder because those who pushed people back into Pens 3 & 4 knew full well what the consequences of their action was and manslaughter because standing round doing nothing was enough for these police officers and stewards to kill and injure people. If I could really lay a criminal charge against those responsible, not just SYP, then it would be stateslaughter, or conspiracy to stateslaughter, and the dock would be as big as a directors box. But of course, that's a nonsense just like the nonsense that passes off as justice in this country.

None of this helps my mate who died fighting the ba#ta#ds who nearly killed him and caused him mental pain and anguish for nearly twelve years, or the suffering copper, but it helps to show what the continuing effects of surviving Pens 3 & 4 are, and I hope it will help some people understand what it means to suffer PTSD (including late onset).
If you would like to help the survivors family meet their funeral costs, please contact the Hillsborough Justice Campaign.
As he would say "Justice,My a#se".
Incidentally, his funeral is at Anfield Crematorium on Friday 9th March, 2001 at 3.30p.m.

"Justice for What" by PSM


Chris: People want Justice
Mate: Justice for what?
Mate: Come on la, what was the crime?
Chris: Ninety six killed, your friends and mine
Mate: I don't understand. When was it in time?
Chris: April 15th 1989
Mate: 1989! Buts that's nearly twelve years away!
Chris: Correct, and the criminals are still free, we've got to make them pay
Mate: Pay for what? What did they do?
Chris: Let too many people into the pen, believe me its true!
Mate: So hang on, who's the real criminal here?
Chris: South Yorkshire Police, they put reality into our greatest fear
Mate: I'm not getting this. If they were to blame then why's nowt been done?
Chris: I don';t know mate, in reality is should. Could you kill 96 people in April's sun?!
Mate: I cannot believe I'm hearing this, it's not adding up
Chris: I know, and that's why were united for Justice. It has to be done.
Chris: We owe it to them
Mate: I'm getting this now. Ninety six people crushed in a pen?
Chris: Yeah that's right, we all know what happened back then
Mate: And South Yorkshire Police are getting away with it? Surely there's some guilty men?
Chris: Yes, I reiterate, we are all united in Justice for them.
Mate: So how can I support Justice for the 96?
Chris: Get down to Oakfield Road, they're all nice people, a brilliant mix
Mate: Nice one Chris, I'll do that. Thanks for your time
Chris: No bother, we all want Justice for this terrible crime.
Chris Murphy, 16

"cop gets 330,000. Kop gets f*ck all" by number 7

Along with every right minded supporter and scouser in the land I was disgusted to hear of the £330 grand payout received by that copper.At first i just couldn't believe it, then I had to laugh at the outrageousness and total lack of reality within the halls of (so called) justice. I don't want to come across as some sort of bitter twisted cry baby but what the f##k is going on? And where the f##k does this delayed PTS come into it? Delayed till when? until he knew he could grab himself a load of cash. Well I have tried to remain dignified for a long time but this is the end of that. £2000 to a bloke who lost his son ( I know the money means nothing but come on!) I would like to know where this joker was at 3:06 on that black day.Also is it just me or does the fact that you sign up with the police not give you some indication that you may be involved in or witness some awful Sh*t during your career.
I have kept my thoughts to myself for a long time and I'm sorry if this message is a bit much but I am so angry. My mum starting crying as soon as she heard. 12 years on and we still have all this Sh*t chucked in our faces.
I have never thanked the people who saved my life that day. those who got my unconcious body onto the pitch, who told a copper he was wrong to give up on me for dead and carried me on the hoardings to an ambulance. Well I am thanking all of you now. with all my heart and for the family I still have and the new little ones who I now know, without you none of it would be possible. Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou. Love to all Kopites and Allez Les Rouges!
Enjoy your cash P.C f##kwad, Look up Karma in the dictionary.

"The Truth - Hillsborough poem" by DirtyHenry

The Truth
You want the truth?
No, didn't think you would.
The truth is not the stuff to shift a rag crammed with, and written by tits.
The truth is standing on doorsteps, afraid to knock because his mother is there.
The truth is carrying a coffin with him in it.
The truth is a crate of cheap lager still in the boot of the car that somehow stuttered
over the Pennines.
The truth is seeing your dad cry and your mother sob - knowing they feel guilty for
being happy that you came back.
The truth is getting his record collection - the one you always envied, but being too
scared to listen, knowing the emotions that lie in those pieces of plastic.
The truth is his bedroom, his girlfriend, and the questions. What was he really like?
Knowing she'll never know.
The truth is lies.
Lies to his mum - The last time I saw him he was fine. When he was sweating and
Lies to yourself.
I had to move.
It wasn't my fault he fell.
Not my fault his face was blue as I stood, hands by my side, feet on the ground and
The truth is here.
The truth is in me, in you, we know
the truth.
The truth for them is different.
Their truth is 10p special offers.
Always cheap.
Not as cheap as life though.
The Truth and Gotcha.
Hundreds dead, would be smart-a#ses slap their own sweaty backs as they smirk at
their cleverness.
Their truth is hunting down child abusers.
But look: "Here'sJayne, and she's only 17"
Down boy.
Their truth is that they are not, and never will be
Our truth is that we are, and always will be
Something very special.
That is The Truth.

Hillsborough post by SantiagoRed

I will not have access to the internet after today until Easter is over so I aplogise for bringing up this subject now and perhaps making people feel somber.
I live and work 8000 miles from Liverpool but the great city will always remain my home. There are not many people here in Santiago who can have shared the experience of going to a footy match and coming back without all their fans. Therefore I am talking to you lot because you understand, some of you were there, some of you waited at home, others couldn´t get a ticket and perhaps this saved your lives- whatever, you all appreciate what I am saying. I went with my dad but we don´t find it easy to talk about it. I know you will read and take a moment to understand.

I was 15- a kid of 15 shouldn´t see dead people with his eyes in such quantity. I wasn´t even in the Leppings Lane- I had an incredible view though. I knew what was happening from close quarters but could do nothing. I had space to move but people 50 yards away were dieing. When the advertising boards were started to be used as stretchers, I said to my dad, "Dad, that fella´s coat is over his head- he´s not..he´s he??"

My old man, looked where I was pointing and said, " son...of course he isn´t no...." Of course my dad knew but was protecting me. Then I knew what was happening. We were told to leave the ground. Never has a silence been so deafening. My mum wanted a day out as well so we had arranged that she should go shopping while we went to the match. We had arranged to pick her up at 5.30. We struggled to get into the city and even though we left the ground before what would have been full time, we were late. She had heard a rumour that one of the stands with seats with Liverpool supporters (us) had collapsed. She was waiting for us, convinced we would never turn up. When the car was about 200 yards away from the spot we had arranged to meet, I got out of the car to look for my mum. This was and still is the most emotional moment of my life. My mum was convinced we were dead. I wouldn´t let her go as I hugged her. She was with the wife of a Forest fan- they had been hugging each other and we reasurred the woman that her husband would be ok. I cried and cried.

So what was it like for people who lost loved ones? Why did my dad and I end up with tickets in the stand- just because our season tickets ended in a certain number? This left me with a terrible guilt- too much for a kid of 15.It should have been me. It seems like yesterday. Kenny will always be my hero for the way he conducted himself at the time as much for his football skills. Thanks Kenny.

I still get upset. I don´t like to tell people outside Liverpool that I was there as I feel as though I am almost using it to show off- "hey, I was at Hillsborough and survived"- it seems like some sick movie so I keep it to myself and my family but you all understand and I fell better for getting this off my chest. I made the mistake of telling a girlfriend once- she couldn´t understand, had been convinced by that shitbag excuse for a newspaper- she was quickly consigned to the dustbin. So what should we do now. The fight for justice focuses the mind but even if the unthinkable happens and justice is done then what- we can´t ever forget, it will always be with us.

Thanks for listening. I am away on Sunday- will not speak to anyone about it but it will be on my mind all day. Never will our anthem be more relevant. If someone thinks of me on Sunday, I promise to think of you too as well as the 96, their families and anyone traumatised by football disasters

"Tribute to a 10 year old" by Kopite(Colin Watt)

Sharp April morning when we made our way,
Jumped on our coach off to Hillsborough that day.
Liverpool in the semi-final, joy in my heart,
The double was beckoning, this was only the start.
Forest the opposition, Cloughie's young team,
The mighty Reds of 89, King Kenny's dream.
Brucie in goal the Kopites did sing,
Macca in midfield, Barnes on the wing.
Hansen our captain, Nicol at fullback,
Beardsley and Aldridge our men in attack.
Roadworks, accidents and queues mean't we arrived late,
Not long had passed, I was crushed against the gate.
There are people suffering, people in pain,
Where are the Police I wondered again and again.
The gates then opened after an eternity it did seem,
The central pen beckoned "look lads, the team".
I avoided the centre, I went to the right,
People were sitting down, an incredible sight.
The teams made the entrance, their kits clean and new,
Come on you Mighty Reds you can win through.
Five minutes had elapsed when the Reds did attack,
Beardsley hit a great shot, the bar it did crack.
The fans surged forward, the fans felt the brunt,
Penned in like farm animals the people at the front.
The fence gave way, the crush relieved,
Crowd trouble some people initially believed.
People on their pitch, their colours were Red,
I then saw the corpses, there were people dead!
Someone said 5, and then it was ten,
I don't believe this is happening to all these young men.
I want to wake up, this is unfair and unreal,
Never mind lad, they are Scousers, big bloody deal.
The worst was over I wanted to say,
But I reckoned without the following day.
I went for a walk to clear my head,
Inside there was nothing, inside I was dead.
Tears and sadness were my symptoms,
Today they released the names of the victims.
My mum heard a name, my auntie in Huyton she did call,
A name on a list, a detail some would term small.
On my return my mum opened the door and sat me down,
Her face tinged with sadness, it was a deep frown.
I have said terrible news she said to begin,
On that list was your cousin.
Another dagger to my heart, another mighty blow,
A young lad I never met, I didn't even know.
I write this poem with heavy heart and tear in my eye,
A hear the name Hillsborough and I just want to cry.
Every word in this poem I mean sincerely, I mean truly,
A tribute to all the victims, and to my cousin, Jon-Paul Gilhooley.
God bless Jon-Paul and the other victims, you'll never walk alone.
Justice for the 96.


"96 Stars In Heaven" by Kopite

Last night I saw am amazing sight,
96 extra stars burning ever so bright.
Heaven the final destination for us all,
We are just waiting the Almighty's call.
Our Lord must be creating an amazing team,
Shanks and Bob managing his great dream.
Yashin in goal, Moore at the back,
Baxter in the midfield, Dean in attack.
He is creating one mighty mix,
Roared on from the stands by our beloved ninety six.
Justice For Hillsborough.



Had a chat with Phil and Hilda Hammond after the service today. Marvellous marvellous people who have never lost their spirit and dignity despite all the indignities and de-humanisation they've had to endure since '89. They - and ALL those other poor souls who lost their loved ones - deserve SO MUCH respect from us. I was moved to write this small tribute to all of them about a small part of what they've been through.


Never hurt this way before
Never wounds that gaped so raw
Never watched as people die
Never stood whilst others try
Never knew what we were seeing
Never from those shackles fleeing
Never smile the same again
Never fathom where or when
Never clutch a mother's breast
Never sure a son's at rest
Never hold a lover's hand
Never boy and father stand
Never share a daughter's laugh
Never - just a photograph
Never hug a dear kid brother
Never be like any other
Never drinking with a mate
Never properly celebrate
Never get to reason why
Never just a wistful sigh
Never less than wrenching pain
Never staunching tears like rain
Never quell the desolation
Never any consolation
Never trust the word of power
Never truth where lies can flower
Never anyone to answer
Never, like the cause of cancer
Never will they find atonement
Never shed what all alone meant
Never love and hate connect
Never less than our respect
Never lose yet never win
Never failing kith and kin
Never sure of what will be
Never losing dignity
Never shedding any love
Never help from up above
Never from our hearts they'll stray
Never ever far away
Never reasoning nor rhyme
Never till the end of time

"Their flame will always burn" by Rushian

The 96 will always be in our hearts
Their flame will always burn
Their memory will continue
While the lessons they must learn
Every year in springtime April
Our tears should remind
Those who have forgotten
What happenend to our kind
We'll cry out for some justice
The crimes must be atoned
We'll always ask for answers
They'll never walk alone
We'll support our team in Europe
Celebrate in verse and song
But always on our travels
Our brethren will come along
They'll never become a footnote
In some rewritten history
That Sheffield day will stand out
The call for Justice will not sit quietly
96 fans travelled to a game
96 never to return
96 fans who'll always be remembered
While their eternal flames still burn

"I Don't know what to say....." by Red in the Rockies

I have spent all day wondering what I should put on the page as a forumite:
I don't know what to do
I don't know what to say
96 people who passed away 12 years ago today
On what should have been, a glorious Hillsborough day
Went to see a game they wanted to have fun
A trusting mothers daughter, a loving fathers son.
Trusted those around them they just wanted to see their team
The fact they all died makes it all so obscene
Lies in the paper, on the TV too
People who lost everything, not knowing what to do
Bound up with grief, anger down below
Nobody wants to hear the truth, nobody wants to know

The police and the establishment should hang their heads in shame
96 people who went to see and enjoy a football game
They should have been protected, they should be here today
Not remembered on a football field in a sad and haunting way
You cannot bring them back
But in your memory they must stay
The truth about what happened should never go away
Counter all the lies, tell them it ain't so
The truth will take a hold, the truth it WILL GROW
RIP 96
Not only my own red tribe but those in South Africa and anyone else who has lost anyone needlessly.
Steve Phillips
Cochrane, Canada

"DUCKINFIELD , WHERE DO YOU GO" by braces and boots


As this day finally ends, and we lie in our beds
Many thoughts will be with us, many tears will be shed
For today all our memories were frozen in time
As we recalled the events of 1989
The tears that flow should bring relief
They should'nt be through gritted teeth
But the gritted teeth we cannot help
As our pain is filled with anger as well
There's a chilling similarity
With JFK in '63
Webs of lies and conspiracy
From the heads of the authorities.
Now even the masses choose to ignore
Their prujudices come to the fore
It's easy for them to disbelieve
For to them we're only scum and thieves
What reaction would there have been
If this had happened at Ascot or Queens
Or if those poor victims were from public school
Or from anywhere but Liverpool
Hey. Duckinfield I want to know
On your pillow at night were do you go?
Do you cry any tears do you hear the screams
Do spirits visit you in your dreams
Or are you glad you saved your neck
Do you count your big fat pension cheque
Do you think "I should have shut those gates"
Or do you say "I'm glad I hid that tape"
If you had one iota of decency
You'd make a statement for all to see
You'd beg forgiveness on your knees
And own up to responsibilities
But by our nature we don't take sh##e
And will never ever give up the fight
Till the blame lies firmly on the head of police
And the victims can finally rest in peace

Braces and Boots
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:19 pm

Someone on the Official Forum gave the link to this article written in a Sunderland fanzine:
Issue 14, Dec 1998

April 15th 1989: As Sunderland aren't playing at home, I've decided to settle in front of the TV to watch Grandstand and await reports on the two FA Cup semi-finals taking place: Everton v Norwich and Liverpool v Nottingham Forest.

It's a beautiful day and my beer is gloriously chilled. I didn't have a care in the world. Sunderland's season was fizzling into mid-table obscurity (for a change), so I was just going to enjoy the afternoon and hope that Norwich beat Everton. (Like a lot of SAFC fans, I’d developed a soft spot for Norwich after the 1985 Milk Cup Final). I also hoped that Forest would beat Liverpool ; Cloughie was still a hero of mine and I wanted him to win the F.A. Cup for the first time.

At about quarter past three the TV reporter paused from the upbeat chattiness of delivering the latest racing results and strangely told us they were trying to get a report from John Motson at Hillsborough. The pictures were confusing and difficult to take in. No players on the pitch, just a swarm of humanity layered over by Motson's patchy comments that he'd got reports that there had been crowd trouble, a gate had collapsed and apparently someone had been killed. It was Heysel all over again; Liverpool fans were involved. I was furious. My immediate reaction was to blame the Liverpool hooligans.

Grandstand remained at the scene and Motson kept trying to make sense out of the bedlam unfolding before him. The twelve people that were thought to be dead soon became twenty. By this time I was standing in front of the TV. Crying.

The rest of the day gave the media a truly horrific opportunity to piece together a montage of tragedy and misinformation. Like all tragedies, innocent people had died and the viewer remained shocked, helpless and was left asking "Why? It's only a game!"

At the back of my mind though, I think I was scared. I'd been in massive crowds dozens of times, and knew the claustrophobic fear of being pushed against walls and crash barriers, ending up fifty feet from where I'd been standing as the crowd surged forward at moments of excitement. Christ, I'd been doing it since I was seven years old! It was all part of the game, the atmosphere . We accepted being herded like cattle because we knew nothing different.

In fact we had been treated with utter contempt by the clubs we love "Get the ba#ta#ds in, get their money, and get them out". As for treatment by the Police, the worst experience I ever had was during the sixties when Sunderland were due to play Leyton Orient (or was it Luton?) in a mid-week League Cup game. I was about ten years old and went with a couple of my mates. The weather was bloody awful and I was soaked to the skin by the time we got to the kid's turnstile at the back of the Fullwell End. I couldn't understand why there was such a big queue as I approached the closed turnstile, and I was cursing that I couldn't get out of the rain.

Understandably, as more people arrived, the queue got deeper and wider and spilled onto the road. Someone advised us that there was a pitch inspection because the pitch was waterlogged, so we groaned but remained huddled together against the wall for some kind of shelter. Then a copper arrived on a horse the size of double-decker bus and started barking at everyone to get off the road. He then started using the horse to push the stragglers onto the path! As I said, I was up against the wall already, so for the next ten minutes I was crushed against it, screaming for help at first, and then unable to breathe. I thought I was going to die and started crying. Thankfully this big bloke saw me and helped me out. The game was called off and I returned home totally drained, wet through, but glad to be alive. I didn't dare tell my parents what had happened in case they stopped me going to more matches.

In the Hillsborough aftermath, I couldn't stop thinking about that night at the back of the Fullwell End. I kept looking at my then four-year old son and wondered if I should reconsider taking him to his first match. I thought about the parents of those kids that had died and wondered how the hell they were coping with the loss of the most important thing in their lives.

During the days after the tragedy, we saw more pictures and received, this time, truthful information regarding the total failure of Police control. By now I was feeling shamefully guilty that my immediate reaction to the TV pictures was to blame the Liverpool fans. Now we were told that Chief Superintendent David Duckenfield had lied when he told Graham Kelly (at 3.15 on the day) that the crush had been caused by fans breaking down the gate ; he himself had given the order to open the gate. The Sun newspaper had produced vile front-page stories about drunken Liverpool yobs stealing from dead bodies. Even the Mirror had taken this line until making a bilious about-turn a couple of days later when the true facts were being unearthed, Robert Maxwell donating a penny for each Mirror sold to the Hillsborough disaster fund by way of apology.

The worst image for me though, was the sight of that distinguished public servant, Chief Superintendent Murray, standing in the Police control post, arms folded, surveying the utter carnage around him like a latter day Nero, doing sod-all. Despite directions from the Police Complaints Authority that Duckenfield and Murray should face hearings charged with "neglect of duty", neither actually were. Duckenfield in fact retired early, on medical grounds (what a surprise). Another ugly feature of the tragedy is the profit fourteen Police Officers received, claiming £1.2m between them for the trauma they suffered on the day, presumably they weren't among the Police Officers keen to ensure blood alcohol checks were taken from dead bairns.

I actually went to Hillsborough a couple of years ago (when we lost 2-1) and was amazed that the South Yorkshire Police (and Sheffield Wednesday Football Club) were still totally clueless in crowd control. I arrived forty-five minutes before kick off, there was a massive queue, and this copper (on the obligatory massive horse) was ordering people into two lines. The thing was, there was a cash turnstile and a ticket turnstile, but he wasn't bothered if you had a ticket or not, you just had to go where his horse "ushered" you. This resulted in people having to force their way to the appropriate turnstile once they got there. Crazy!

As recently as last year, prior to the away game at Sheffield United, I was gobsmacked at the hatred some Sheffield people have towards Liverpool. I arrived very early for the match, and wary of bumping into any United fans, I popped into what looked like a quiet looking pub. Some of the regulars started chatting to me and remarked how great our away support is. This was immediately followed with"Unlike those Liverpool ba#ta#ds, they were at fault for Hillsborough, there were some in here before the game. None of them had tickets, and they were all bragging that they were going to smash down the gates. They were all drunk." I felt sick listening to this bile; the dozy, stupid, gets.

Ten years on, and still no justice. I can't begin to imagine the pain of the Hillsborough victims' families. Every day, every Liverpool game, must bring home their loss with paralysing emptiness. So today, as SAFC fans pour their love down on the team, in our glorious stadium, enjoying a successful end to a great season amongst friends and families, look around and be grateful. The ninety-six who died were just like you and me.

David Miller
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:20 pm

From 'Words of Tribute'

For my ‘baby brother’ Gary Philip Jones
(who died at Hillsborough aged 18 years)

Gary, when you went out of my life a light went out too
A life went on in heaven, a new life for you
My heart has been broken, torn in two
No words can comfort me, I will always miss you
The memories of what we did together will never go
We sang, we danced, listened to each other
Gary, protect us now, as we wanted to protect you
You are at peace now, no worries
Help us who are left grieving on earth
I can’t touch you anymore
But I feel your presence around me and I know you care
Gary when we leave this world
Meet us and take us to your new room
We all miss you, Goodnight God Bless

Your loving sister Cathy

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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:21 pm

Accidental death

Just minutes before kick-off, the gate was opened,
The kick-off not delayed.
96 people crushed to death,
Surely a mistake was made?

Pens free at the side with plenty of room,
Fans herded to where things were packed.
No-one sent around the sides,
Simple common sense lacked.

That all done, lives still could be saved,
Just let the fans get out.
The shouts - 'People are dying!' - should have told you so,
If there were any doubt.

Then an injustice outweighing most,
Vital equipment never seen.
But of course that day just ended,
At bang on three fifteen.

Incompetence, poor safety, procedures wrong,
Injustices for oh so long.
96 reds crushed, till out of breath,
The certificates read 'accidental death'.

Mark Ballard - 2003
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:21 pm

I have just started re-reading Phil Scratton's book 'Hillsborough, The Truth' and the blood is boiling already.

Kind of what the poem below was about. Can't remeber if I ever posted it on ere' so apologies if this is a re-post.

As the day breaks,
I think of the day,
When 96 reds,
Were taken away.

Nineteen eighty nine,
April 15th,
Yet still here today,
We fight for justice.

We all know what happened,
But time numbs the rage,
About terrible lies,
Written on the front page.

About police making errors,
That cost us the pain,
Caused by 96 deaths,
In the hot Leppings lane.

And the lies that they told,
While our reds were still falling,
And that the cover up started,
To me was appalling.

Of the screams of the scared,
And the wheeze of the dying,
Of the thousands who helped,
And of the thousands stood crying.

Can you still shake with rage,
14 years on,
When you think of the lies,
Printed all in the s*n.

If you find that your feelings,
Are fading with time,
Please look through a book,
About 96 dying.

Or visit the website,
Read Also and Kenny,
Of how everything went wrong,
And so badly for many.

Read about how,
Duckenfield opened a gate,
And how 96 reds,
Were consigned to their fate.

Read about lies,
And of cover ups a plenty,
So the coppers would walk,
While the Scousers felt empty.

I am sure you will find,
If you let yourself wonder,
That we must not give in,
We must fight on like thunder.

Out there somewhere,
Duckenfield craves,
The news that we’ve quit,
Fighting over 96 graves.

And that he can breathe now,
More easily,
With the sun on his face,
And forget all about,
His darkest disgrace.

By Mike Nicholson.
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Postby mottman » Sun Feb 29, 2004 1:22 pm

Let me tell you a story.

Let me tell you a story,
Full of terror and fear,
One of heartache and sadness,
It always brings me to tears.

It started so brightly,
On a warm sunny day,
Laughing and joking,
With mates on the way.

We were going off to Sheffield,
Full of hope and our songs,
But on the 15th of April,
The tune was different and wrong.

The sun then was shining,
And the atmosphere good,
We were betting that Jockey,
Would be playing, he’s good.

As we queued up we noticed,
There were loads still outside,
The police looked quite nervous,
They couldn’t decide.

Should they put back the kick off,
Or just force us all in,
Should they bowl on regardless?
Or would we all make a din.

Let me open the gate,
The officer cried,
There’s too many out here,
Too many outside.

OK, came the order,
Open the gates,
Letting thousands of Scousers,
All in with their mates.

But there was the fault,
In this fatal police plan,
There was just no direction,
Not even a man.

Not one copper standing,
Directing us safe,
Away from pens 3 and 4,
Where the just weren’t no space.

So onwards the crowd moved,
Down the tunnel of death,
And 96 Angels can tell you the rest.

A mistake made so tragic,
Despite a duty of care,
Duckenfield’s a novice,
But what did he care?

He would not take the rap,
For this fatal mistake,
Cos’ in his little world,
We broke down the gate.

Yes that’s right, it’s them,
Who should shoulder the blame,
To think it was me,
Is just crazy – insane.

They all turned up late,
With no tickets and p#ssed,
And forced themselves in,
So no game would they miss.

I did what I could,
But their weight was immense,
In fact sir you know what,
They climbed over that fence.

They’re are all thieving Scousers,
Who robbed from the dead,
Who p#ssed on brave coppers,
Yes, over their heads!

Now hang on there David,
Just what are you saying,
Your lies are in print now,
While their families are praying.

While they’re lighting a candle,
And saying a prayer,
The S*n’s printing that cr#p,
But what do you care?

You shifted the blame,
You saved your own a#se,
And cos’ you’re a copper,
The trials were a farce.

You think that you’re safe now,
Wherever you are,
But you’re never save Duckers’
Not even safe now.

Co’s you must have underestimated,
The pain that you caused,
And 96 best friends,
Is too many to lose.

96 sons, and daughters, and mates,
No one to meet at the old school gates,
Nobody to love and to wish all the best,
No one to say I love yer’
You’re the best.

So think on now Duckers,
When your warm in your bed,
And may 96 Redmen,
Come into your head,

And their souls are not resting,
How can they can’t rest in peace,
For while your lying there comfy,
We’re still seeking our justice.

By Mike Nicholson.


From sunshine to rain.

I open my eyes,
And everything’s right,
I’ll go and see friends,
Go out for the night.

But within seconds my brain,
Catches on with a rush,
Then the truth hits like lightening,
He’s been lost in that crush.

My morning thoughts turn,
From sunshine to rain,
And immediately sunshine,
Is replaced by the pain.

Those first few seconds,
When I first open my eyes,
Are the magical ones,
Full of hope and surprise.

But those seconds are fleeting,
As my brain clicks awake,
My son’s now in heaven,
I remember the wake.

All our friends cried like babies,
As The Pacemakers played,
And the vicar was kind,
Although visibly swayed.

You see not just my son,
Was lost on that day,
But 95 others,
On a warm April day.

But it doesn’t make sense,
They just went to see the reds,
So how can nearly a hundred,
End up dying instead.

The police were employed,
With a duty of care,
But they let us down badly,
Watching Reds’ dyin’ in there.

But they didn’t open gates,
At the front to relieve us,
No, they lied and they plotted,
To make sure they’d deceive us.

Co’s they’re South Yorkshire Police,
These ‘brave’ bobby’s in blue,
So how could this happen,
Well they know, do you?

Yes those Scousers turned up,
With no tickets and late,
So the only way in,
Was to break down that gate.

Gate C was forced open,
To let in that crowd,
And they crushed their own people,
And the whole day was soured.

But the truth was far different,
From Duckenfield’s lies,
But the Sun picked up quickly,
Further damaged our lives.

On the Tuesday or Wednesday,
Just days after that day,
That evil scumbag Kelvin,
Set about us again.

It wasn’t enough,
That our siblings were cold,
And never allowed,
Again down Anfield Road.

No Kelvin decided,
From what Duckenfield said,
That the Scousers were drunk,
And stole from the dead.

He decided to print,
The most damning of lies,
While our brother’s and sisters,
Were ripped from our sides.

No compassion was shown,
To the Merseyside Reds,
As they looked on in anguish,
96 lonely beds.

So remember absent friends,
When you turn out the light,
They were just like you and I,
Red loving, with all their might.

But the funny thing is,
If funny’s the word,
Ducker’s admitted he lied,
And everyone heard.

But the judge said if guilty,
He would still walk away,
Despite lying and cheating,
And killing that day.

So Justice is needed,
And justice is right,
And justice is the reason,
We continue to fight.

For what 96 angels,
Pray for this night and day,
Is that South Yorkshire Police,
Arrive at their judgement day.

By Mike Nicholson


What colour is justice?

The blue of the sky,
The green of the grass,
The grey of the concrete,
That housed all of us.

The silver crush barriers,
All mangled and bent,
The bright white of heaven,
Where we were all sent.

The black in my head,
The tears in my eyes,
The feeling of anger,
And hatred, surprise.

For as I stood there,
Not able to breathe,
I saw no one help us,
From South Yorkshire Police.

I heard screams of pure terror,
Saw eyes buldge in pain,
I saw children to fragile,
To stand up again.

I saw people fall down,
In amounst all the fear,
But my body couldn’t manage,
One single more tear.

The red of the jersey’s.
The black of the ref,
Why did so many go,
Down that tunnel of death.

The sweet smell of perfume,
Entered my nose,
Just who did it come from,
Nobody knows.

As I feel myself lifting,
And floating away,
I look down in silence,
At the red Leppings Lane,

See police in the middle,
Not lifting a finger,
And smell the aroma,
Of the death that will linger.

Higher and higher,
I am now in the clouds,
But the screams and the suffering,
Is still everywhere around.

I’m almost at heaven,
Where Shanks’ sheds a tear,
He was made for this club,
That is shattered, and in fear.

So I ask you Mr Duckenfield,
How can you sleep?
When the red of the scarves,
Saw the web of deceit.

The black of the ref,
Was told your vicious lies,
About the blue of the gate,
As we lost 96 lives.

You admitted you lied,
And still got off free,
Now that doesn’t sound much,
Like justice to me.

Do you count lucky stars,
When you think of that case,
Co’s there’s 96 bright ones,
That call you a disgrace.

We were taught my our parents,
To respect the police,
But today’s kids just laugh at,
The South Yorkshire Police.

By Mike Nicholson


Wishing for their old Mum.

Why didn’t they help us,
Despite all our cries,
It was obvious to all,
We can’t breathe ere’
We’re dyin’

Some right at the front,
Who escaped through the gate,
Were forced right back in,
To meet with their fate.

They were crushed close together,
In the warmth of the sun,
With their eyes turned to heaven,
Wishing for their old Mum.

Saying bye bye sweet Anfield,
King Kenny and Rush,
Adios Peter Beardsley,
You gave us so much.

With a song in their soul,
And a bird on their chest,
96 bodies were laid down to rest.

But who was to blame,
On that warm sunny day,
Please tell me now,
The sights won’t go away.

Why did they fail to,
Deliver the care,
And why did they lie to,
All that was there.

We didn’t cause Hillsborough,
As well they all knew,
But they covered their a#ses,
As Coppers will do.

They said we were rowdy,
And broke in through that gate,
When HE gave the order,
To open it late.

So why is he out there,
Playing golf with his mates,
When 96 reds,
Were consigned to their fate

When you close up your eyes,
At the end of the day,
Say a few words, yes that’s it,
We’ll pray.

For although it seems crazy,
And beggars belief,
The law in this country,
Won’t give us justice.

By Mike Nicholson


Why did you do it?

Why did you do it,
Why did you lie?
You started a story,
That still will not die.

You opened the gate,
The one marked with C,
It’s purpose for exit,
Not thousand’s entry.

Had you directed us safely,
With your duty of care,
96 would still live on,
Replace pain - despair.

Why did you do it,
When the ref came to hear,
Why say we broke in,
Was it because of your fear?

Did you think that your job,
Was in jeopardy,
When you knew we we’re dying,
You stood lying evilly.

You couldn’t be guilty,
You’re South Yorkshire Police,
Did you think we’re just Scousers,
Getting under your feet?

We were helping our family,
We were helping our mates,
While you stood up there lying,’
Bout us breaking down gates.

What the sun wrote was evil,
But they got most from you,
You have sullied the name,
Of the great Liverpool.

Judgement day’s coming,
It’s not in your head,
For waiting in heaven,
Are 96’ Reds,

They all want to ask you,
They all want to know,
How did you live on,
With all that you know.

You should have been sentenced,
For April 15th,
And forever we will fight,
For our right – our justice.

By Mike Nicholson.


His darkest disgrace.

As the day breaks,
I think of the day,
When 96 reds,
Were taken away.

Nineteen eighty nine,
April 15th,
Yet still here today,
We fight for justice.

We all know what happened,
But time numbs the rage,
About terrible lies,
Written on the front page.

About police making errors,
That cost us the pain,
Caused by 96 deaths,
In the hot Leppings lane.

And the lies that they told,
While our reds were still falling,
And that the cover up started,
To me was appalling.

Of the screams of the scared,
And the wheeze of the dying,
Of the thousands who helped,
And of the thousands stood crying.

Can you still shake with rage,
14 years on,
When you think of the lies,
Printed all in the s*n.

If you find that your feelings,
Are fading with time,
Please look through a book,
About 96 dying.

Or visit the website,
Read Aldo' and Kenny,
Of how everything went wrong,
And so badly for many.

Read about how,
Duckenfield opened a gate,
And how 96 reds,
Were consigned to their fate.

Read about lies,
And of cover ups a plenty,
So the coppers would walk,
While the Scousers felt empty.

I am sure you will find,
If you let yourself wonder,
That we must not give in,
We must fight on like thunder.

Out there somewhere,
Duckenfield craves,
The news that we’ve quit,
Fighting over 96 graves.

And that he can breathe now,
More easily,
With the sun on his face,
And forget all about,
His darkest disgrace.

By Mike Nicholson.
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Posts: 315
Joined: Sat Jun 28, 2003 3:45 pm


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