MODS can we please leave this topic up in the LFC dissgussion till after tomorrow as its a very important day for our club, and we have a lot of new fans who are not aware of this tradegy that occured to our football club.
Big thankyou to the Sunderland fans tonight who sang YWNA at Old Trafford.
This is the poem from Anne Williams who lost her son Kevin at Hillsborough she has recently left the HJC she needs to fight her own cause.
Here is a poem. It explains what happened to Kev.
Remember the 96 Families and the thousands effected.
God Bless the 96
You'll Never WalK Alone
Anne
WHAT HAPPENED TO KEVIN.
It was Friday night when we said no Sheffield was to far for Kevin to go, he went in a sulk he looked so sad, " Kevin studies hard let him go" said dad. On condition Kevin catches the police escort train to take him safely to the game.
Kevin entered the ground at 1.30.pm that day to get his spec to watch Liverpool play. First Kevin went into pen 4 then he changed to pen 3, where he found a better place to see.
The first mistake the police made that day was to let he fans build up that way. Police should have been posted at the turnstiles, to lead the fans in, in single file. The second mistake was to open the big blue gate, without letting the police know inside the ground, the had no commander the inquiry found.
The fans were let in they did not know were to go, they made for the tunnel they did not know, that there would be danger at the other end and somebody might loose a friend.
Kevin stood in his pen waiting for the match to begin, he was happy nothing was worrying him, a surge came it caused some pain it eased off, Kevin and Andrew where alright again. Kevin turned to Andrew and said "its getting a bit packed in here" poor little boy was full of fear, a second surge came, Andrew never saw Kevin alive again.
Fans getting crushed shouting and crying, "open the gates people are dying in here" the police ignored them, the fans began to shout and jeer, the police pretended they did not hear. The police smacked the fans hands off the wire cages, help did not come for ages and ages. The police pushed the fans back into their pen, little children and grown up men.
The fans who stood by gated 4 and 3 began to shout began to plea, Grobbelaar Grobbelaar open the gates let us out before it is to late. They tried to blame the fans they lied, only for the fans many more would have died. The where fans pulling fans up to safety in the west stand, helping each other hand in hand.
The police lifted Kevin out at 3.28.pm they had left him so long it was nearly too late. The Liverpool fans carried Kevin up the pitch to the North stand hoping he would get a helping hand. Kevin lay on his back that day being sick in a bad way. The police had made a cordon in front of the stand; they would not break it to give Kevin a hand. A Liverpool fan made his way down from the stand, to see if he could help Kevin who was moving on the ground.
All around people where shouting and crying “Help my mate will yeah, don't let my mate die." They were the words that the Liverpool fans cried.
An ambulance passed the north stand at 3.37.pm the fan tried to stop if for Kevin, if it had stopped Kevin would not be in heaven. The fan who had been helping Kevin was told he had passed away, upset he left and went on his way.
The police lady came to take Kevin to the gym, “hurry I can see life in him," then she found a pulse on him, if only they had some oxygen. The police lady laid Kevin on the floor of the gym where she started to resuscitate him, Kevin started to breath again, she picked Kevin up in her arms and held him like a baby, I am so grateful to the police lady.
Kevin opened his eyes and spoke a word, at first the police lady was scared, she told me Kevin did not look at her he stared the other way "MUM” was the word she heard Kevin say. Kevin closed his eyes; he tuned grey and then blue the police lady new there was nothing else she could do. The police lady washed Kevin's face and combed his hair, the things I would have done if I had been there.
All dead by 3.15.pm is a lie at 3.55.pm that dreadful day my lovely son passed away, he died in the arms of a Special W.P.C. calling for his" MUM" perhaps Kevin thought she was me.
HILLSBOROUGH 15/4/1989 - WE SHALL NEVER FORGET
73 posts
• Page 1 of 5 • 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
by jonnymac1979 » Fri Apr 14, 2006 10:37 pm
Ciggy wrote:MODS can we please leave this topic up in the LFC dissgussion till after tomorrow as its a very important day for our club
Of course.
- jonnymac1979
by Ciggy » Fri Apr 14, 2006 10:43 pm
From an evertonain who lost his brother:
HILLSBOROUGH: AN EVERTONIAN PERSPECTIVE
Ian Collins 13 April 2006
It wasn't just Liverpool supporters who lost loved ones at Hillsborough on April 15 1989. Here, Ian Collins, a staunch Evertonian, talks about the loss of his brother Gary and why he's given up the fight for justice.
Take a long, hard look.
I am an Evertonian. I live in Liverpool. Sefton, actually. Merseyside, anyway.
I don't go to as many games as I used to. I gave my season ticket up a couple of years ago. To be truthful, I got a bit sick of working all week to pay the wages of the likes of Pistone. They're just not worthy of it.
My elder brother Gary died at Hillsborough. Asphyxiation. The breath was crushed out of him by the sheer mass of bodies squashed into such a tight space. I'm getting angry thinking about it.
He was no angel like, and I hope to God he did have a few bevies before the game.
I don't like to be reminded of it. I don't much like the memories of seeing the disaster unfold on the telly, not realising he was there until my dad said so. Even then, jokingly saying, 'Our Gary'll get me one of them' about the numerous Police helmets littering the pitch.
There was no phone call to say he was alright. This became more worrying as the day wore on. My dad's grim march around to the pub. His return with the dreaded news from his mates who had returned but couldn't bring themselves to come to ours. I don't blame them. What would they have said?
My mother had kept her composure up all day up until that point, busily ironing every bit of clothing in the house that wasn't on someone's back. Upon hearing the news - which was a strained, 'There's no other way of saying this, he's dead' - all the day's ironing got flung around the kitchen and the ironing board was upended.
I escaped to the back garden and tried to fend off a particularly boisterous Jack Russell I kept there (for the rats in our council slum).
The rest of the day is a bit sketchy. I realise now I was in shock. I was seeing a girl I'd known for years at the time. Not that serious but in my thoughts enough for that to be the first place I turned to.
The poor girl didn't know what to do with me. I was pretty vacant. She probably just plied me with drink.
Her dad, who I regard as one of my best friends now, came in. Not knowing about my news, he said, 'Have you seen what's happened? Do you know anyone that's gone?' My girlfriend had to take him out of the room to explain. 'Yeah,' I said to no one.
I went to Sheffield the next day with my dad and a couple of uncles. The rest of my dad's brothers, who were scattered around the country, met up there to support us.
My girlfriend still says I shouldn't have gone but as I said at the time, 'I can't remember the last time I saw him. I've got to'.
It was a weird dream-like journey. I kept expecting him to be standing on some street corner smiling, saying: 'Where have youse been, ay?'
It never happened and we set about making sure the person they had lying on some slab in this town was our Gary.
They had some kind of community/church hall set up to deal with people like us. I suppose they were doing their best in a terrible situation but the last thing we needed was to be comforted by some stranger who knew nothing about us or the person we were looking for.
'Listen mate, where's the nearest pub?' My Dad said.
'There's one across the road. Shall the young fellow stay here?' Lazarus says.
I was at the front going out the door.
After a few pints, we decided we'd better find the place where they were keeping the bodies.
We were sitting around on couches in what I think was a morgue. There were a lot of people about, all crying or with worried looks on their faces.
A couple of fellas went past in white tunics. One of them was about Peter Crouch's height. My uncle David said, 'I bet he does nights'. We all laughed. God, you had to. The laughter didn't last long and the smiles didn't linger.
We were ushered into a room. There was a glass-viewing window with a curtain drawn across it on the inside. As we stood in the dark, all nine or so, there were no jokes.
The curtain went aside and there laid my elder brother, Gary. It was him, alright. Or something with the life knocked out of it that resembled him.
My dad rested his hands on the windowsill and put his nose up to the glass. I couldn't handle it and fled the room. I was off up the street and our David came after me and brought me back.
I asked my Dad days later why he did that and he said, 'Well, you have to make sure'.
The events of 15th of April knocked the stuffing out of my mum and dad and they began visibly ageing. My relationship with my dad is better now as we did clash at the time. My sister and I get on better than we did at the time too but what teenager is on more than grunting terms with their elder sister anyway?
Not long after, we were in one of the cathedrals in town. Can't remember which one. They had us all lined up in some vestry as [Maggie] Thatcher and some royal with the coldest hands I've ever shaken shook mine.
The coldest hands I've ever felt and the coldest heart in the same room to shake the hands of a lad from Bootle. That wouldn't happen while I was conscious nowadays but I was young and impressionable at the time. 'So dreadfully sorry,' I think Maggie said.
'Yeah, I bet yis are,' I can just about live with myself for not saying.
Fair play to my granddad who turned his back on the pair of them. I'd pay money to revisit that sketch. God knows what Maggie and her mate thought. I hope they had a good think about it, but I doubt it.
I better get to the point of this, if there is one. It feels alright writing about it for the readers who will take it for what it is, on a basic human level. Something I suspect some folk are lacking. Basic Humankindness. Not a word, but sod it, this is my piece.
We as a family started getting letters and tickets through about memorials. I was all for supporting my mother and father in this if that's what they wanted to do. I'd already explained to my mother that I wasn't going to visit a gravestone in Thornton every week and she accepted it. It's single figures the amount of times I've been there. My mum and Dad go every week. That's their decision.
They also go to the memorial every year. One of the first ones I went to, I stood on the Kop with my mouth sealed. I've never been to one since. I've vowed to never go there again unless it's for the derby.
What struck me was the amount of people on the Kop that day. It was full. 96 people died and they give around 5 tickets to each family. I personally don't understand why you would want to be involved in something like that unless a relative or a friend had died.
At the start of the day, we were gathered in one of their lounges. Somehow we had managed to get in the wrong place and the players walked in and stood near us. I'll never forget the sight of people standing their kids next to them and taking photographs. I was speechless. I suppose I wasn't much better with my black Everton badge on.
My mum and dad still go to these things, but even my mum is getting a bit tired of the whole thing. My sister and auntie go and I normally give my ticket to my cousin, who was very close to Gary.
I normally meet them in the Abbey or one of the many boozers along County Strasa afterwards. I went mad at my sister and (female) cousin for going on about being able to smell Baros' aftershave last year. A couple of years before, Berger was the object of their attention.
I was in Sheffield recently to do with work. After I'd done what I was down there to do, I very nearly stayed on the tram to Leppings Lane. I decided not to in the end. It struck me that my brother - who I used to get a hiding off for wearing his clothes (he went off his head when he saw our Isle of Man holiday snaps and I'm standing there grinning in his Adidas top with a fish I'd caught), got another for snapping the forks on his Raleigh Bomber in Derby Park, used to laugh at me doing Southall impressions, bouncing the ball off the wall and diving full stretch across the bed - died in a strange town, at a horrible football ground, with people sitting and shouting on the spot where he drew his last breath once a fortnight and I wasn't there to help him.
At the FA Cup Final in 1989, me and my girlfriend went. We got free tickets from LFC. I had a few bevies that day and joined isolated crowds in hurling more than a bit of abuse at the Met, who, to be fair, took it on the chin.
The game's a bit of a blur. My girl's a Blue and I remember her being stood on her seat screaming. One thing that stands out from that day is during the minute's silence: someone started playing reggae music full blast from somewhere.
I don't like minute silences, there's far too many of them and they're never completely silent. This clapping lark's a much better idea. The thought of armchair fans clapping at the telly is marvellous.
A few things I'm going to leave you to chew on…
I am an Evertonian. I live in Liverpool. I am a Scouser. What's so hard to understand about that?
No amount of profound banners, car stickers or cheap wristbands is going to bring our Gary back.
It's hard to explain to children why they would have had another uncle only he was killed at a football match.
Boycotting The Sun is pointless. The lazy excuse for a journo that wrote the offending
and the editor who let it go have probably moved on and not missed a night's kip over it. If you would read The Sun anyway without the boycott, you need to have a rethink of your worldview.
I hope no one ever sings '96 is not enough' or anything similar near me. Then again, why would they at a match where Everton were playing?
I hope my mother never gets to hear about other human beings singing songs about her dead son.
Justice is never going to happen. Let it go. I'm trying really hard to. Some of you have even more reason to do so.
I've visited Hillsborough since 1989. It was a horrible game, it rained, I sat in the home bottom bit with the Evertonians above me.
Bakayoko shot a sitter over the bar to cap an awful day I'd sooner forget. Three points would have been nice but the game summed up that season.
I am proud to say I have sat in Wembley and sang 'Merseyside' at a Cup Final. I've also sat on the shoulders of a huge Watford fan when they were two-nil down. I was with my dad. I'd like to take my kids to see Everton in a Cup Final one day. I'll be bloody annoyed if it's spoilt by a gang of idiots.
I'm still with the girl who looked after me on the night of 15th of April 1989. We have three kids. I couldn't imagine how I'd feel if I lost one of them - let alone heard people singing songs about it.
She still plies me with drink. Take it easy.
HILLSBOROUGH: AN EVERTONIAN PERSPECTIVE
Ian Collins 13 April 2006
It wasn't just Liverpool supporters who lost loved ones at Hillsborough on April 15 1989. Here, Ian Collins, a staunch Evertonian, talks about the loss of his brother Gary and why he's given up the fight for justice.
Take a long, hard look.
I am an Evertonian. I live in Liverpool. Sefton, actually. Merseyside, anyway.
I don't go to as many games as I used to. I gave my season ticket up a couple of years ago. To be truthful, I got a bit sick of working all week to pay the wages of the likes of Pistone. They're just not worthy of it.
My elder brother Gary died at Hillsborough. Asphyxiation. The breath was crushed out of him by the sheer mass of bodies squashed into such a tight space. I'm getting angry thinking about it.
He was no angel like, and I hope to God he did have a few bevies before the game.
I don't like to be reminded of it. I don't much like the memories of seeing the disaster unfold on the telly, not realising he was there until my dad said so. Even then, jokingly saying, 'Our Gary'll get me one of them' about the numerous Police helmets littering the pitch.
There was no phone call to say he was alright. This became more worrying as the day wore on. My dad's grim march around to the pub. His return with the dreaded news from his mates who had returned but couldn't bring themselves to come to ours. I don't blame them. What would they have said?
My mother had kept her composure up all day up until that point, busily ironing every bit of clothing in the house that wasn't on someone's back. Upon hearing the news - which was a strained, 'There's no other way of saying this, he's dead' - all the day's ironing got flung around the kitchen and the ironing board was upended.
I escaped to the back garden and tried to fend off a particularly boisterous Jack Russell I kept there (for the rats in our council slum).
The rest of the day is a bit sketchy. I realise now I was in shock. I was seeing a girl I'd known for years at the time. Not that serious but in my thoughts enough for that to be the first place I turned to.
The poor girl didn't know what to do with me. I was pretty vacant. She probably just plied me with drink.
Her dad, who I regard as one of my best friends now, came in. Not knowing about my news, he said, 'Have you seen what's happened? Do you know anyone that's gone?' My girlfriend had to take him out of the room to explain. 'Yeah,' I said to no one.
I went to Sheffield the next day with my dad and a couple of uncles. The rest of my dad's brothers, who were scattered around the country, met up there to support us.
My girlfriend still says I shouldn't have gone but as I said at the time, 'I can't remember the last time I saw him. I've got to'.
It was a weird dream-like journey. I kept expecting him to be standing on some street corner smiling, saying: 'Where have youse been, ay?'
It never happened and we set about making sure the person they had lying on some slab in this town was our Gary.
They had some kind of community/church hall set up to deal with people like us. I suppose they were doing their best in a terrible situation but the last thing we needed was to be comforted by some stranger who knew nothing about us or the person we were looking for.
'Listen mate, where's the nearest pub?' My Dad said.
'There's one across the road. Shall the young fellow stay here?' Lazarus says.
I was at the front going out the door.
After a few pints, we decided we'd better find the place where they were keeping the bodies.
We were sitting around on couches in what I think was a morgue. There were a lot of people about, all crying or with worried looks on their faces.
A couple of fellas went past in white tunics. One of them was about Peter Crouch's height. My uncle David said, 'I bet he does nights'. We all laughed. God, you had to. The laughter didn't last long and the smiles didn't linger.
We were ushered into a room. There was a glass-viewing window with a curtain drawn across it on the inside. As we stood in the dark, all nine or so, there were no jokes.
The curtain went aside and there laid my elder brother, Gary. It was him, alright. Or something with the life knocked out of it that resembled him.
My dad rested his hands on the windowsill and put his nose up to the glass. I couldn't handle it and fled the room. I was off up the street and our David came after me and brought me back.
I asked my Dad days later why he did that and he said, 'Well, you have to make sure'.
The events of 15th of April knocked the stuffing out of my mum and dad and they began visibly ageing. My relationship with my dad is better now as we did clash at the time. My sister and I get on better than we did at the time too but what teenager is on more than grunting terms with their elder sister anyway?
Not long after, we were in one of the cathedrals in town. Can't remember which one. They had us all lined up in some vestry as [Maggie] Thatcher and some royal with the coldest hands I've ever shaken shook mine.
The coldest hands I've ever felt and the coldest heart in the same room to shake the hands of a lad from Bootle. That wouldn't happen while I was conscious nowadays but I was young and impressionable at the time. 'So dreadfully sorry,' I think Maggie said.
'Yeah, I bet yis are,' I can just about live with myself for not saying.
Fair play to my granddad who turned his back on the pair of them. I'd pay money to revisit that sketch. God knows what Maggie and her mate thought. I hope they had a good think about it, but I doubt it.
I better get to the point of this, if there is one. It feels alright writing about it for the readers who will take it for what it is, on a basic human level. Something I suspect some folk are lacking. Basic Humankindness. Not a word, but sod it, this is my piece.
We as a family started getting letters and tickets through about memorials. I was all for supporting my mother and father in this if that's what they wanted to do. I'd already explained to my mother that I wasn't going to visit a gravestone in Thornton every week and she accepted it. It's single figures the amount of times I've been there. My mum and Dad go every week. That's their decision.
They also go to the memorial every year. One of the first ones I went to, I stood on the Kop with my mouth sealed. I've never been to one since. I've vowed to never go there again unless it's for the derby.
What struck me was the amount of people on the Kop that day. It was full. 96 people died and they give around 5 tickets to each family. I personally don't understand why you would want to be involved in something like that unless a relative or a friend had died.
At the start of the day, we were gathered in one of their lounges. Somehow we had managed to get in the wrong place and the players walked in and stood near us. I'll never forget the sight of people standing their kids next to them and taking photographs. I was speechless. I suppose I wasn't much better with my black Everton badge on.
My mum and dad still go to these things, but even my mum is getting a bit tired of the whole thing. My sister and auntie go and I normally give my ticket to my cousin, who was very close to Gary.
I normally meet them in the Abbey or one of the many boozers along County Strasa afterwards. I went mad at my sister and (female) cousin for going on about being able to smell Baros' aftershave last year. A couple of years before, Berger was the object of their attention.
I was in Sheffield recently to do with work. After I'd done what I was down there to do, I very nearly stayed on the tram to Leppings Lane. I decided not to in the end. It struck me that my brother - who I used to get a hiding off for wearing his clothes (he went off his head when he saw our Isle of Man holiday snaps and I'm standing there grinning in his Adidas top with a fish I'd caught), got another for snapping the forks on his Raleigh Bomber in Derby Park, used to laugh at me doing Southall impressions, bouncing the ball off the wall and diving full stretch across the bed - died in a strange town, at a horrible football ground, with people sitting and shouting on the spot where he drew his last breath once a fortnight and I wasn't there to help him.
At the FA Cup Final in 1989, me and my girlfriend went. We got free tickets from LFC. I had a few bevies that day and joined isolated crowds in hurling more than a bit of abuse at the Met, who, to be fair, took it on the chin.
The game's a bit of a blur. My girl's a Blue and I remember her being stood on her seat screaming. One thing that stands out from that day is during the minute's silence: someone started playing reggae music full blast from somewhere.
I don't like minute silences, there's far too many of them and they're never completely silent. This clapping lark's a much better idea. The thought of armchair fans clapping at the telly is marvellous.
A few things I'm going to leave you to chew on…
I am an Evertonian. I live in Liverpool. I am a Scouser. What's so hard to understand about that?
No amount of profound banners, car stickers or cheap wristbands is going to bring our Gary back.
It's hard to explain to children why they would have had another uncle only he was killed at a football match.
Boycotting The Sun is pointless. The lazy excuse for a journo that wrote the offending
and the editor who let it go have probably moved on and not missed a night's kip over it. If you would read The Sun anyway without the boycott, you need to have a rethink of your worldview. I hope no one ever sings '96 is not enough' or anything similar near me. Then again, why would they at a match where Everton were playing?
I hope my mother never gets to hear about other human beings singing songs about her dead son.
Justice is never going to happen. Let it go. I'm trying really hard to. Some of you have even more reason to do so.
I've visited Hillsborough since 1989. It was a horrible game, it rained, I sat in the home bottom bit with the Evertonians above me.
Bakayoko shot a sitter over the bar to cap an awful day I'd sooner forget. Three points would have been nice but the game summed up that season.
I am proud to say I have sat in Wembley and sang 'Merseyside' at a Cup Final. I've also sat on the shoulders of a huge Watford fan when they were two-nil down. I was with my dad. I'd like to take my kids to see Everton in a Cup Final one day. I'll be bloody annoyed if it's spoilt by a gang of idiots.
I'm still with the girl who looked after me on the night of 15th of April 1989. We have three kids. I couldn't imagine how I'd feel if I lost one of them - let alone heard people singing songs about it.
She still plies me with drink. Take it easy.
There is no-one anywhere in the world at any stage who is any bigger or any better than this football club.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
-
Ciggy - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 26826
- Joined: Thu Jul 15, 2004 2:36 pm
by Ciggy » Fri Apr 14, 2006 10:47 pm
From John Barnes this story is so moving the players must have felt like Saints that people woke up out of a coma because their hero's idols where at there bedside.
HILLSBOROUGH FUNERALS LEFT ME NUMB
John Barnes 13 April 2006
The events of 15 April 1989 at Hillsborough made me realise what is really important in life.
After each funeral I attended, when another set of parents buried a beloved son or daughter, when another grieving family mourned a relative who died following Liverpool, I would come home and climb into bed with my eldest son, Jamie, just to hold him, just to hear him breathing. We slept curled up together, Jordan, my second son, was just a baby and I would cradle him in my arms. For months after Hillsborough, I couldn't bear to be apart from my two sons. If one of them fell over, I ran across and hugged him, soothed him, showed him my love. Scarred into my mind was the image of those parents who could not hold their loved ones any more, who could not see them smile and grow up. That thought devastated me. So I hugged my children tight.
Before Hillsborough, I had always tried to keep things in perspective but what happened on the Leppings Lane terraces made me question so much in my life. When I struggled to get in the team at Liverpool and then Newcastle United, I said to myself, 'Does it really matter? I'm alive. My family are alive. That is all that matters.' Hillsborough crystallised my priorities.
Football lost it's obsessive significance; it was not the be all and end all. How could it be when ninety-six people died, when parents lost children and children lost parents? Bill Shankly's comment that 'football is not a matter of life and death, it is far more important that that' sounded even falser after Hillsborough. Football is a game, a glorious pursuit but how can it be more important than life itself?
Saturday 15 April 1989 should have been a day of excitement when a compelling FA Cup semi-final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest was played at the home of Sheffield Wednesday. I try not think about the day itself, but I will never forget it. The events were like a nightmare unfolding. I didn't realise anything was amiss on the Leppings Lane terrace until a couple of fans ran on to the pitch shouting, 'There are people being killed in there.' I thought they were exaggerating, like when players say 'that tackle nearly killed me.' I just thought the fans were getting a bit squashed. But Bruce Grobbelaar, who was closest to the Leppings Lane terrace, quickly realised there was something terribly wrong when he went to retrieve a ball and heard fans screaming - 'They're killing us, Bruce, they're killing us.' Bruce shouted at the stewards to do something.
Six minutes into the match, a policeman ran on to tell Ray Lewis, the referee, to halt the game. Lewis immediately led the players back to the dressing-rooms. The scale of the tragedy was still unimaginable. We thought a few fans had been squashed but that we would be playing again soon, once the stewards had sorted out the problem. Lewis kept coming in and saying, 'Another five minutes.' Each time, we all got up and started jogging again until he finally came in and said, 'That's it, lads, match off.'
We showered and hurried up to the players' lounge. Suzy was there, crying her eyes out. "Some people have died," she said. "Don't believe that," I replied, "it's just a rumour." But Suzy and the other wives knew what had happened. Because the game was not at Anfield, the wives didn't wait in the lounge before kick-off. They arrived and went straight to their seats. They had sat there and watched the awful scenes on the Leppings Lane terrace, the fans coming on to the grass, pleading for help, lifting limp bodies on to the pitch and ripping up hoardings to bear the dead away. The players never knew. We were cocooned from all the horror outside. I was telling Suzy that 'it's not that bad' when I saw the television and realised it was far worse. All the rumours of crushing and deaths became desperate reality when I heard Des Lynam say, 'There's been a tragedy at Hillsborough. There are many dead.' I went numb. I couldn't believe it. Complete silence seized the room. Every face turned towards the television screen. No one sat down. No one spoke. Forest's players were also in the lounge. What could they say? 'We're sorry your fans have been killed?' The fact that they played for Forest and we played for Liverpool was irrelevant. These were human beings who died.
We watched the television for an hour in silence. Many in the lounge were crying. Each of the players wondered whether he knew anyone who could have been in that terrible cage. I had only been at Liverpool for two years and knew hardly any of the fans. It was far worse for the local players like John Aldridge and Steve McMahon. Aldo was very agitated. He was desperately trying to make phone-calls. Eventually, we got on the coach, each player sitting next to his wife, holding hands, still numb and speechless. Everyone drank heavily all the way back to Liverpool. I got completely smashed on brandy. People wept all the way home. All the wives were crying. I was crying. Kenny was crying. Bruce said he was considering quitting. Although I never thought about giving up football despite being filled with guilt afterwards, I understood what Bruce meant.
Those Liverpool fans went to Hillsborough to watch us and there we were, stepping on to a luxury coach to go home, and they were being laid out in a temporary morgue. As we travelled back across the Pennines, their mums and dads were making the reverse journey to come and identify their children's bodies. Guilt swirled around my head. Had I been out there on the pitch, and not back in the dressing-room, I would have helped. I know I would have done. I would have done anything, ripped out hoardings to carry the injured to the ambulances, talked to the dying, willed them to live, argued with the police to move faster. Anyone would have helped if they could. I've still not watched that television docu-drama on Hillsborough. I taped it and it sits in a box on the shelf but I still cannot bring myself to watch it. Suzy feels the same.
Back at Anfield, Suzy and I climbed into our car. Suzy drove home and we watched the news on television, tears streaming down our faces. I remember going in and cuddling Jordan. As I took in the television pictures again, all I could see were devastated parents. I kept thinking that could have been my child going to a match on a lovely sunny day, a child brimming with excitement at the prospect of an FA Cup semi-final. How many parents got their children semi-final tickets so they could go to Hillsborough with their mates? And they never returned. I cried and cried just thinking about that tragedy. I held Jordan and Jamie for hours that night and thought about my own family, about what would I do if something like that happened to one of my children on an occasion which was supposed to be joyful. I managed to sleep that night only because I was still drunk. The brandy on the coach did it. The next morning, I couldn't read the papers. The photographs were so horrific I had to put the paper down. I stayed at home with Suzy and the children, thinking how lucky I was to have them. I didn't touch a drop more of alcohol. I didn't need to. I already had a raging headache from the brandy that had been my only chance of sleep.
Initially, I saw Hillsborough from a personal perspective. I just thought how heartbroken I would have been if it had been my child. Over the next few days, my emotions turned to disbelief and concern for the people who suffered. I kept thinking about the events that led to the crush.
It would be easy to blame South Yorkshire Police but they never set out that morning to allow ninety-six innocent people to die. They could never have foreseen Hillsborough. No one could. Hillsborough was a tragic accident.
I'm sure they (the police) were trained in the correct procedure, but however much preparation a policeman undergoes, he can never be ready for what transpires. No policeman could predict those scenes or his own reaction to them. I feel no anger towards the ordinary policemen involved at Hillsborough.
John Barnes on Hillsborough
I've heard it said that the public's perception of me changed because of Hillsborough. I don't know how people saw me before, but it upsets me if they thought I couldn't be compassionate. People are not paying me a compliment when they say, 'Weren't you nice during Hillsborough.' Anyway, as soon as I donned an England shirt, they booed me again. I have always kept football matters in perspective. Hillsborough simply confirmed that reality and re-confirmed my love for my family.
My sense of outrage was provoked by the top policemen who should have been far more compassionate towards the grieving relatives. Amidst all the recriminations, the South Yorkshire Police refused to accept any responsibility. Their attitude was disgusting. They should have been more thoughtful, sympathetic and honest than just to say 'it's all the fans' fault.' Listening to the police and all their leaks to the newspapers, Hillsborough seemed to be the responsibility of everyone apart from the South Yorkshire Police. A story about Liverpool fans nicking money from the dead bodies and urinating on corpses was shamefully printed by the Sun under that terrible headline 'The Truth.'
For the police to manufacture a story like that when people were killed and their families in mourning was disgraceful. Everyone on Merseyside was incensed with the Sun calling Liverpool fans 'scum.' The families were outraged. Liverpool Football Club was outraged. The whole city was outraged. No one talked to the paper after that evil story. Sales of the Sun on Merseyside plummeted.
On the Monday morning, the players went through the papers looking at the awful photographs. The full horror of what had happened became brutally clear. Two girls were pictured on one front page squashed up against the fence. Somehow they lived. We knew those girls. They used to hang around outside Melwood for autographs. I saw one of the girls, Jackie, early in 1999 at the Liverpool-Blackburn game. Everyone knew Jackie. Players were looking through papers to see if there was anyone they knew. I'm sure John Aldridge and Steve McMahon, the local boys, did but they dealt with it in their own private way.
Later that day, we travelled over to the hospital in Sheffield. When we got there and encountered row upon row of people in comas, we all felt terrible. The players stayed in groups initially. At Christmas, when a squad goes into a local hospital to visit sick children, the players all stick together. Footballers are generally embarrassed at being fit and healthy and surrounded by the unwell and injured. I always worry about saying something condescending, so I tend to march across and ask a child in a wheelchair, 'How did you lose both your legs?' Children come to terms with things quickly and can talk about it. I love kids. In Sheffield, no one felt like making the first move. We clung together for the first ten minutes, unsure of how to approach beds contained fans in comas. It was the relatives who took the initiative. A father walked up to me and said, 'You are my son's favourite player. Please come and talk to him.' Relatives went up to each of the players and asked them see their child. We were all hesitant but of course agreed.
I had never seen anyone in a coma before. I didn't know what to say or even whether he could hear me. If the child had been my son, I knew I would have no trouble talking. Eventually, I said something like, 'It's John Barnes here. I'm sorry it happened. Keep fighting. I know you can pull through.' It was the type of line actors say in 'ER'. Parents sometimes come to the training ground and ask me to speak into a tape-recorder to send a few words of encouragement to their ill child. 'This is John Barnes here,' I say into the microphone, 'wishing you well, don't give up, we want to see you supporting us again next season.' It wasn't the same at the hospital.
It is amazing what a few words can do. Some of the players started to get a reaction, a flicker of life. 'He moved, he moved,' came the cry from the parents. Families and nurses urged us to 'keep talking, keep talking.' That spurred us all on. It was so important to feel we could actually help. So we chatted away non-stop. Parents told their child 'John Barnes is here,' and encouraged me with 'Come on, John, talk to him.' I held their hands and just talked and talked and talked, about anything that came into my mind about football, about the club we all loved. Sometimes, after a while, some movement could be discerned in their hands. 'Let him rest now,' the nurse said, more hopeful that the boy would emerge from the coma gradually. I couldn't believe it.
Two fans came out of comas while the players were in the hospital. It made us feel very good. I am not religious in the church-going sense but I do believe in higher spirits, fate and the greater-good. It was a very humbling experience. One asked, 'What's the score?' He saw Aldo and said, 'John Aldridge?! What's going on?' Then he started smiling. He thought Liverpool's players had come to visit him at home in bed. Another awoke with a start and jumped up. Everyone heard the commotion and rushed around the bed. He opened his eyes and saw Peter Beardsley and me looking at him. He couldn't believe it. Neither of them had any recollection of what happened on the Leppings Lane terrace. They had slipped into comas because of the weight of bodies crushing them. Their last memory was of travelling to a football match.
If I had ever needed reminding of the importance of life and family, Hillsborough and events in that hospital ward brought it home to me. I was only there for a short time and found it deeply moving. Most of the parents had been there from the Saturday, waiting for hour after agonising hour. They just sat there, talking to their child, praying their loved ones would open their eyes. The parents were so brave. They were all convinced their children would recover. I know if it had been one of my four children lying there, I would never have lost hope of them coming round. I know my beloved daughter Jasmin and if she were ever in a coma, I am certain she would recover if I talked to her enough.
I feel tremendous respect for the parents of the Hillsborough victims, almost awe. They were so strong at a time when their world was collapsing. The parents saw the players as a means to revive their children. They never blamed us when the child remained unresponsive, still reliant for life on a bedside machine of lights and tubes. We did what we could, but I didn't expect to be a miracle worker. It was incredible when those two boys came round while we were at the hospital. It was difficult walking past parents whose child was still in a coma. As those two revived, people expected more and more to awake left, right and centre like a nice film where everyone recovers, opens their eyes and say, 'Hi, how are you doing?' But life is not like a Hollywood movie. After three hours, we climbed back on the bus. It was buzzing on the way home. That visit helped the players so much. We talked about everything that happened at the hospital, about the guy who woke up and asked what the score was, about his ecstatic, emotional parents.
By then, the families of those who had died had started coming to Anfield. Meeting them was an extraordinarily moving experience. Their relatives had died following Liverpool and here they were, almost speechless with disbelief that they were walking into the player's lounge at Anfield. Most were crying. Many said, 'He would have loved to have been here, talking to John Barnes in the middle of Anfield. He will be saying, 'I should be there because I love Liverpool.' So many grieving mothers and fathers observed that their lost child would be jealous of them. Not only was I humbled by their emotional reaction to being inside Anfield, I was embarrassed. I didn't know how they would behave towards me. The families could have blamed me. They could have said, 'My precious son came to see you play and now he is dead and you've still got your money, your car and your house.' But none of them did. They were so appreciative of what we did, of how much we meant to their lost loved one. Faced with the bereaved at Anfield, all I could think of was that their relatives died because of us. But the families seemed almost awestruck and deeply grateful. They came into Anfield, sat down, looked at us and said, 'This is the only place we are happy.'
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. Every fan knew that it could have been him or her on that terrace death-trap. A few politicians appeared at Anfield to pay their respects. I was glad more politicians didn't show their faces. Hillsborough and the grieving process was nothing to do with politicians. If they had turned up, it would simply have been a publicity stunt. Politicians had no right to be present at Anfield.
I had never been to a funeral before. The first one I went to was for Gary Church (son of Dave and Maureen Church), in Waterloo on Merseyside. Kenny, Gary Ablett, John Aldridge, Ray Houghton and I went. Liverpool were keen to have a least two players at every funeral. Particular players were requested by some families so some went to more than others. Most players preferred to go together. They felt less awkward. I went to five funerals on my own and three with other players. I went wherever Liverpool sent me, to whichever family telephoned Anfield and requested my presence at their son's or husband's funeral. I drove to Bromsgrove and London, all over the country for the eight funerals. The last one was a difficult as the first.
At Anfield, the relationship between player and family had been good and positive, but not at the funeral. Everyone cried, I sat there, listening to the sobbing around me, the sounds of parents breaking down, the feelings of utter desolation sweeping everyone within the church. I relived the emotions of Hillsborough and the days immediately after, the feelings of guilt and remorse and intrusion. I felt I really shouldn't be here in this church, in the middle of someone else's nightmare. Those were the saddest days imaginable and I just sat there thinking the child in that coffin had come to watch me. And there I was, sitting in the middle of the child's devastated family, none of whom I knew. The real friends were sitting at the back, they were the one's who loved him. They must have resented my presence, the sight of John Barnes being pushed in as some sort of hero.
It meant so much to me to be able to help the families, in however small a way. That was why I chose not to play for England against Albania in a World Cup qualifier on 26 April. It coincided with a funeral. People wrote that I was not in a fit-state emotionally to focus on an international. That was rubbish. Physically and mentally, I was ready to play. If there hadn't been a funeral on that day, I would have played. The funeral was far more important than an England match. I wasn't making a statement that people were playing football too soon after Hillsborough. It was just a question of timing and priorities.
The players discussed funerals after training but wouldn't touch on the emotions involved. As for coping with the continual sight of grieving families, each player handled that situation on his own. None of the players opened up to each other. No one said to me, 'Digger, how are you coping?' and I never asked that question. We all dealt with Hillsborough on our own.
I've heard it said that the public's perception of me changed because of Hillsborough. I don't know how people saw me before, but it upsets me if they thought I couldn't be compassionate. People are not paying me a compliment when they say, 'Weren't you nice during Hillsborough.' Anyway, as soon as I donned an England shirt, they booed me again. I have always kept football matters in perspective. Hillsborough simply confirmed that reality and re-confirmed my love for my family.
HILLSBOROUGH FUNERALS LEFT ME NUMB
John Barnes 13 April 2006
The events of 15 April 1989 at Hillsborough made me realise what is really important in life.
After each funeral I attended, when another set of parents buried a beloved son or daughter, when another grieving family mourned a relative who died following Liverpool, I would come home and climb into bed with my eldest son, Jamie, just to hold him, just to hear him breathing. We slept curled up together, Jordan, my second son, was just a baby and I would cradle him in my arms. For months after Hillsborough, I couldn't bear to be apart from my two sons. If one of them fell over, I ran across and hugged him, soothed him, showed him my love. Scarred into my mind was the image of those parents who could not hold their loved ones any more, who could not see them smile and grow up. That thought devastated me. So I hugged my children tight.
Before Hillsborough, I had always tried to keep things in perspective but what happened on the Leppings Lane terraces made me question so much in my life. When I struggled to get in the team at Liverpool and then Newcastle United, I said to myself, 'Does it really matter? I'm alive. My family are alive. That is all that matters.' Hillsborough crystallised my priorities.
Football lost it's obsessive significance; it was not the be all and end all. How could it be when ninety-six people died, when parents lost children and children lost parents? Bill Shankly's comment that 'football is not a matter of life and death, it is far more important that that' sounded even falser after Hillsborough. Football is a game, a glorious pursuit but how can it be more important than life itself?
Saturday 15 April 1989 should have been a day of excitement when a compelling FA Cup semi-final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest was played at the home of Sheffield Wednesday. I try not think about the day itself, but I will never forget it. The events were like a nightmare unfolding. I didn't realise anything was amiss on the Leppings Lane terrace until a couple of fans ran on to the pitch shouting, 'There are people being killed in there.' I thought they were exaggerating, like when players say 'that tackle nearly killed me.' I just thought the fans were getting a bit squashed. But Bruce Grobbelaar, who was closest to the Leppings Lane terrace, quickly realised there was something terribly wrong when he went to retrieve a ball and heard fans screaming - 'They're killing us, Bruce, they're killing us.' Bruce shouted at the stewards to do something.
Six minutes into the match, a policeman ran on to tell Ray Lewis, the referee, to halt the game. Lewis immediately led the players back to the dressing-rooms. The scale of the tragedy was still unimaginable. We thought a few fans had been squashed but that we would be playing again soon, once the stewards had sorted out the problem. Lewis kept coming in and saying, 'Another five minutes.' Each time, we all got up and started jogging again until he finally came in and said, 'That's it, lads, match off.'
We showered and hurried up to the players' lounge. Suzy was there, crying her eyes out. "Some people have died," she said. "Don't believe that," I replied, "it's just a rumour." But Suzy and the other wives knew what had happened. Because the game was not at Anfield, the wives didn't wait in the lounge before kick-off. They arrived and went straight to their seats. They had sat there and watched the awful scenes on the Leppings Lane terrace, the fans coming on to the grass, pleading for help, lifting limp bodies on to the pitch and ripping up hoardings to bear the dead away. The players never knew. We were cocooned from all the horror outside. I was telling Suzy that 'it's not that bad' when I saw the television and realised it was far worse. All the rumours of crushing and deaths became desperate reality when I heard Des Lynam say, 'There's been a tragedy at Hillsborough. There are many dead.' I went numb. I couldn't believe it. Complete silence seized the room. Every face turned towards the television screen. No one sat down. No one spoke. Forest's players were also in the lounge. What could they say? 'We're sorry your fans have been killed?' The fact that they played for Forest and we played for Liverpool was irrelevant. These were human beings who died.
We watched the television for an hour in silence. Many in the lounge were crying. Each of the players wondered whether he knew anyone who could have been in that terrible cage. I had only been at Liverpool for two years and knew hardly any of the fans. It was far worse for the local players like John Aldridge and Steve McMahon. Aldo was very agitated. He was desperately trying to make phone-calls. Eventually, we got on the coach, each player sitting next to his wife, holding hands, still numb and speechless. Everyone drank heavily all the way back to Liverpool. I got completely smashed on brandy. People wept all the way home. All the wives were crying. I was crying. Kenny was crying. Bruce said he was considering quitting. Although I never thought about giving up football despite being filled with guilt afterwards, I understood what Bruce meant.
Those Liverpool fans went to Hillsborough to watch us and there we were, stepping on to a luxury coach to go home, and they were being laid out in a temporary morgue. As we travelled back across the Pennines, their mums and dads were making the reverse journey to come and identify their children's bodies. Guilt swirled around my head. Had I been out there on the pitch, and not back in the dressing-room, I would have helped. I know I would have done. I would have done anything, ripped out hoardings to carry the injured to the ambulances, talked to the dying, willed them to live, argued with the police to move faster. Anyone would have helped if they could. I've still not watched that television docu-drama on Hillsborough. I taped it and it sits in a box on the shelf but I still cannot bring myself to watch it. Suzy feels the same.
Back at Anfield, Suzy and I climbed into our car. Suzy drove home and we watched the news on television, tears streaming down our faces. I remember going in and cuddling Jordan. As I took in the television pictures again, all I could see were devastated parents. I kept thinking that could have been my child going to a match on a lovely sunny day, a child brimming with excitement at the prospect of an FA Cup semi-final. How many parents got their children semi-final tickets so they could go to Hillsborough with their mates? And they never returned. I cried and cried just thinking about that tragedy. I held Jordan and Jamie for hours that night and thought about my own family, about what would I do if something like that happened to one of my children on an occasion which was supposed to be joyful. I managed to sleep that night only because I was still drunk. The brandy on the coach did it. The next morning, I couldn't read the papers. The photographs were so horrific I had to put the paper down. I stayed at home with Suzy and the children, thinking how lucky I was to have them. I didn't touch a drop more of alcohol. I didn't need to. I already had a raging headache from the brandy that had been my only chance of sleep.
Initially, I saw Hillsborough from a personal perspective. I just thought how heartbroken I would have been if it had been my child. Over the next few days, my emotions turned to disbelief and concern for the people who suffered. I kept thinking about the events that led to the crush.
It would be easy to blame South Yorkshire Police but they never set out that morning to allow ninety-six innocent people to die. They could never have foreseen Hillsborough. No one could. Hillsborough was a tragic accident.
I'm sure they (the police) were trained in the correct procedure, but however much preparation a policeman undergoes, he can never be ready for what transpires. No policeman could predict those scenes or his own reaction to them. I feel no anger towards the ordinary policemen involved at Hillsborough.
John Barnes on Hillsborough
I've heard it said that the public's perception of me changed because of Hillsborough. I don't know how people saw me before, but it upsets me if they thought I couldn't be compassionate. People are not paying me a compliment when they say, 'Weren't you nice during Hillsborough.' Anyway, as soon as I donned an England shirt, they booed me again. I have always kept football matters in perspective. Hillsborough simply confirmed that reality and re-confirmed my love for my family.
My sense of outrage was provoked by the top policemen who should have been far more compassionate towards the grieving relatives. Amidst all the recriminations, the South Yorkshire Police refused to accept any responsibility. Their attitude was disgusting. They should have been more thoughtful, sympathetic and honest than just to say 'it's all the fans' fault.' Listening to the police and all their leaks to the newspapers, Hillsborough seemed to be the responsibility of everyone apart from the South Yorkshire Police. A story about Liverpool fans nicking money from the dead bodies and urinating on corpses was shamefully printed by the Sun under that terrible headline 'The Truth.'
For the police to manufacture a story like that when people were killed and their families in mourning was disgraceful. Everyone on Merseyside was incensed with the Sun calling Liverpool fans 'scum.' The families were outraged. Liverpool Football Club was outraged. The whole city was outraged. No one talked to the paper after that evil story. Sales of the Sun on Merseyside plummeted.
On the Monday morning, the players went through the papers looking at the awful photographs. The full horror of what had happened became brutally clear. Two girls were pictured on one front page squashed up against the fence. Somehow they lived. We knew those girls. They used to hang around outside Melwood for autographs. I saw one of the girls, Jackie, early in 1999 at the Liverpool-Blackburn game. Everyone knew Jackie. Players were looking through papers to see if there was anyone they knew. I'm sure John Aldridge and Steve McMahon, the local boys, did but they dealt with it in their own private way.
Later that day, we travelled over to the hospital in Sheffield. When we got there and encountered row upon row of people in comas, we all felt terrible. The players stayed in groups initially. At Christmas, when a squad goes into a local hospital to visit sick children, the players all stick together. Footballers are generally embarrassed at being fit and healthy and surrounded by the unwell and injured. I always worry about saying something condescending, so I tend to march across and ask a child in a wheelchair, 'How did you lose both your legs?' Children come to terms with things quickly and can talk about it. I love kids. In Sheffield, no one felt like making the first move. We clung together for the first ten minutes, unsure of how to approach beds contained fans in comas. It was the relatives who took the initiative. A father walked up to me and said, 'You are my son's favourite player. Please come and talk to him.' Relatives went up to each of the players and asked them see their child. We were all hesitant but of course agreed.
I had never seen anyone in a coma before. I didn't know what to say or even whether he could hear me. If the child had been my son, I knew I would have no trouble talking. Eventually, I said something like, 'It's John Barnes here. I'm sorry it happened. Keep fighting. I know you can pull through.' It was the type of line actors say in 'ER'. Parents sometimes come to the training ground and ask me to speak into a tape-recorder to send a few words of encouragement to their ill child. 'This is John Barnes here,' I say into the microphone, 'wishing you well, don't give up, we want to see you supporting us again next season.' It wasn't the same at the hospital.
It is amazing what a few words can do. Some of the players started to get a reaction, a flicker of life. 'He moved, he moved,' came the cry from the parents. Families and nurses urged us to 'keep talking, keep talking.' That spurred us all on. It was so important to feel we could actually help. So we chatted away non-stop. Parents told their child 'John Barnes is here,' and encouraged me with 'Come on, John, talk to him.' I held their hands and just talked and talked and talked, about anything that came into my mind about football, about the club we all loved. Sometimes, after a while, some movement could be discerned in their hands. 'Let him rest now,' the nurse said, more hopeful that the boy would emerge from the coma gradually. I couldn't believe it.
Two fans came out of comas while the players were in the hospital. It made us feel very good. I am not religious in the church-going sense but I do believe in higher spirits, fate and the greater-good. It was a very humbling experience. One asked, 'What's the score?' He saw Aldo and said, 'John Aldridge?! What's going on?' Then he started smiling. He thought Liverpool's players had come to visit him at home in bed. Another awoke with a start and jumped up. Everyone heard the commotion and rushed around the bed. He opened his eyes and saw Peter Beardsley and me looking at him. He couldn't believe it. Neither of them had any recollection of what happened on the Leppings Lane terrace. They had slipped into comas because of the weight of bodies crushing them. Their last memory was of travelling to a football match.
If I had ever needed reminding of the importance of life and family, Hillsborough and events in that hospital ward brought it home to me. I was only there for a short time and found it deeply moving. Most of the parents had been there from the Saturday, waiting for hour after agonising hour. They just sat there, talking to their child, praying their loved ones would open their eyes. The parents were so brave. They were all convinced their children would recover. I know if it had been one of my four children lying there, I would never have lost hope of them coming round. I know my beloved daughter Jasmin and if she were ever in a coma, I am certain she would recover if I talked to her enough.
I feel tremendous respect for the parents of the Hillsborough victims, almost awe. They were so strong at a time when their world was collapsing. The parents saw the players as a means to revive their children. They never blamed us when the child remained unresponsive, still reliant for life on a bedside machine of lights and tubes. We did what we could, but I didn't expect to be a miracle worker. It was incredible when those two boys came round while we were at the hospital. It was difficult walking past parents whose child was still in a coma. As those two revived, people expected more and more to awake left, right and centre like a nice film where everyone recovers, opens their eyes and say, 'Hi, how are you doing?' But life is not like a Hollywood movie. After three hours, we climbed back on the bus. It was buzzing on the way home. That visit helped the players so much. We talked about everything that happened at the hospital, about the guy who woke up and asked what the score was, about his ecstatic, emotional parents.
By then, the families of those who had died had started coming to Anfield. Meeting them was an extraordinarily moving experience. Their relatives had died following Liverpool and here they were, almost speechless with disbelief that they were walking into the player's lounge at Anfield. Most were crying. Many said, 'He would have loved to have been here, talking to John Barnes in the middle of Anfield. He will be saying, 'I should be there because I love Liverpool.' So many grieving mothers and fathers observed that their lost child would be jealous of them. Not only was I humbled by their emotional reaction to being inside Anfield, I was embarrassed. I didn't know how they would behave towards me. The families could have blamed me. They could have said, 'My precious son came to see you play and now he is dead and you've still got your money, your car and your house.' But none of them did. They were so appreciative of what we did, of how much we meant to their lost loved one. Faced with the bereaved at Anfield, all I could think of was that their relatives died because of us. But the families seemed almost awestruck and deeply grateful. They came into Anfield, sat down, looked at us and said, 'This is the only place we are happy.'
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. Every fan knew that it could have been him or her on that terrace death-trap. A few politicians appeared at Anfield to pay their respects. I was glad more politicians didn't show their faces. Hillsborough and the grieving process was nothing to do with politicians. If they had turned up, it would simply have been a publicity stunt. Politicians had no right to be present at Anfield.
I had never been to a funeral before. The first one I went to was for Gary Church (son of Dave and Maureen Church), in Waterloo on Merseyside. Kenny, Gary Ablett, John Aldridge, Ray Houghton and I went. Liverpool were keen to have a least two players at every funeral. Particular players were requested by some families so some went to more than others. Most players preferred to go together. They felt less awkward. I went to five funerals on my own and three with other players. I went wherever Liverpool sent me, to whichever family telephoned Anfield and requested my presence at their son's or husband's funeral. I drove to Bromsgrove and London, all over the country for the eight funerals. The last one was a difficult as the first.
At Anfield, the relationship between player and family had been good and positive, but not at the funeral. Everyone cried, I sat there, listening to the sobbing around me, the sounds of parents breaking down, the feelings of utter desolation sweeping everyone within the church. I relived the emotions of Hillsborough and the days immediately after, the feelings of guilt and remorse and intrusion. I felt I really shouldn't be here in this church, in the middle of someone else's nightmare. Those were the saddest days imaginable and I just sat there thinking the child in that coffin had come to watch me. And there I was, sitting in the middle of the child's devastated family, none of whom I knew. The real friends were sitting at the back, they were the one's who loved him. They must have resented my presence, the sight of John Barnes being pushed in as some sort of hero.
It meant so much to me to be able to help the families, in however small a way. That was why I chose not to play for England against Albania in a World Cup qualifier on 26 April. It coincided with a funeral. People wrote that I was not in a fit-state emotionally to focus on an international. That was rubbish. Physically and mentally, I was ready to play. If there hadn't been a funeral on that day, I would have played. The funeral was far more important than an England match. I wasn't making a statement that people were playing football too soon after Hillsborough. It was just a question of timing and priorities.
The players discussed funerals after training but wouldn't touch on the emotions involved. As for coping with the continual sight of grieving families, each player handled that situation on his own. None of the players opened up to each other. No one said to me, 'Digger, how are you coping?' and I never asked that question. We all dealt with Hillsborough on our own.
I've heard it said that the public's perception of me changed because of Hillsborough. I don't know how people saw me before, but it upsets me if they thought I couldn't be compassionate. People are not paying me a compliment when they say, 'Weren't you nice during Hillsborough.' Anyway, as soon as I donned an England shirt, they booed me again. I have always kept football matters in perspective. Hillsborough simply confirmed that reality and re-confirmed my love for my family.
There is no-one anywhere in the world at any stage who is any bigger or any better than this football club.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
-
Ciggy - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 26826
- Joined: Thu Jul 15, 2004 2:36 pm
by Ciggy » Fri Apr 14, 2006 10:53 pm
People should read all of these articles I know they are long, but when you support our club this is what its all about, maybe you started to support us through joy but there has been plenty of heartache along the way, when you support this club you have to know all its boundries from Heysel to Hillsborough and feel that heartache and pain that our fans feel who lost someone or who are survivers from the both disasters.
John Aldridge
I WILL ALWAYS SHED TEARS OVER HILLSBOROUGH
John Aldridge 12 April 2006
If I hadn't become a footballer it is almost certain I would have been in the middle of the Leppings Lane terrace at Hillsborough on Saturday, 15 April 1989.
In the days when I was a fan I would never have considered missing an FA Cup semi-final involving Liverpool so I have to assume I would have travelled with everyone else to Sheffield for the game against Nottingham Forest. But fate decreed that John Aldridge be elsewhere that day. I was not on the Leppings Lane terrace, I was on the Hillsborough playing field, oblivious to what was going on among the Liverpool contingent.
When the full extent of the disaster that eventually claimed the lives of ninety-six people unfolded, my emotions were of great sadness for the victims whose only mistake was choosing the wrong day to watch a football match; a football match in which I was playing. Yes, time does heal, but if I am still alive on 15 April 2039, the fiftieth anniversary of Hillsborough, I will shed tears. That is because I shed tears every year on 15 April. Not out of ritual. Not out of obligation. Not out of duty. But out of a deep sense of grief for the lost and a genuine feeling for the loved ones they left behind.
Hillsborough was a real tragedy on a real day involving real people. We often talk of nightmares in our lives, of disaster, of tragedies, but most of us don't really know what we're talking about. I was injured playing for Liverpool the season before Hillsborough and I called it a personal disaster. Disaster? When you know people have died in your vicinity you realise missing a football match or two through injury is irrelevant. Most things are irrelevant. The death of the innocent - the suffering, the injustice - is a real disaster. A real tragedy.
In the years since, more eloquent wordsmiths than I have offered their assessments of the day and its aftermath. But as it remains one of the most significant events in my life, I have to write about it. I don't want to, but I have to. Thinking about it hurts, so talking about it and putting it down on paper serves only to bring back the horror of it all.
So much about Hillsborough is still disputed but there is one inescapable fact. Too many people were allowed into a small pen behind the goal at the Leppings Lane end, causing a major crush which eventually claimed ninety-six victims. It is not my place to comment on who was responsible for the deaths; that is a matter for the experts and the families of the ninety-six. I do hope, however, that those who made mistakes that day, whoever they are, are brought to justice and are forced to answer for the misjudgements.
I was the Liverpool player furthest away from the Leppings Lane terrace when a fan decked out in Liverpool red approached Ray Houghton and shouted something at him. I assumed it was some kind of pitch invasion. The last action I could remember was Peter Beardsley hitting the crossbar with a fierce shot. But soon a policeman with a look of concern approached referee Ray Lewis and began talking to him. The game was brought to a halt. I remember Steve Nicol saying something to the referee, though I was too far away to hear anything. I didn't have a clue what was going on. At six minutes past three, the players were ushered off the field and into the dressing-rooms. A lot of people suspected crowd trouble but even before the full facts had emerged, there was a kind of eerie atmosphere that suggested something far worse had taken place. On our way into the dressing-rooms we had the first inkling that, far from crowd trouble being the reason for the delay, there had in fact been a tragedy. I overheard people talking of serious injuries to Liverpool fans and, worse still, deaths. Deaths? At a football match? I could not comprehend it. I was still convinced a barrier had collapsed and we'd only been taken off for fifteen minutes or so. If only that was true. I could not have been more wrong. This was fast developing into the worst disaster in English football history.
In the dressing-room, Kenny Dalglish told us to keep warm as the match was bound to re-start. But Kenny was walking round nervously, refusing to sit down. Most of us were seated, though some were standing, doing stretches and simple exercises. Some were reading the programme. I don't remember what I was doing. But I do remember seeing fans walking past the dressing-room door with tears in their eyes.
That was when I began to realise this was something serious. Yet Ray Lewis came into our dressing-room at around half-past three and told us to be ready to go back on the playing field. The match, he said, would re-start as soon as possible. That was the last communication for thirty minutes. We were still trying to psych ourselves up for the match. Looking back on it, I am sure the Liverpool staff knew what was going on but chose to keep the full facts from us. I think Kenny must have known, too. I didn't know it at the time, but his face told the story. It was only when we heard screaming outside the dressing-room that we finally understood something wasn't right. Kenny went out into a corridor and I heard one fan shouting at him, 'People are dying, Kenny.' Or words to that effect.
Aldridge on Hillsborough
When the full extent of the disaster that eventually claimed the lives of ninety-six people unfolded, my emotions were of great sadness for the victims whose only mistake was choosing the wrong day to watch a football match; a football match in which I was playing. Yes, time does heal, but if I am still alive on 15 April 2039, the fiftieth anniversary of Hillsborough, I will shed tears. That is because I shed tears every year on 15 April. Not out of ritual. Not out of obligation. Not out of duty. But out of a deep sense of grief for the lost and a genuine feeling for the loved ones they left behind.
Hillsborough was a real tragedy on a real day involving real people. We often talk of nightmares in our lives, of disaster, of tragedies, but most of us don't really know what we're talking about. I was injured playing for Liverpool the season before Hillsborough and I called it a personal disaster. Disaster? When you know people have died in your vicinity you realise missing a football match or two through injury is irrelevant. Most things are irrelevant. The death of the innocent - the suffering, the injustice - is a real disaster. A real tragedy.
At four o'clock, Ray Lewis came back to say the match had been abandoned. The confirmation that Liverpool fans had died reached us while we were getting changed. Some of us were showering, though some had already put their clothes back on. Again, I don't remember exactly what I did. I cast my eyes over to John Barnes and could see tears in his eyes. He was sitting there quietly, not wanting to be disturbed. A few of the other players looked stunned. I couldn't talk. Nobody could, There was a strange sort of silence. Usually there is much conversation and banter when the lads are all together in the dressing-room. Not now. Too many thoughts were flashing through our minds. The sense of logic was disappearing.
I knew of people, fun-loving Liverpool supporters, who had tickets for the Leppings Lane terrace. My friends. Naturally, I had to find out whether or not they were safe. But how? Kenny was determined to keep us all together in the dressing-room, out of the way. When we were all dressed, the Liverpool manager told us to go quietly to the players' lounge upstairs. Minute by minute we could feel the situation getting worse. Even before we got into the lounge we could see the girls working there were sobbing. They obviously knew more than us. At the other side of the lounge there was a television screen showing live pictures of Hillsborough. The reporter spoke of deaths, the figure rising minute by minute. Struggling to take it all in, I became edgy. I couldn't stand still. The picture was becoming clearer in my mind and I didn't like it one bit.
There was too much to take in at Hillsborough and it was a relief to get away from the place. It was only when I got home that night that it all began to sink in. I was watching television with Joan and, inevitably, it was the main story on the news. That was when we broke down, bursting into tears and hugging each other. We cried for most of the night and slept little.
Kenny telephoned me the following morning. He said he wanted me to join the rest of the players at Anfield for a meeting. In the immediate aftermath of Hillsborough, Kenny showed tremendous leadership qualities a lot of people didn't think he possessed. He told us to be dignified and insisted we set an example. In the afternoon, I took my daughter, Joanne, to Anfield to lay some red roses by the Shankly Gates. There were already a lot of scarves tied to the railing - not all of them were Liverpool scarves - and there was an overwhelming scent of flowers in the air. I didn't want to be seen but a group of reporters had spotted me. That spoiled what should have been a private moment. I was, after all, a Liverpool fan. I wanted the same anonymity as any other person, I deserved it.
We had a special mass at the Catholic Cathedral that night. Again, the enormity of what had happened hit me hard. We were beginning to see how it was affecting the city. People were breaking down, not really knowing what to do. All the players were at the Cathedral that night to hear Bruce Grobbelaar read the lesson. Each player dealt with the tragedy in his own way. My first tangible response was to pull out of the Republic of Ireland's World Cup qualifying match against Spain in Dublin on 26 April. Playing football was the last thing I wanted to do. I remember giving an interview to the Liverpool Echo in which I said I didn't care if I never played again. I meant every word. For the two weeks following the disaster I was in a state of shock, helpless to do anything, I feel no shame in admitting Hillsborough affected me mentally for a time, a long time. I couldn't cope. It weakened me physically, emotionally and mentally.
The thought of training never entered my head. I remember trying to go jogging but I couldn't run. There was a time when I wondered if I would ever muster the strength to play. I seriously considered retirement. I was learning about what was relevant in life. I didn't really see the point in football. Reading abut the parents who lost sons or daughters at Hillsborough made me think of my own children. My son, Paul, was only seven at the time. I was only a little older when I went to my first football match in the 1960s. Paul and Joanne have never been less than the most important things in my life, yet after Hillsborough they became more precious, if that was possible. We all became closer as a family.
The Liverpool players spent much of their time talking to people affected by the tragedy. It meant going into hospitals to see the injured. In some cases, it meant trying to talk people out of comas. We spoke to people who had lost loved ones. The immediate aftermath because a succession of funerals. I don't know how many funerals I went to but they were becoming more difficult to deal with. Alan Hansen said much the same thing. He thought he'd get used to the funerals after the first few but by the twelfth he felt worse. I'd only been to one before Hillsborough, which was when my grandmother died.
Within days, Anfield became a shrine. It began when a Liverpool director agreed to let one fan lay flowers on the Kop. Two weeks later, the whole of the goalmouth at the Kop end was covered with flowers. It was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. Anfield was open house. If anyone needed advice on how to deal with the effects of the tragedy, they were welcomed. Players and wives were on hand to offer words of comfort and support. Joan and I found this particularly difficult. We were not trained in these skills and sometimes it was difficult to know what to say. We had experienced bereavement in our own family but nothing on this scale. We were being asked to console people at a time when we needed it ourselves.
I think people sometimes forget about how Hillsborough affected the players. Ray Houghton said the experience of visiting so many hospitals and attending so many funerals made him more upset than he'd ever been before. Ray's way of dealing with the tragedy was to play football against Spain in that World Cup qualifier. Ronnie Whelan played too. I couldn't. I didn't have the physical or mental energy. Alan Hansen, the Liverpool captain, was said to be visibly shaking at times. Bruce Grobbelaar had, like myself, considered retirement. Steve McMahon claimed the Hillsborough tragedy was a watershed in his life. 'I grew up almost overnight,' he said. Players openly wept in front of each other, which was incredible. There had never been such a display of emotion among the Liverpool players before. Usually we spent most of the our time taking the mick out of each other, but Hillsborough pulled down the facade and showed us up for what we were: vulnerable human beings.
What it was all doing to Kenny Dalglish would become apparent when he resigned as Liverpool Manager in 1991, but at the time he did a remarkable job. He became an unofficial spokesman for the players and was particularly eloquent. This was a man who many thought uncommunicative. This was a man who many thought had no interests outside of football. These myths were shattered. Kenny was dignified throughout and worked tirelessly. I think he realised, for perhaps the first time, how much Liverpool Football Club meant to the ordinary person in the street. This, of course, carried with it certain responsibilities but Kenny was up to the challenge. He proved himself to be a good listener to those who had something to get off their chests.
The entire country was sympathetic and I know bridges were built between the cities of Liverpool, Sheffield and Nottingham. Football would never be the same again. Decaying football grounds were at last considered inadequate and Lord Justice Taylor, whose report on the Hillsborough tragedy did so much to reveal the truth, set a plan that would destroy terracing once and for all. All grounds would, in time, become all-seated, making them safer.
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.
John Aldridge
I WILL ALWAYS SHED TEARS OVER HILLSBOROUGH
John Aldridge 12 April 2006
If I hadn't become a footballer it is almost certain I would have been in the middle of the Leppings Lane terrace at Hillsborough on Saturday, 15 April 1989.
In the days when I was a fan I would never have considered missing an FA Cup semi-final involving Liverpool so I have to assume I would have travelled with everyone else to Sheffield for the game against Nottingham Forest. But fate decreed that John Aldridge be elsewhere that day. I was not on the Leppings Lane terrace, I was on the Hillsborough playing field, oblivious to what was going on among the Liverpool contingent.
When the full extent of the disaster that eventually claimed the lives of ninety-six people unfolded, my emotions were of great sadness for the victims whose only mistake was choosing the wrong day to watch a football match; a football match in which I was playing. Yes, time does heal, but if I am still alive on 15 April 2039, the fiftieth anniversary of Hillsborough, I will shed tears. That is because I shed tears every year on 15 April. Not out of ritual. Not out of obligation. Not out of duty. But out of a deep sense of grief for the lost and a genuine feeling for the loved ones they left behind.
Hillsborough was a real tragedy on a real day involving real people. We often talk of nightmares in our lives, of disaster, of tragedies, but most of us don't really know what we're talking about. I was injured playing for Liverpool the season before Hillsborough and I called it a personal disaster. Disaster? When you know people have died in your vicinity you realise missing a football match or two through injury is irrelevant. Most things are irrelevant. The death of the innocent - the suffering, the injustice - is a real disaster. A real tragedy.
In the years since, more eloquent wordsmiths than I have offered their assessments of the day and its aftermath. But as it remains one of the most significant events in my life, I have to write about it. I don't want to, but I have to. Thinking about it hurts, so talking about it and putting it down on paper serves only to bring back the horror of it all.
So much about Hillsborough is still disputed but there is one inescapable fact. Too many people were allowed into a small pen behind the goal at the Leppings Lane end, causing a major crush which eventually claimed ninety-six victims. It is not my place to comment on who was responsible for the deaths; that is a matter for the experts and the families of the ninety-six. I do hope, however, that those who made mistakes that day, whoever they are, are brought to justice and are forced to answer for the misjudgements.
I was the Liverpool player furthest away from the Leppings Lane terrace when a fan decked out in Liverpool red approached Ray Houghton and shouted something at him. I assumed it was some kind of pitch invasion. The last action I could remember was Peter Beardsley hitting the crossbar with a fierce shot. But soon a policeman with a look of concern approached referee Ray Lewis and began talking to him. The game was brought to a halt. I remember Steve Nicol saying something to the referee, though I was too far away to hear anything. I didn't have a clue what was going on. At six minutes past three, the players were ushered off the field and into the dressing-rooms. A lot of people suspected crowd trouble but even before the full facts had emerged, there was a kind of eerie atmosphere that suggested something far worse had taken place. On our way into the dressing-rooms we had the first inkling that, far from crowd trouble being the reason for the delay, there had in fact been a tragedy. I overheard people talking of serious injuries to Liverpool fans and, worse still, deaths. Deaths? At a football match? I could not comprehend it. I was still convinced a barrier had collapsed and we'd only been taken off for fifteen minutes or so. If only that was true. I could not have been more wrong. This was fast developing into the worst disaster in English football history.
In the dressing-room, Kenny Dalglish told us to keep warm as the match was bound to re-start. But Kenny was walking round nervously, refusing to sit down. Most of us were seated, though some were standing, doing stretches and simple exercises. Some were reading the programme. I don't remember what I was doing. But I do remember seeing fans walking past the dressing-room door with tears in their eyes.
That was when I began to realise this was something serious. Yet Ray Lewis came into our dressing-room at around half-past three and told us to be ready to go back on the playing field. The match, he said, would re-start as soon as possible. That was the last communication for thirty minutes. We were still trying to psych ourselves up for the match. Looking back on it, I am sure the Liverpool staff knew what was going on but chose to keep the full facts from us. I think Kenny must have known, too. I didn't know it at the time, but his face told the story. It was only when we heard screaming outside the dressing-room that we finally understood something wasn't right. Kenny went out into a corridor and I heard one fan shouting at him, 'People are dying, Kenny.' Or words to that effect.
Aldridge on Hillsborough
When the full extent of the disaster that eventually claimed the lives of ninety-six people unfolded, my emotions were of great sadness for the victims whose only mistake was choosing the wrong day to watch a football match; a football match in which I was playing. Yes, time does heal, but if I am still alive on 15 April 2039, the fiftieth anniversary of Hillsborough, I will shed tears. That is because I shed tears every year on 15 April. Not out of ritual. Not out of obligation. Not out of duty. But out of a deep sense of grief for the lost and a genuine feeling for the loved ones they left behind.
Hillsborough was a real tragedy on a real day involving real people. We often talk of nightmares in our lives, of disaster, of tragedies, but most of us don't really know what we're talking about. I was injured playing for Liverpool the season before Hillsborough and I called it a personal disaster. Disaster? When you know people have died in your vicinity you realise missing a football match or two through injury is irrelevant. Most things are irrelevant. The death of the innocent - the suffering, the injustice - is a real disaster. A real tragedy.
At four o'clock, Ray Lewis came back to say the match had been abandoned. The confirmation that Liverpool fans had died reached us while we were getting changed. Some of us were showering, though some had already put their clothes back on. Again, I don't remember exactly what I did. I cast my eyes over to John Barnes and could see tears in his eyes. He was sitting there quietly, not wanting to be disturbed. A few of the other players looked stunned. I couldn't talk. Nobody could, There was a strange sort of silence. Usually there is much conversation and banter when the lads are all together in the dressing-room. Not now. Too many thoughts were flashing through our minds. The sense of logic was disappearing.
I knew of people, fun-loving Liverpool supporters, who had tickets for the Leppings Lane terrace. My friends. Naturally, I had to find out whether or not they were safe. But how? Kenny was determined to keep us all together in the dressing-room, out of the way. When we were all dressed, the Liverpool manager told us to go quietly to the players' lounge upstairs. Minute by minute we could feel the situation getting worse. Even before we got into the lounge we could see the girls working there were sobbing. They obviously knew more than us. At the other side of the lounge there was a television screen showing live pictures of Hillsborough. The reporter spoke of deaths, the figure rising minute by minute. Struggling to take it all in, I became edgy. I couldn't stand still. The picture was becoming clearer in my mind and I didn't like it one bit.
There was too much to take in at Hillsborough and it was a relief to get away from the place. It was only when I got home that night that it all began to sink in. I was watching television with Joan and, inevitably, it was the main story on the news. That was when we broke down, bursting into tears and hugging each other. We cried for most of the night and slept little.
Kenny telephoned me the following morning. He said he wanted me to join the rest of the players at Anfield for a meeting. In the immediate aftermath of Hillsborough, Kenny showed tremendous leadership qualities a lot of people didn't think he possessed. He told us to be dignified and insisted we set an example. In the afternoon, I took my daughter, Joanne, to Anfield to lay some red roses by the Shankly Gates. There were already a lot of scarves tied to the railing - not all of them were Liverpool scarves - and there was an overwhelming scent of flowers in the air. I didn't want to be seen but a group of reporters had spotted me. That spoiled what should have been a private moment. I was, after all, a Liverpool fan. I wanted the same anonymity as any other person, I deserved it.
We had a special mass at the Catholic Cathedral that night. Again, the enormity of what had happened hit me hard. We were beginning to see how it was affecting the city. People were breaking down, not really knowing what to do. All the players were at the Cathedral that night to hear Bruce Grobbelaar read the lesson. Each player dealt with the tragedy in his own way. My first tangible response was to pull out of the Republic of Ireland's World Cup qualifying match against Spain in Dublin on 26 April. Playing football was the last thing I wanted to do. I remember giving an interview to the Liverpool Echo in which I said I didn't care if I never played again. I meant every word. For the two weeks following the disaster I was in a state of shock, helpless to do anything, I feel no shame in admitting Hillsborough affected me mentally for a time, a long time. I couldn't cope. It weakened me physically, emotionally and mentally.
The thought of training never entered my head. I remember trying to go jogging but I couldn't run. There was a time when I wondered if I would ever muster the strength to play. I seriously considered retirement. I was learning about what was relevant in life. I didn't really see the point in football. Reading abut the parents who lost sons or daughters at Hillsborough made me think of my own children. My son, Paul, was only seven at the time. I was only a little older when I went to my first football match in the 1960s. Paul and Joanne have never been less than the most important things in my life, yet after Hillsborough they became more precious, if that was possible. We all became closer as a family.
The Liverpool players spent much of their time talking to people affected by the tragedy. It meant going into hospitals to see the injured. In some cases, it meant trying to talk people out of comas. We spoke to people who had lost loved ones. The immediate aftermath because a succession of funerals. I don't know how many funerals I went to but they were becoming more difficult to deal with. Alan Hansen said much the same thing. He thought he'd get used to the funerals after the first few but by the twelfth he felt worse. I'd only been to one before Hillsborough, which was when my grandmother died.
Within days, Anfield became a shrine. It began when a Liverpool director agreed to let one fan lay flowers on the Kop. Two weeks later, the whole of the goalmouth at the Kop end was covered with flowers. It was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. Anfield was open house. If anyone needed advice on how to deal with the effects of the tragedy, they were welcomed. Players and wives were on hand to offer words of comfort and support. Joan and I found this particularly difficult. We were not trained in these skills and sometimes it was difficult to know what to say. We had experienced bereavement in our own family but nothing on this scale. We were being asked to console people at a time when we needed it ourselves.
I think people sometimes forget about how Hillsborough affected the players. Ray Houghton said the experience of visiting so many hospitals and attending so many funerals made him more upset than he'd ever been before. Ray's way of dealing with the tragedy was to play football against Spain in that World Cup qualifier. Ronnie Whelan played too. I couldn't. I didn't have the physical or mental energy. Alan Hansen, the Liverpool captain, was said to be visibly shaking at times. Bruce Grobbelaar had, like myself, considered retirement. Steve McMahon claimed the Hillsborough tragedy was a watershed in his life. 'I grew up almost overnight,' he said. Players openly wept in front of each other, which was incredible. There had never been such a display of emotion among the Liverpool players before. Usually we spent most of the our time taking the mick out of each other, but Hillsborough pulled down the facade and showed us up for what we were: vulnerable human beings.
What it was all doing to Kenny Dalglish would become apparent when he resigned as Liverpool Manager in 1991, but at the time he did a remarkable job. He became an unofficial spokesman for the players and was particularly eloquent. This was a man who many thought uncommunicative. This was a man who many thought had no interests outside of football. These myths were shattered. Kenny was dignified throughout and worked tirelessly. I think he realised, for perhaps the first time, how much Liverpool Football Club meant to the ordinary person in the street. This, of course, carried with it certain responsibilities but Kenny was up to the challenge. He proved himself to be a good listener to those who had something to get off their chests.
The entire country was sympathetic and I know bridges were built between the cities of Liverpool, Sheffield and Nottingham. Football would never be the same again. Decaying football grounds were at last considered inadequate and Lord Justice Taylor, whose report on the Hillsborough tragedy did so much to reveal the truth, set a plan that would destroy terracing once and for all. All grounds would, in time, become all-seated, making them safer.
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.
Last edited by Ciggy on Fri Apr 14, 2006 10:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
There is no-one anywhere in the world at any stage who is any bigger or any better than this football club.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
-
Ciggy - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 26826
- Joined: Thu Jul 15, 2004 2:36 pm
by metalhead » Fri Apr 14, 2006 11:11 pm
I read all these articles ,except the first one on the official website! It is a big tragedy and will never be forgotten
R.I.P and YNWA to the 96 fans who died in the 15th of april, 1989
R.I.P and YNWA to the 96 fans who died in the 15th of april, 1989
-
metalhead - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 17474
- Joined: Tue Oct 04, 2005 6:15 pm
- Location: Milan, Italy
by RichardLFC1 » Fri Apr 14, 2006 11:15 pm
very sad shows how dramatic the event was
RIP DRUMMERPHIL
-
RichardLFC1 - LFC Super Member
- Posts: 1466
- Joined: Fri Feb 17, 2006 10:38 pm
- Location: LOndon
by Ciggy » Fri Apr 14, 2006 11:16 pm
And just to let people know it was not always bad between us and everton they stood by us at that time, there was Everton scarfs tied from Goodison to Anfield in a show of togetherness pity it all went wrong 
Liverpool's first game after Hillsbrough v Everton at Goodison:
Liverpool Fans - Park End
Everton & Liverpool together on the Street End
Banner unfurled by Liverpool fans
Shankly gates awash with tributes red and blue
The Chairmen lead out the teams
One minute's silence, impeccably observed by all the players, coaching staff and chairmen, plus 50,000 supporters
A young Everton supporter decks teddy out in Liverpool hat
Message of support from Evertonians
Half time, ball-boys parade flags around the ground to chants of "Merseyside" and "You'll Never Walk Alone"
Ronnie Whelan and Ray Houghton salute the Gwladys Street at full-time
[/quote]
Liverpool's first game after Hillsbrough v Everton at Goodison:
Liverpool Fans - Park End
Everton & Liverpool together on the Street End
Banner unfurled by Liverpool fans
Shankly gates awash with tributes red and blue
The Chairmen lead out the teams
One minute's silence, impeccably observed by all the players, coaching staff and chairmen, plus 50,000 supporters
A young Everton supporter decks teddy out in Liverpool hat
Message of support from Evertonians
Half time, ball-boys parade flags around the ground to chants of "Merseyside" and "You'll Never Walk Alone"
Ronnie Whelan and Ray Houghton salute the Gwladys Street at full-time
[/quote]There is no-one anywhere in the world at any stage who is any bigger or any better than this football club.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
-
Ciggy - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 26826
- Joined: Thu Jul 15, 2004 2:36 pm
by jonnymac1979 » Fri Apr 14, 2006 11:29 pm
Jeez, that Everton fan's one. His brother. He must be devastated. Need to read these posts though.
Still have vivid memories of going to Anfield and seeing the pitch covered in this 'White' glow of scarves, flowers, shirts, shorts, socks, clothing, photos, programmes............... anything really. It was like the whole city showed up that day to Anfield. The queue was enormous to get inside the ground to pay their respects. Even now just thinking of it, it makes you shiver. Terrible atmosphere though, even as a kid you could sense it. I saw a good mate of mine about twenty yards away from me in the queue and we just eyeballed each other, didn't nod our heads or say a word, this wasn't the time.
As I was walking around the perimeter of the pitch, a policewoman had a Liverpool shirt in her hand from about 1983, a pinstriped home shirt. Why she had it I don't know, maybe it had come loose from the rest of the pitch, maybe a relative couldn't face being there and threw it in the general direction of the Kop. I don't know, I'm speculating.
Why she picked me I don't know, I was some 8 year old kid who by the grace of God had not lost anybody close to me, even though many members of my family and friends were there on that day. She handed the shirt to me and told me to place it in the shrine. I was holding my Mums hand and I let go.
I was 8 years old, I still knew what it represented though. Someone had loved this shirt once obviously. It belonged to somebody who loved Liverpool. So I put it down in the collective sea.
Whoever it belonged to, whoever it was meant to represent as a reminder to those who lost you, we'll be thinking of you tomorrow.
96
Still have vivid memories of going to Anfield and seeing the pitch covered in this 'White' glow of scarves, flowers, shirts, shorts, socks, clothing, photos, programmes............... anything really. It was like the whole city showed up that day to Anfield. The queue was enormous to get inside the ground to pay their respects. Even now just thinking of it, it makes you shiver. Terrible atmosphere though, even as a kid you could sense it. I saw a good mate of mine about twenty yards away from me in the queue and we just eyeballed each other, didn't nod our heads or say a word, this wasn't the time.
As I was walking around the perimeter of the pitch, a policewoman had a Liverpool shirt in her hand from about 1983, a pinstriped home shirt. Why she had it I don't know, maybe it had come loose from the rest of the pitch, maybe a relative couldn't face being there and threw it in the general direction of the Kop. I don't know, I'm speculating.
Why she picked me I don't know, I was some 8 year old kid who by the grace of God had not lost anybody close to me, even though many members of my family and friends were there on that day. She handed the shirt to me and told me to place it in the shrine. I was holding my Mums hand and I let go.
I was 8 years old, I still knew what it represented though. Someone had loved this shirt once obviously. It belonged to somebody who loved Liverpool. So I put it down in the collective sea.
Whoever it belonged to, whoever it was meant to represent as a reminder to those who lost you, we'll be thinking of you tomorrow.
96
- jonnymac1979
by Ciggy » Fri Apr 14, 2006 11:32 pm
It makes you shudder to think, that 17 years ago tonight, 96 football fans were going to bed, with their thoughts most likely on a great day out to watch Barnes, Rushie and co hammer Forest and put the Reds on their way to a double, with a cup final to look forward to over the horizon.
That their families waved them away on that morning, quite probably jealous that they were going and they were staying at home. And just the thought of so many people going to a football game and not coming home quite literally sends a chill down my spine. I myself was not at Hillsborough, nor was I old enough to have any real understanding of the events on that fateful day. I did not lose anyone whom I was close to, or had any ties with other than being a Liverpool fan.
I cannot, and should not, be able to claim legitimate grieft, but every year I well up with tears on the 15th April, and I'm sure thousands of Liverpool, well, thousands of football fans, share those very sentiments. Nobody should go to a football match, or indeed any sporting occasion, and lose their lives in the process, nobody. We all pay our money and watch our heroes on a Saturday, or indeed any other day of the week, hundreds of thousands pack to venues every week.
It could've happened to anyone, any single football fan at any single event. In some ways you could be thankful that such events are so rare, yet thankful can never be a term used to describe the feelings of anyone in relation to Hillsborough. I have countless Hillsborough topics, articles and poems saved on my computer, which I frequently share with others, for whom the topic is somewhat less familiar, and all the pieces are eloquently written, and have moved myself and many others to tears, yet nothing anyone can write can truly grasp the feelings those who lost someone must've had.
Today, and every April 15th, all we kopites, and indeed all football fans can do is remember those who are less fortunate than we are, and do anything, and everything in our power, to make sure they are forever in our hearts, and that Liverpool Football Club never forgets them. Justice for the 96, may they rest in peace, and one day, may the families whom they have left behind have their peace also.
The 15th April 1989,
Imbedded in all of our hearts and minds,
It was just another day, and just another tie,
It’s just a game of football, nobody should die.
Up in their thousands fans went to the game,
Forced to pack in together at the Leppings Lane,
Years of excuses from the police, lie after lie,
It was just a game of football, nobody should’ve died.
But that fateful day in our hearts will forever remain,
We can only imagine for some, the hurt and the pain,
It’s been seventeen years yet we still wonder why,
96 people went to the football, nobody should’ve died.
Yet mistakes were made on which no apologies were made,
Loved ones were lost and nobody has paid,
It’s been seventeen years and countless tears has been shed,
For the 96 who went to the football, and ended up dead.
Again tomorrow, at six minutes past three,
Kopites will call silent, that’s how it should be,
For I struggle to come to terms with the fact which underlies,
That a fan should go the football, surely, nobody should die? Written by Circa.
That their families waved them away on that morning, quite probably jealous that they were going and they were staying at home. And just the thought of so many people going to a football game and not coming home quite literally sends a chill down my spine. I myself was not at Hillsborough, nor was I old enough to have any real understanding of the events on that fateful day. I did not lose anyone whom I was close to, or had any ties with other than being a Liverpool fan.
I cannot, and should not, be able to claim legitimate grieft, but every year I well up with tears on the 15th April, and I'm sure thousands of Liverpool, well, thousands of football fans, share those very sentiments. Nobody should go to a football match, or indeed any sporting occasion, and lose their lives in the process, nobody. We all pay our money and watch our heroes on a Saturday, or indeed any other day of the week, hundreds of thousands pack to venues every week.
It could've happened to anyone, any single football fan at any single event. In some ways you could be thankful that such events are so rare, yet thankful can never be a term used to describe the feelings of anyone in relation to Hillsborough. I have countless Hillsborough topics, articles and poems saved on my computer, which I frequently share with others, for whom the topic is somewhat less familiar, and all the pieces are eloquently written, and have moved myself and many others to tears, yet nothing anyone can write can truly grasp the feelings those who lost someone must've had.
Today, and every April 15th, all we kopites, and indeed all football fans can do is remember those who are less fortunate than we are, and do anything, and everything in our power, to make sure they are forever in our hearts, and that Liverpool Football Club never forgets them. Justice for the 96, may they rest in peace, and one day, may the families whom they have left behind have their peace also.
The 15th April 1989,
Imbedded in all of our hearts and minds,
It was just another day, and just another tie,
It’s just a game of football, nobody should die.
Up in their thousands fans went to the game,
Forced to pack in together at the Leppings Lane,
Years of excuses from the police, lie after lie,
It was just a game of football, nobody should’ve died.
But that fateful day in our hearts will forever remain,
We can only imagine for some, the hurt and the pain,
It’s been seventeen years yet we still wonder why,
96 people went to the football, nobody should’ve died.
Yet mistakes were made on which no apologies were made,
Loved ones were lost and nobody has paid,
It’s been seventeen years and countless tears has been shed,
For the 96 who went to the football, and ended up dead.
Again tomorrow, at six minutes past three,
Kopites will call silent, that’s how it should be,
For I struggle to come to terms with the fact which underlies,
That a fan should go the football, surely, nobody should die? Written by Circa.
Last edited by Ciggy on Fri Apr 14, 2006 11:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
There is no-one anywhere in the world at any stage who is any bigger or any better than this football club.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
-
Ciggy - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 26826
- Joined: Thu Jul 15, 2004 2:36 pm
by stmichael » Fri Apr 14, 2006 11:43 pm
I know a guy, a fellow red, who lived in Sheffield at the time of Hillsborough and for many years since he has had some quite strong personal views on the whole event, even though I doubt they reflect the general opinion of Liverpool fans.
He told me tales of how in the weeks that followed Hillsborough he found most Sheffield folk to be decent sympathetic souls many of whom approached him in the street and offered condolenses. But every city has it's minority of idiots and, yes, he did walk out of several city centre bars when someone would start up with "Did you hear the one about the 96 Scousers..?"
A couple of years later his job entitled him to a press pass for both Hillsborough and Bramall Lane. He wasn't sure at first about going to Hillsborough but, to be honest, getting used to going there again helped him in a way. He often used to glance across at the Leppings Lane end with all the horrible memories it brought back and wonder whether it was right that people around him could go on enjoying a game of football. Maybe it's easier for him in that he didn't lose any loved ones himself.
Let me just say that on a personal level, I fully support any Red who says they could never go near the place again. My mate actually boycotted the last game we played there in order to support the HJC Stay away on the 9th May campaign.
I think there is still a lot of ignorance in Sheffield about Hillsborough, but for every moron who refuses to hear the truth there are many many more who offer their support. There will be many down at Hillsborough at 3pm tomorrow I'm sure. I personally just want people to remember what happened in that stadium in Sheffield and not to see it as a Scouse problem.
YNWA
He told me tales of how in the weeks that followed Hillsborough he found most Sheffield folk to be decent sympathetic souls many of whom approached him in the street and offered condolenses. But every city has it's minority of idiots and, yes, he did walk out of several city centre bars when someone would start up with "Did you hear the one about the 96 Scousers..?"
A couple of years later his job entitled him to a press pass for both Hillsborough and Bramall Lane. He wasn't sure at first about going to Hillsborough but, to be honest, getting used to going there again helped him in a way. He often used to glance across at the Leppings Lane end with all the horrible memories it brought back and wonder whether it was right that people around him could go on enjoying a game of football. Maybe it's easier for him in that he didn't lose any loved ones himself.
Let me just say that on a personal level, I fully support any Red who says they could never go near the place again. My mate actually boycotted the last game we played there in order to support the HJC Stay away on the 9th May campaign.
I think there is still a lot of ignorance in Sheffield about Hillsborough, but for every moron who refuses to hear the truth there are many many more who offer their support. There will be many down at Hillsborough at 3pm tomorrow I'm sure. I personally just want people to remember what happened in that stadium in Sheffield and not to see it as a Scouse problem.
YNWA
Last edited by stmichael on Fri Apr 14, 2006 11:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
stmichael - Forum Moderator
- Posts: 22644
- Joined: Tue Feb 10, 2004 3:06 pm
- Location: Middlesbrough
by Ciggy » Fri Apr 14, 2006 11:52 pm
Here's a bit of my story:
I will tell my story again some of you may have read it before some maybe not.
My mum step dad and his two brothers travelled to Sheffield that morning the car drapped in Liverpool scarfs,some buttys a few cans for the journey which my nan had made.
They left the house really early we waved them off beeping the horn, posters and red and white bunting decorating the windows of the house.
I had to stay home and look after my nan who we lived with, this was nothing new because my mum and step dad season ticket holders followed the mighty reds everywhere all over Europe.
I always felt left out being left behind whilst they went everywhere, but I was happy with the presents they brought me back out of guilt for leaving me behind.
They set off around 7 in the morning, a few hours past then just a normal day me and me nan had the TV on Grandstand came on as some images came through what looked like crowd trouble, thinking back to Heysel I turned the TV off and thought oh no not again.
Then the phone rang maybe half an hour later it was my uncle have you heard from your mum?
I said no why he said theres people dying there I went absolutly sick, cold, white I thought my poor old nan what can I say or do shall I tell her?
Put the TV back on and the images where sickly gut wrenching I was just staring looking could I see my mum and step dad and uncles, all I seen was bodies being dragged onto the pitch and people getting dragged up.
Wheres my mum, where is she I was pacing the floor crying shaking, my family came to our house as we waited for news, we where ringing the hotline for names praying to god that my family was in that makeshift morgue.
Them scenes where not real how could this have happened it was meant to be a great day out at a football ground why did it happen and who was responsible for this.
The hours went by the clock ticked no phone calls from my mum to say they where safe we feared the worst I was unconsolable, 11 O'clock they walked in my mum full of bruises and just devastated where she had been dragged up out of the pen, they had gotten separted in the tunnel my mum was in the middle of it with my uncle the others had been pushed upstairs in the separation.
We where screamin with tears down our faces why didnt you ring, we could'nt we could'nt get near a phone the motorways where full the phone ques where miles long they said they thought it best to get home.
They told of the horrors they had witnessed, and the sights they had never seen all my mum kept saying was about this young boy and everything leaving his body, she was howling with but it cant happen unconsolible, but everything just came away from them, everything, she was sobbing these words that where not coming out properly with the tears and the pain in her heart. I didnt know what she meant then as it did not make sense, but I know now.
We stayed up all night just crying and crying and Ive never felt a pain so bad in my heart as I did that day and night, and it brings back so vivid memories everytime I think about it I have tears writting this now.
Visiting Anfield that whole week I have never witnessed anything so painful in all my life, the eerie silence only cries could be heared every day.
The football world came together all the bitter rivalry was put aside, the scarfs from every club fans from every club where there to pay there respects.
There was these Newcastle fans they where just sobbing and sobbing they came back to our house whilst we talked about what had happened they had been on a stag night in Liverpool, and stayed in Liverpool because this had happened whom ever they are thank you for your gratitude.
I was one of the lucky ones, that I got my family back that day but there are 96 families that didnt. I thank god with all my heart for not taking them away from me because my mum is my world and if you would have taken here away from me I would have probably joined her.
Rest in Peace our 96 red family forever in our thoughts and in our Prayers God bless xxxxxxxxxxxxxx. Goodnight Angels I know you's where cheering us on with Bill and Bob and the Champions League Trophey is for all of you's.
I will tell my story again some of you may have read it before some maybe not.
My mum step dad and his two brothers travelled to Sheffield that morning the car drapped in Liverpool scarfs,some buttys a few cans for the journey which my nan had made.
They left the house really early we waved them off beeping the horn, posters and red and white bunting decorating the windows of the house.
I had to stay home and look after my nan who we lived with, this was nothing new because my mum and step dad season ticket holders followed the mighty reds everywhere all over Europe.
I always felt left out being left behind whilst they went everywhere, but I was happy with the presents they brought me back out of guilt for leaving me behind.
They set off around 7 in the morning, a few hours past then just a normal day me and me nan had the TV on Grandstand came on as some images came through what looked like crowd trouble, thinking back to Heysel I turned the TV off and thought oh no not again.
Then the phone rang maybe half an hour later it was my uncle have you heard from your mum?
I said no why he said theres people dying there I went absolutly sick, cold, white I thought my poor old nan what can I say or do shall I tell her?
Put the TV back on and the images where sickly gut wrenching I was just staring looking could I see my mum and step dad and uncles, all I seen was bodies being dragged onto the pitch and people getting dragged up.
Wheres my mum, where is she I was pacing the floor crying shaking, my family came to our house as we waited for news, we where ringing the hotline for names praying to god that my family was in that makeshift morgue.
Them scenes where not real how could this have happened it was meant to be a great day out at a football ground why did it happen and who was responsible for this.
The hours went by the clock ticked no phone calls from my mum to say they where safe we feared the worst I was unconsolable, 11 O'clock they walked in my mum full of bruises and just devastated where she had been dragged up out of the pen, they had gotten separted in the tunnel my mum was in the middle of it with my uncle the others had been pushed upstairs in the separation.
We where screamin with tears down our faces why didnt you ring, we could'nt we could'nt get near a phone the motorways where full the phone ques where miles long they said they thought it best to get home.
They told of the horrors they had witnessed, and the sights they had never seen all my mum kept saying was about this young boy and everything leaving his body, she was howling with but it cant happen unconsolible, but everything just came away from them, everything, she was sobbing these words that where not coming out properly with the tears and the pain in her heart. I didnt know what she meant then as it did not make sense, but I know now.
We stayed up all night just crying and crying and Ive never felt a pain so bad in my heart as I did that day and night, and it brings back so vivid memories everytime I think about it I have tears writting this now.
Visiting Anfield that whole week I have never witnessed anything so painful in all my life, the eerie silence only cries could be heared every day.
The football world came together all the bitter rivalry was put aside, the scarfs from every club fans from every club where there to pay there respects.
There was these Newcastle fans they where just sobbing and sobbing they came back to our house whilst we talked about what had happened they had been on a stag night in Liverpool, and stayed in Liverpool because this had happened whom ever they are thank you for your gratitude.
I was one of the lucky ones, that I got my family back that day but there are 96 families that didnt. I thank god with all my heart for not taking them away from me because my mum is my world and if you would have taken here away from me I would have probably joined her.
Rest in Peace our 96 red family forever in our thoughts and in our Prayers God bless xxxxxxxxxxxxxx. Goodnight Angels I know you's where cheering us on with Bill and Bob and the Champions League Trophey is for all of you's.
There is no-one anywhere in the world at any stage who is any bigger or any better than this football club.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
Kenny Dalglish 1/2/2011
REST IN PEACE PHIL, YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.
-
Ciggy - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 26826
- Joined: Thu Jul 15, 2004 2:36 pm
by Lando_Griffin » Sat Apr 15, 2006 3:43 am
My thoughts are with the families and friends touched by Hillsborough.
To each of the 96 souls who were lost 17 years ago today:
Look down on our team and be proud.
Rest in Peace, my friends.
You shall never be forgotten.
When you walk through a storm,
Hold your head up high,
And don't be afraid of the dark.
At the end of the storm,
There's a golden sky,
And the sweet silver song of a Lark.
Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
'Though your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on.
Walk on.
With hope in your heart,
And you'll never walk alone.
YOU'LL NEVER WALK ALONE.
To each of the 96 souls who were lost 17 years ago today:
Look down on our team and be proud.
Rest in Peace, my friends.
You shall never be forgotten.
When you walk through a storm,
Hold your head up high,
And don't be afraid of the dark.
At the end of the storm,
There's a golden sky,
And the sweet silver song of a Lark.
Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
'Though your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on.
Walk on.
With hope in your heart,
And you'll never walk alone.
YOU'LL NEVER WALK ALONE.
Last edited by Lando_Griffin on Sat Apr 15, 2006 3:44 am, edited 1 time in total.
Rafa Benitez - An unfinished Legend.
-
Lando_Griffin - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 10633
- Joined: Thu Mar 10, 2005 3:19 pm
by madred » Sat Apr 15, 2006 3:48 am
Lynds take a bow girl. Fantastic words. R.I.P the 96. I'll never forget that day. So many bad memories and so much sorrow. A special mention to Roy Hamilton who i knew of and was such a nice guy.
-
madred - >> LFC Elite Member <<
- Posts: 1124
- Joined: Fri Feb 27, 2004 1:22 pm
- Location: Liverpool of course
73 posts
• Page 1 of 5 • 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
-
- Related topics
- Replies
- Views
- Last post
-
- From the blue side - 3rd may 1989 everton programme
by laza » Mon Jul 03, 2006 12:19 pm - 2 Replies
- 1663 Views
- Last post by 2520years
Tue Jul 04, 2006 12:02 pm
- From the blue side - 3rd may 1989 everton programme
-
- We do not forget
by 109-1170291157 » Sun Apr 15, 2007 7:39 am - 2 Replies
- 1723 Views
- Last post by 109-1170291157
Sun Apr 15, 2007 8:00 am
- We do not forget
-
- 3.06pm - We will never forget or forgive
1, 2by Rafa D » Tue Feb 21, 2006 2:38 pm - 20 Replies
- 3754 Views
- Last post by Jedi
Mon Dec 11, 2006 11:23 pm
- 3.06pm - We will never forget or forgive
-
- I dedicate my 96th post to the 96 - R.i.p we will never forget you
by redhayesy » Sun Mar 25, 2007 10:01 pm - 3 Replies
- 1832 Views
- Last post by redhayesy
Tue Mar 27, 2007 9:53 pm
- I dedicate my 96th post to the 96 - R.i.p we will never forget you
-
- Hillsborough
by mottman » Thu Oct 23, 2003 11:55 pm - 1 Replies
- 1715 Views
- Last post by big al
Fri Oct 24, 2003 10:50 am
- Hillsborough
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 3 guests
Powered by phpBB © phpBB Group.