Author Topic: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story  (Read 6582 times)

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Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« on: April 15, 2005, 02:01:39 am »
Hillsborough Justice Campaign: Kav – Leppings Lane Pen 4 Survivor

I agreed with Bill Shankly’s quote about the greatest day of the English season being FA Cup Semi-Final day. At 20 years of age I went to my second consecutive Semi-Final at Hillsborough. Same ground, same opponents and we were to wear red again. I took my lucky scarf. No need for superstition though; it was gonna be the same outcome as last season... a win and the Reds to Wembley again!

Nottingham Forest had a good side but we were better - better than anybody - and after a stuttering season we were right on Arsenal’s case for the League title which had looked lost on New Year’s Day and now we were just one step from the FA Cup Final again. The double-double should have been done the previous season. We’d left it late this season but we could just do the impossible this time and make up for it.

It looked like Everton would get past a decent Norwich side too in the other Semi so there was the prospect of another Scouse Final on the horizon. I actually hoped Norwich would win though coz the stress of derby day is bad enough without the added prize of the FA Cup and the massive bragging rights that would go with creating a bit of football history. The stick the losers would get would be unmerciful. Ian Rush’s equaliser and beating Everton in the 1986 Final goes down as my favourite ever moment and day as a Liverpudlian but I remember the dread of losing while we were a goal down; worse than terrible!

Injuries had cleared up, our form was boss and looked to have come just in time. We again looked like the team that had entertained and wiped the floor with everybody the previous season. My Kop season ticket qualified me for a Leppings Lane terrace ticket; that suited me fine. I liked standing on the Kop and being part of the singing and quickness that had gone on to make us world famous. If I’d had the chance to buy a seat I’d have swerved it and not just because it would have cost a few more quid.

I’m so proud of our city; for all the unjustified stick the media has given us over the years our team has risen above it and achieved true greatness. There are many people in far-off places around the world who know the name of Liverpool because of our team. Despite not yet regaining our previous standards we are still this country’s most successful club - both domestically and in Europe.

I got up smart and went with Bailey who had been my bezzie since school to meet two more of my mates, Jamie, who I knew from work, and his bezzie, Scott. Jamie was happy driving so no need for Barnes’ or Happy Al’s coaches with all their restrictions of pickup points and times etc. We could go at our leisure, stop off when we liked, go for a bevvy and get dropped off at the door back home. Bailey had temporarily stopped going the match after getting himself a bird but I’d got a voucher from somebody who never went to the aways and he was made up at me getting him a ticket. Despite the nerves of the big day we were confident.

The delay in traffic seemed like no big deal. Thousands on the way to the match was gonna slow things up a bit but we’d left in plenty of time. We eventually got to the Horse & Jockey for a bevvy… Happy Days! Like the previous season the pub was chocker with Reds giving it loads with all the songs. A Liver Bird upon my chest…
I’d been up to the league match against Sheffield Wednesday earlier that season but this was a world away from that previous winter’s cold draw. Today we had beautiful sunshine.

For the previous season’s Semi-Final I’d gone with my mates to Hillsborough for the first time. We popped into the first ale house we came across but it was at the Forest end of things. We had a bevvy there, kept a low profile and there were no problems but you can’t beat being with your own – especially our own - so we got off and found this Horse & Jockey which was sound.

There had been no noticeable police presence in the Forest pub in 1988 so it had stuck out to me big time when they were showing up and were almost antagonistic when talking to the Reds’ fans. They were bit like them night-club bully type bouncers in the days before the registration cards; you know, “We’re big and we’ve got this uniform so we’ll look at you and talk to you like you’re something we shouldn’t have trodden in and if you look the wrong way we’ll stop you enjoying your day sunshine.”

I’d told my mum and dad in 1988 about the difference in police attitude between us and Forest not knowing that this same blinkered behaviour would contribute to horrific suffering and loss of life just a year later.

It was easy to be split up coming out of a match and being a stranger in town I made a mental note of the street to which I had to return so I could at least ask my way for directions back to the car if I got lost; no mobile phones in those days to contact your mates with. Jamie parked up in Don Avenue; it was a little way from the ground but not too far to walk and off we went.

There was a great atmosphere and no hassle at the Horse & Jockey, the singing was as loud and proud as you’d expect. There could surely be no other team in the world like ours. I’m so lucky to have been born in Liverpool and so lucky to have been born Red! We did an hour or so in the pub where there was no sign of the mass drunkeness that was spitefully lied about to the media to make excuses for the failure of crowd control. For those who have lied about and attempted to slur the name of victims who they never even knew to cover their own backs I have nothing but contempt. It would take a big man to stand up and be counted and nationally put the record straight by publicly retracting the lies that have caused so much hurt. All I can say is that we all have to answer to our maker one day.

I’m not sure why but we left for the ground just a little earlier than we might have expected (I think by the time we’d got another bevvy we’d have been pushing it to get into the specs we wanted). I wanted the boss spec right in the middle behind the goal. I always stood in the middle of the Kop where all the singing started, so at away grounds I’d be looking for the same type of spec. The atmosphere at a Semi-Final was always brilliant wherever you were in the ground but I still wanted that spec so we strolled up and without queuing for long went in through Gate C.

On the walk down to the ground the four of us had agreed to meet up at a bookies we’d passed if we got split up after the match. I did notice that unlike the previous season there were no police stops on the way to the ground with a check for tickets etc but thought nothing of it.

I got searched as you usually were on the way in. Me and Bailey went straight ahead and through the tunnel directly behind the goal after buying a program. It was the obvious route to take; the clearly marked entrance that greeted you as you entered the stadium through the turnstiles - there were no conspicuous signs directing you to go through anywhere else. Jamie and Scott didn’t follow us. They didn’t usually go right in the middle of the Kop and decided to go out of their way and walk around to the side - I’m glad they did; it was chocker in there last time they said.

I noticed from the clock on the Stand to my right that it was 2:15pm. Like I said this was a little early for me. I always tended to go in the Kop at about 2:30pm coz any later and by then the crowd congestion would make it almost impossible to get into my spec in the middle. The crowd built up steadily like any other match. The singing was building up. Everything seemed fine. We’re on the march with Kenny’s Army…

When you’re in a large crowd you can’t see what might be happening just yards away from you. A big open terrace like the Kop allowed you to roam wherever you liked once you’d entered it. This Leppings Lane end was a smaller terrace, split into pens with fences that were specifically designed to keep supporters in a particular area. Many or most fans wouldn’t have realised that the area directly behind the goal here was split down the middle into two Pens and with radial fences also preventing access to the sides of the terrace, either side of the these two central pens. Bailey didn’t know this until seeing the media coverage after the disaster and it was only later that I learnt that the area that we’d been in was called Pen 4. The perimeter fence down the front was to keep fans off the pitch. Being a young lad and with grounds having looked like this since well before I was going, the wariness I’d obviously have about this set up today wasn’t there. In fairness a paying customer at any entertainment event should be able to take their safety for granted.

We were leaning backwards onto a crush barrier, like we would in the Kop. We were well used to riding the waves of the crowd surges. It’s the reverse of what happens at grounds now. These days when somebody gets excited and stands up it forces everybody behind to do the same in ripple effect if they wanna see the action. Back in those days somebody would strain forward to see the action causing a domino effect that would stop at the crush barriers. It could hurt going up against these barriers with the force of the crowd behind so I always got my back to the barriers and with plenty of people in front of me whenever I could. Being young, fit and only a little fella I could wriggle my way around the terraces.

Timings become blurred from now on as I describe what happened next. From memory I think from the police videos I later saw, that I left the pitch some time around 3:45pm.

The crowd pressure was ever increasing and the lads on the crush barrier behind me were really struggling. This was as bad as I’d ever experienced and was getting worse. It didn’t feel like a surge, more like steadily increasing overcrowding. I’d been to loads of matches when the crowd pressure had been uncomfortable and where at times you had no control over your own movement. There had been many occasions when people had fainted or were just so overwhelmed that they were pushed upwards over the heads of the crowd, then ferried down by outstretched hands to the front of the Kop for the St John’s ambulance gang to look after them – though I’d never been in that state myself.

A man immediately behind one of my shoulders who looked about 30ish to me with slightly long mousy hair and a dark blue shirt was asking us to help push him back under the strain. He was trying to get under the crush barrier... “Come on lads, help us here, push me back”. We tried to lean backwards towards him while he pushed at our backs but our movements were restricted and he couldn’t make any progress against the crowd behind him anyway. He asked us to kick the soles of his shoes – so he could maybe spring over the barrier - but it was no use, he wasn’t going anywhere.

A man immediately behind my other shoulder, again 30 something and maybe with a moustache, was in pain and couldn’t even try to help himself any more. He was wearing a wind cheater style jacket (I seem to remember white, yellow and grey markings on it). He was just pleading, “Please… please… please…”

Maybe six feet in front of me a fella said “Come on lads, let’s get this young girl out” and people tried to help. She looked maybe 12 years old or so, with dark hair. I can’t say I know what happened to her.

The singing had well stopped around me by now, with everybody here struggling. There were cries for help, cries of pain and cries to the police just a matter of yards in front of me to open the gates at the perimeter fence. The police were ignoring the requests and as I caught the eyes of one myself I made a point of shouting at him to open the gates. He just looked at me, pointed behind me and mouthed at me to get back, which of course was totally impossible. It appeared as though a gate down at the front had sprung open under the pressure but it looked to me as though the police were pushing the crowd back in.

I could tell from the crowd noise around the ground that the teams had come out and I remember thinking “Oh no, they’re gonna kick-off”. The problems behind the goal needed to be sorted out first! I couldn’t actually see which way we were kicking as my head had been pushed forward and I was facing downwards for a time. I missed the match kick-off and all of the action which by this time wasn’t a priority for me, though I knew which way we would be kicking as both teams would want to finish the match attacking the goal which their own supporters were behind.

I had no idea that Peter Beardsley had hit the crossbar until I read it in the Echo some days later. I have heard that he was worried this action had caused a further surge in the crowd but all I can say is that from where I was, things were obviously beyond that by then and to my knowledge it had neither hindered nor helped matters.

When I found out about Beardsley’s shot it really struck me and stopped me in my tracks; I’d never even thought about what had happened during the 6 minutes of play. It hit me again years later when I found out that Forest had had two corners down our end; obviously I’d never known about that either. Just think about it, I’d travelled a long way in such anticipation to see this action - that had happened right in front of me - and I’d missed it; I’d been totally unaware and even if I could have seen it, I’d lost all interest by then anyway!

In my struggling I then noticed somebody go to Bruce Grobbelaar and remonstrate with him but there still seemed to be no help coming to us. I knew I was really in trouble, in great danger, and remember thinking “I hope my mum hasn’t heard about this” because she’d only have worried. I knew my dad would be listening to the match commentary back home on the radio.

Despite the pleading with the police to open the gates nothing was being done and I knew that I was on my own here if I wanted out… and I knew that I had to get out.
How on Earth could what was happening to us behind that goal have been missed, or even worse… ignored?

I wasn’t struggling to breathe and I remember thinking “Oh God please get me out” but I stayed very calm and focussed on getting through this. I hadn’t noticed that the match had been stopped. Me and Bailey saw a couple of lads going past us over the heads down to the gate at the front. We agreed that this was the only way out but we were too restricted to make any progress. I had the use of my hands above my shoulders but a lot a people didn’t. I always had my arms up this way at the match to help me move about. My dad had always told me to know where the exit to any place was, always know the way out of any trouble, and this is in my nature anyway.

I don’t know how but Bailey got himself half way up over everybody’s heads, so then I lent my hand and helped his foot and suddenly he’d made it onto the top of the crowd. I shouted, “Get me out!” but he had no chance of helping me. He crawled over the top of the crowd to the gate down at the front. I saw him escape which was a relief. I shouted after him “Just get out Bailey, get out!”

I don’t know how much longer went by and believe that when you really need it you can sometimes find extra strength. Add that to a bit of luck that tragically a lot of other people didn’t get, and I managed to wriggle upwards, half way above the crowd. Some fella who was stuck there himself stretched out his hand “Here y’are mate!”. He helped my foot so I could drag myself upwards onto the top of the crowd. I crawled towards the gate down at the front, which was maybe approximately 20 feet or so in front of me, so it came up very fast. As I got to the gate I heard somebody shout to me, “There’s people dying here!” - I already knew.

I grabbed the top of the frame at the opened gate and was about to escape when a policeman aggressively grabbed hold of me with both hands at my chest stopping me. He shouted at me, pushing me back and I quote: “You fucking twat!” as he stopped my progress. He wasn’t gonna let me out but there was no way I was going back in there. Despite knowing that you don’t go against bizzies if you wanna stay clear of trouble for yourself, I knew this was very different and I tried to force my way past him from my vulnerable position. It worked and as I tried to get through he dragged me and then threw me, out and down onto the shingle track around the pitch.

I stood up and was on the grass right behind the goal. It was the first time I’d ever been onto the pitch at a match. I saw a young lady crouched down at the goal netting crying and went over to comfort her. “You wanted to get onto the pitch after the game anyway didn’t you?” I said and she smiled. She wasn’t physically injured.

There were people lying on the floor with others over them trying to revive them with mouth-to-mouth being given by those who knew how to do it. Some people had been sick. I saw one man whose trousers had been soiled.

I knelt down on the pitch myself and started to cry but stopped quickly and got myself 
together. I got grass stains on the knees of my jeans and so knew that the pitch must have been watered that morning. I started to look around for Bailey but was surprised that I couldn’t find him. Despite knowing loads of people who had gone to the match that day the only person I saw on the pitch who I knew was Phil from work. “Are you alright mate?” I asked and he was OK.

The Forest fans were singing “There will be no Scouse in Europe” a reference to the fact that while the UEFA ban following Heysel was soon to be over for English clubs, we were still to serve a longer ban. I shouted “Fuck Off!” at them but looking back they mustn’t have realised what was happening down our end.

I noticed that some fans were carrying the injured on advertising boards to the other end of the pitch clear from the chaos behind our goal and presumably to where they would receive medical treatment. I asked one fella to do the same with somebody who was out of it but he said, “Let’s get him breathing first.”

I walked over to the side of the pitch and ripped up an advertising board myself, getting a small cut on the fingers of my right hand. The only other physical injury I got that day – which I didn’t yet know - was a bruise on my back in the shape of a hand, you could clearly see the finger and thumb marks. This wasn’t from being struck but was evidence of the pressure in the Pen.

I walked over to one man lying on the floor who was not conscious. I’m sure he was dead - in fact I know it in my heart - but you hear of people getting revived when all seems lost. A couple of young men were standing with me, including one policeman without his helmet on. For a second or so that lasted for ages we hesitated and so I dragged this poor Reds fan onto the board myself thinking “Come on mate, you can make it”. He wasn’t tall and seemed maybe just a little older than me, with dark hair. His mouth was open and his eyes were closed over. As I dragged him his trousers came down to just over his knees showing his underpants but this didn’t matter. The young constable collected his helmet from the floor at this point and went off, leaving us to it. I got the impression he was relieved that somebody had taken over from him. He might have been going to assist somewhere else, I don’t know; I just didn’t get that impression. We carried the Reds fan as quickly as we could to the other end of the pitch, into the left corner with the others and left him for the attention of the St John’s volunteers. If I’d known how to do mouth-to-mouth I’d have done it.

There were exceptions but in the main, the people who carried the injured were those who had escaped the crush themselves. The police had obviously not been given instructions to deal with the disaster that had unfolded and I didn’t see much evidence of them acting on initiative. Like I say I know there were exceptions and I do not want to do a disservice to those police who did act to save lives. I’m just pointing out that on the whole and taken collectively, they had been blind to what was happening and when they did realise, they froze. What help they did finally provide was largely too little, too late.

After doing my bit with the advertising boards the police had formed a line across the pitch to keep us apart from the Forest fans - they were still this blind! I walked over to one policeman who was an officer, not a constable. I asked him if there was anything he wanted me to do to help. He replied no and that they were looking after everything now thanks. I left the pitch using the players’ tunnel walking past Gerald Sinstadt from the BBC. I went past the away team dressing room to my left and saw Des Walker and Lee Chapman who both looked at me and seemed uneasy doing so. I saw a payphone and took the opportunity to call my parents to let them know I was OK but didn’t have any change. Another Reds fan behind me gave me a £1 coin with no problem… thanks mate.

I spoke to my mum and told her I was fine and asked her to call Bailey’s parents. We had been split up but I deffo saw him escape. He had survived unhurt. A steward then said no more people could use the phone! Why? What harm were we doing? Coz we were only fans we weren’t good enough to be where we were, in the stadium using the phone – even during this hell! Some Reds fan then shouted at this steward that he knew his brother was behind the goal in all that! Why shouldn’t he use the phone? I don’t know what happened next as I left the stadium through some door by where I was.

I walked around the ground back towards Leppings Lane. Some fella stopped me saying I shouldn’t pass this way as it would be too upsetting to see what was there. I told him I’d be OK but he insisted in the nicest possible way and so I left it and took a detour. While I knew what he had meant I had already seen everything and it couldn’t be any worse. I appreciated the gesture though.

My scarf had somehow stayed on throughout all of this but I took it off now and hurled it away. For the first time I heard a noise coming over the tannoy at the stadium but couldn’t make out what was being said. From where I was walking I could see down into the stadium through the gap between the West and South Stands. I saw an ambulance on the pitch by our goal. The game surely wasn’t going to restart was it? I wasn’t having this, there was no way I was gonna watch it if it did restart. No… I knew it couldn’t… and I just kept heading for the bookies to meet my mates.

I met Bally there who I knew from Sunday League training and he had his foot in plaster. “Alright Col, you do that here?” … “No lad, I came here with this”. We were both waiting for the people we’d come with. I waited for what seemed like ages and assumed the lads had gone back to the car so I walked back there. As I turned into Don Avenue I saw Jamie’s car but none of the lads so I knew I’d be doing some more waiting.

The weather was still beautiful but I was stood in the shade by the car and so had a cold shiver. I had no jacket, only my away shirt on. I could have waited on the other side of the street out of the shade but I didn’t want the lads to see the car but not me, even if only for a second or so. A group of Reds were meeting across the street at a minibus and just waiting for the rest of their group. They had the commentary of Everton’s match on out of force of habit I suppose but nobody was interested.

A fella came out from the house I was outside of and asked if I was OK. I told him I was. I told him that I knew we’d get the blame in the media over this but he mustn’t believe that - it was not our fault. He said he knew, he’d spoken to his brother who was a steward at the match who said we weren’t to blame and it was the fault of the police. He asked me did I want a cup of tea but I didn’t. He asked did I wanna use his phone and insisted that he wouldn’t take any money from me (this was typical of the compassion shown by many Sheffield people that day). I took the opportunity to call Bailey’s parents personally.

I went back outside and waited for my mates. Everton had won by now. My three mates came around the corner together and rushed to me and hugged me. They had worried that they’d never see me alive again.

We drove home subdued, listening to the news on the radio. Jamie and Scott hadn’t been in the crush. Bailey had moved to the side of the pitch when he’d escaped. I told him that I’d contacted his mum and dad. He hadn’t heard me shouting after him to just get out. To avoid getting involved with Skem’s notorious roundabouts I told Jamie to drop us at the Derby Arms so he could get back home a little more easily. Some fella commented to me and Bailey, “Bad up there eh lads?”… “Yeah mate, terrible.”  We walked back towards ours and met Linda and Audrey on the way outside Audrey’s. They were worrying and waiting for their husbands Dave and Geoff - long time mates and neighbours.

Audrey had been called and told that Geoff was alright but they hadn’t yet heard about Dave. I tried to make them feel better, telling them there were delays coming back and that we’d heard that the demand for the phone lines had brought them down. I left them and as we walked around the corner I commented to Bailey that I didn’t like the sound of this. Dave and Geoff would have been together and so why would they know about one and not the other? I had managed to get through by phone maybe coz our code was 0695 not 051. I felt that anybody who survived would be well on the way home, if not already there by now, or in hospital where they would surely make contact with next of kin etc.

I walked the short way remaining to ours and my mum just hugged me and cried. It is only since I have become a dad myself that I can fully understand how my mum and dad must have felt. They said that if they had known what I was going to go through, they don’t think they could have brought me into this world.

My mate Terry had heard and came to wait for me worrying. He told my mum he’d take me out tonight. Bailey said he was OK and he didn’t need a lift home from my dad. I’d forgotten that my dad had taken him home anyway.

My mate Andy had ran over to ours after getting back from Villa Park with his dad and was relieved when my mum had told him I’d called and I was OK. They hadn’t celebrated the Blues’ victory on the way home after hearing the news.

Terry left and came back later and took me out for a drink. I suppose I needed it. We went the Toby and I was glad to see Derek in there with his scarf around his neck – he looked to be in a daze. Back then I used to go to the Oakfield before and after the match with Derek and his mates and his two young sons; one of them, Leon, now plays for Everton.

Terry drove us to Southport. On the way I told him I feared the worst for Dave. I can’t remember much else about the evening but I’m sure I wasn’t a barrel of laughs. When I got home I cried myself to sleep.

My mum woke me up in the morning to tell me Dave had died. He had lived in our street at the back of ours. A well thought of family man who’d followed the Reds for years. He’d left two young children. I had bought Dave’s ticket for Hillsborough as it was easy for me to pick his up with mine in my dinner hour from Royal Insurance in Old Hall Street. When I knocked to give it to him he was out and I’d left it with Linda. The last conversation I’d had with him was the day before I got the ticket. Our season ticket vouchers gave us a few days where we would be guaranteed to be able to buy a ticket. He phoned me up, “Where’s me ticket la?” in his jovial style. “Don’t worry mate I’m getting it tomorrow.” I remember in 1985 he couldn’t make the Newcastle match and came around to give me his ticket from his Kop season ticket book (in the season before I managed to get my own first season ticket). It was typical of him not wanting any money from me… “I’m just glad it’s going to good use lad” he said. Dave and Geoff had taken me with them to Wembley too, introducing me to their mates and their in-joke word “rancid”.

My mum confirmed that Geoff had survived. He’d just recently moved to his new house after leaving our street. Young fans always look up to the guys who’ve been there and done it before them. Geoff, like Dave, had been a sound source of vouchers for away matches for my mates… “I remember doing all that son.”  Geoff didn’t go to the aways like he used to being a family man. I enjoyed talking to him about the Reds; he knew what he was talking about and was no less passionate me.

My dad went to work on the Sunday but came home early. The phone was constantly ringing with friends of our family asking after me. I walked up to the shop in tears to get sympathy cards for Linda and the kids. Everybody was affected. Everybody knew somebody who had been to the match. This disaster had struck at the very heart of our community. Scousers are well known for their passion for football. You could taste the sorrow in the air - it was horrendous! Radio City for days was playing only slow music. They later got an award of some kind for their sensitivity.

I went to mass on the Sunday for the first time in a good while. I was told two lads from our old school were in hospital in Sheffield. Little Robbie (whose sister had been in my class) had been in real trouble but he pulled through and Steve (from the year above me and to this day a team mate at footy) while really hurt would be OK.

I went the Toby again with my mates on the Sunday night, some of whom had been to the match and were in the crush. Carl and BombHead were as relieved as I was to find out each other had survived. Carl confirmed that the other lads we went to the Oakfield with were OK. BombHead had a photo of himself from a Sunday paper helping to pull people up into the Stand above the terrace – he’d survived himself that way.

It was in the Toby that it was confirmed to me Sef had died. I broke down. Again, in public. Young men don’t do that do they? We hadn’t been best mates or anything but I knew who he was from school days. He’d gone with Steve, Robbie, Tony and Jason who had all thankfully survived. Jason wrote a beautiful poem about the five of them on that day which I will always keep.

I managed to go to work on the Monday where people kept coming up to me, relieved I’d survived. I had to comfort Colin in the toilets who had broken down crying. He was younger than me. My mate Nick had survived. I went to dinner and my mate told me to go home - I couldn’t eat anything. My manager was horrified by what I told him when he asked me what had happened. I lasted until about 3pm and couldn’t take any more and went home taking the rest of the week off.

I went to see Linda who had the family around. When she came to the door I couldn’t speak at all and broke down crying (this is the first time I’ve had tears in my eyes writing this account). The two kids, Paul and Kate, looked at me with beautiful smiles and Linda hugged me. “Oh you’re a good lad,” she said as I sobbed. I cried all the way back home. Linda has always shown great dignity in the days since. She let me put my LFC hat on Dave’s grave with a few words on it for him.

My mum and dad felt guilty going to see Linda - they had me back and she didn’t have Dave. Seeing the kids out occasionally in the pub these days is nice but it makes me feel my age. Paul goes the match; he’s got a season ticket.

I went to see my doctor on the advice of my parents.

Me and my mum and dad went to Anfield to pay our tributes like the many thousands who had placed flowers and footy memorabilia. When we got there the hushed queue to get in was a mile long - and I mean at least a mile long - so I placed a scarf and old Reds shirt on a wall at a house on Anfield Road like many others had already done. My mum broke down crying and so a steward came up to us, “Did you lose anybody love?” My mum put her arm around me “We nearly lost him”. The steward asked us to follow him and let us through a gate at the ground and then onto the pitch where I showed my mum and dad around the place, stepping around the carpet of flowers which made the air smell sweet. I showed them my spec and my dad pointed to where he’d had a season ticket.

Dave’s and Sef’s funerals were hard work. The Friday and Monday respectively if memory serves me right. Alan Hansen and Ronnie Whelan came to Dave’s and Everton’s Ian Snodin came too. Terry McDermott and Phil Thompson were at Sef’s and Tottenham Hotspur’s Gary Mabbutt came too; he was Sef’s favourite player.

The news had only one main story for days. It was ages before anything else was the headline story. All flags everywhere were at half-mast. I went back to work and held everything together but then it all hit me. I felt like I’d been smashed into a thousand pieces. My head was battered; I couldn’t concentrate. I had loads of time off work and wasn’t much use when I was in. Two lads from our place (who I never knew) had been killed. I was in such a rage and punched a few walls. My mum took some shouting at from me when I was wound-up – which was pretty much all the time. Sometimes when playing footy the shouts of the players reminded me of the shouting from the Pen and I’d walk off.

I took counselling partly for the sake of it but in hindsight I definitely did the right thing. I was really struggling to cope. Going to the Hillsborough Centre that had been set up in Anfield Road for all those who had been affected at least made me realise that my trauma was understandable (or to be expected) and was not a sign of weakness. Linda who worked there formed a great relationship with me, coming to see me at home too - it was my fault when we lost touch.

After the lies in the media I decided like many others to make a legal complaint against the police. Money had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t going to let them get away with a whitewash. I knew the truth and wanted to make sure it came out - nothing had more importance. I’ve never wanted anybody in jail for all this; it wouldn’t bring anybody back. I just want the world to know what happened, why it did and the blame officially placed squarely where it should be… and I don’t think anybody should have been allowed to retire to avoid facing the consequences of what they have been responsible for. I also want those who lied to be shown up for what they are. I don’t think I’ll ever have the strength to forgive them.

Like John Aldridge I didn’t want us to play on but we were outvoted and got on with it. I went to the remaining home league matches but stood away from my usual spec where it would be less congested, the Goodison derby close to my favourite spec there in the middle of Gwladys Street, and the replayed Semi and the Final. I cried at the replayed Semi when we sang “We’re on the march with Kenny’s army”. In the first match back at Anfield (against Forest of all teams) I left when we were awarded a late penalty - I couldn’t cheer with everybody else. A woman outside the ground comforted me as I cried walking to Kirkdale station and I heard the crowd roar from the obvious late winner we’d got.

I went the following season for a few matches on autopilot but cried at “You’ll Never Walk Alone” and quit. I sold a three quarters season ticket for buttons to a lad in work - £20 I think. I never thought I’d go back. It was overwhelming to support the Reds by now. It was too intense. I know exactly why Kenny Dalglish quit; probably our greatest ever player and a very successful manager. That would be enough reason for the esteem in which he’s held but it is the way he led us after the disaster that I love him. He’s the only player I’d go across the street for to shake hands with.

Old Bob from by ours had a boss spec as a shareholder in the row behind the directors’ box where you could even rest your arms. He was a true gentleman and gave me tickets for two of the last matches of the 1989/90 season as the tickets were spare and that got me back into it. I wonder if they were really spare or if he had spoken to my mum and dad in the Tawd Vale about helping me around? Thanks Bob RIP. I renewed my season ticket for 1990/1 after my dad had spoken to somebody at the ticket office and I was back. I’m a fanatic again although it could never be the same.

For the enquiry I made a statement to West Midlands police who were investigating. They got back to me, naming the policeman who had been abusive to me as Sgt Swift and asked did I want to make a formal complaint against him. I declined. I only talked about him coz they had asked me to tell them everything. They brought videos in and met me in work. This policeman hadn’t turned up that day to deliberately hurt me or anybody else. He was wrong but had been presented with a terrible situation and a lot of horror himself. WM police told me they’d had stories of him from fans commending him for saving their lives (obviously after me then) and so credit must be placed with him where it is due.

In 1991 I went to RAF Wroughton, Swindon to meet Sqd Ldr Dr Gordon Turnbull, a nice man who assessed me psychologically. He spoke to many survivors and said that we’d all sounded similar to the Gulf War veterans he’d debriefed; when he first interviewed me in Liverpool in 1990 he had diagnosed me as having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder to a moderately severe extent.

For a long time if I went out on the ale I’d return home crying. I’ve never had flashbacks of specific events haunting me; it was the taste of the sorrow and the horror and the impact on all of us that bothered me and the injustice of the subsequent legal processes. I’ve always had that special relationship that mums and sons have and I know that the son she had who left that morning for the match never came home. I feel that worst for her. It bothered her that she hadn’t been there to say goodbye to me that fateful morning.

You expect the truth. You’re brought up to think British is best and when you find out it isn’t it hurts and you feel betrayed. You don’t expect those in power to be anything other than fair and not to have an agenda - coz that’s their job - but they do. I’m sure that around the country most people would correctly say when asked that failure of police control was the overwhelming cause of the disaster. However there are some out there who don’t know the truth and the ticketless and drunken fans lies that were fed by the Scum suits them perfectly. How could they do this to us? Why? I can’t go back as far as the blitz in Word War II but this is certainly our generation’s darkest hour. This is why an unreserved apology – and not the half lecture we recently got about moving on – is so important. They should put out banner headlines, make it the first item on the national 6 o’clock news and say it was lies, telling everybody who ever believed any of this shite should wise up – period. They should make it plain that it was lies. That’s lies, not a mistake… but lies! Only then would we even have anything to talk about you godless bastards.

This is a story to outsiders, like any story we hear from around the world, but it will never be just a story to us. As much as we all wish it had never happened it is part of us, we live with it. God knows, if I could ever change just one thing, stopping it from ever having happened, then this would be it. If the Echo goes on for another 125 years they will still talk about Hillsborough being a defining moment in our history.

I’m an optimist by nature but I can honestly say that from that day the sun had never truly shone again in my life. I cannot say this now as a father but I’d have swapped myself that day in exchange for everything that happened. I’ve smiled and laughed with the best of them in the days since but it took a long time. I can now look back at the events and have them in their rightful place; really important and never to be forgotten. I have and never will miss the annual memorial service. It’s important to deal with whatever happens to you coz otherwise the bitterness eats away and you lose even more.

There were long periods in the early years where the world has seemed too much of a let-down to be bothered with and there was no light at the end of this long, dark tunnel but the love of so many good people around me has helped. I’m a lucky man who has had the pleasure to know so many nice people. I have never walked alone. I have never felt guilty about surviving. It was a comfort to know that there were so many people who knew exactly how I felt. I must have been given plenty of slack as people would know why I was off-track. Our people rallied around each other so well.

I’ve visited many places following the team and met many people who you could  warm your hands on (my favourite other place to be is in Glasgow). “Ain’t life great lads… all you need is the green grass and a ball” is my favourite Shanks’ quote. I have never been in a goal celebration better than after Michael Owen’s winner against Arsenal in the 2001 FA Cup Final - my 2nd favourite goal after Rushy’s.

It is well documented about LFC protesting at us getting less tickets than Forest for a match even though our average gate was approaching twice the size of theirs. Much too is known about the lies in the media. We, as fans, were victims of failure of the authorities to do their jobs properly - that was the first disaster. The second was the cover-up; Trevor Hicks of the Hillsborough Family Support Group was spot-on about that. It is important to learn from history. When that history is distorted it’s wrong, and I don’t mean just for the hurt it causes. If our fans had been at fault then I’d say so and want us never to make the same mistakes again for everybody’s sake.

I’ve never written anything like this before. There have been better writers than me to put their account forward and people who lost more than I did. However Peter Carney of the Hillsborough Justice Campaign helped me to see that every little bit of the truth is important and so here is my eyewitness account without agenda… well except for the truth. If one day this helps just one person understand what happened better then it’s been worthwhile.

My 6-years-old son James doesn’t know it yet but he has been the final push for me to write this. I’ve been taking him to the home matches for the past year now and he loves it… the 5th generation of our family to support our team from the Kop. One day he’ll ask questions about all this and it will be so important that he knows the truth (I hope without ever knowing such horror).

I understand now what Geoff said all that time ago about it being easier for him than me. Even though he lost Dave in the most horrific of ways and had had to identify him, he had his kids to take him forward.

James has made the sun shine again in a way that I just can’t describe.
I’m as rich as any man ever could be. Becky is a most beautiful princess.

RIP the 96 and those I heard about who have taken their own lives over all this. Justice for all of those who have been affected by Hillsborough, too many to name.

You’ll Never Walk Alone

© Damian Kavanagh 2005         

To find out more about the disaster and the campaign for justice visit the Hillsborough Justice Campaign's website:

http://www.contrast.org/hillsborough
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Offline Red Squiggle

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #1 on: April 15, 2005, 02:57:13 am »
I don't feel quite right being the first poster up here after one of the most emotional things i've ever read. I was full on crying whilst reading that account. I was 6 years old when Hillsborough happened and was down in a holiday cottage in Wales during my Easter holidays. My dad knew his brother Peter had gone to the game and yet because of the remoteness of where we were staying and before the advent of BBC News 24 and Mobile Phones and suchlike we'd heard nothing but rumours about what had gone on. It was after ten o clock when we got the phone call to say he was safe but I had to, confused, watch the Ten O Clock news and had no idea what was going on. All I could see was the look of relief on my mum and dad's faces when they heard Uncle Pete was ok.

I always take the time to pop into the HJC shop when around Anfield and chip in a few quid. I wear an HJC badge next to the Liverbird on my coat at all times and I wear my red wristband with pride, happily taking questions as to the nature of me wearing it. But I never really imagined how horrifying that day must have been, and to be quite honest I am grateful for that. Having read that eye witness account though I am starting to get a feeling of just how lucky I am to still have my uncle with me today.

YNWA

I'm so sorry for anyone who lost loved ones at Hillsborough or any other football game, no-one should have to risk their lives watching the sport that so consumes their life. 

Offline aussiepool

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #2 on: April 15, 2005, 06:01:28 am »
I too feel very uneasy about being one of the first to comment on such a moving post.

I started reading forums and websites only this year and happened upon RAWK.
I am a life long fan, all be it from the other side of the world. I was pleasantly surprised at the positive posting here as the other forums all seemed more intent on shouting each other down. RAWK seemed different. I think more than anything else the people seemed like real supporters.

I don't understand a lot of what you would take for granted as general knowledge. Hillsborough was reported in Australia but was soon replaced in the newspapers by local stories.

I read the post and found that it I was so moved that I had a lump in my throat and misty eyes. I would never, ever claim to fully understand but I would like to say that I am truly moved and greatly appreciate your decision to write your experiences down.

I have actually written and deleted this reply a couple of times because every time I read it, it doesn't  seem worthy to follow something like the above. I hope that without sounding like an idiot I can convey to you how much I appreciate you taking the time to post it.

You say its a story to outsiders and that is right, but without reading stories such as yours we remain outsiders and will never really hear the truth. We will probably never be insiders but I hope we can learn and understand a little.

I have never been to Anfield, I have never heard the Kop sing live at any ground, I have never seen the football team I love the most kick a ball.  But I share a love of an ideal that is Liverpool FC and its unmatched supporters.

Offline ewok-red

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #3 on: April 15, 2005, 08:58:14 am »
Well done for a fantatstic post. i can imagine that it was difficult to write. as ever can't think of much to say without it sounding trite.  suffice to say my thoughts are with you and your family today. as they are with all those affected.
You post is another poignant reminder why the struggle for justice must continue.
All the best.
"the music isn't here to save the world, its there to save your life"  - skip jones, in 'stories we could tell' tony parsons, harper collins / qpd

Offline FiSh77

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #4 on: April 15, 2005, 09:32:38 am »
very moving post, had me in tears

i was in pen 3 and the memories of what happened that day are still fresh in my mind, i managed to get out unharmed somehow by climbing and then being pulled up into the stand above the terrace, i've no idea who the 2 lads were who helped pull me up and i've never had chance to thank them personally, i'm not going to say anything else about what happened that day as Damian's story sums everything up for me

i was lucky in that i never knew anybody who died and i can't imagine the grief that their famlies felt at the time and still do to this day, i don't think there's many days when i don't think about it, but on April 15th every year my thoughts are with those who lost loved ones

RIP 96 You'll Never Walk Alone

Offline Swoop

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #5 on: April 15, 2005, 12:11:34 pm »
On this day of all days, that was very difficult to read.

I will not be at the service today, I have been to several in the past but to be honest I can’t stand it.  I nearly lot my temper last time as two women there were more interested in taking photos of the players than what the whole ceremony is about.  I never went to a counsellor after that day, I didn’t think I deserved or needed counselling as I was not injured and me and mine all came home, thanks in part to good luck.

I was in the Army at the time so it was easy to escape the immediate aftermath, I got myself on an eight-week course that started about six days after and didn’t have time to think about it.  I know now that was not a smart move.  I buried myself in my job for the next five years and it cost me a lot, my marriage and a large part of my soul.  Still to this day I cannot truly trust myself to feel things to intensely.  I have pushed away every girl that comes close to knowing me; I can’t risk letting someone get too close, as I know the dam is close to breaking and I’m not sure I can come out the other side intact.    The only place it feels safe for me let it out is in a crowd, at the match where the euphoria after a goal is a shared experience and I don’t have to deal with it on my own.

I found RAWK and its good people last year and it has helped me, partly due to being largely anonymous, to actually face up to myself and to start to deal with stuff I have kept hidden deep within.  I hope in time to build up the courage to actually sit down and talk to someone and let it all out.  For now I will let little bits seep out onto the boards and slowly but surely come out of the shadows. 

Its 12.02 and the familiar tightening of the throat, headache and tearful sorrow build in me as it does most years, I am in work but know I won’t last the day, I will make my excuses around 2 and go for a very long walk.

My thoughts are with all those that are still in pain; those who lost loved ones and those that survived.


RIP
Its a dogs life for me

Offline ozzydog

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #6 on: April 15, 2005, 12:49:27 pm »
I bought my boys red wrist bands and have tried to expalin the thought behind it to them,now i don't need to i will get them to read your post.

good luck to you in the future.

Offline Mersey Girl

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #7 on: April 15, 2005, 01:11:30 pm »
How you wrote that article I will never know. Words fail me over what happened that day. You are so brave
to have written your account and shared it with us. I was 13 at the time and sang in the school choir at one of the lad's funerals as he went to our high school. It was very emotional.
Damian we are thinking of you today and of all the 96 and the families. God bless and YNWA.

Offline Drobs

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #8 on: April 15, 2005, 01:39:26 pm »
I can understand those who have commented before me feeling uneasy about leaving words of their own, it almost makes you freeze and feel your own words wont be much use. So i just want to say thank you Damian for taking the time to share that with us all, a truly phenomenal account.

My thoughts are with the 96 and all who experienced that fateful day.

« Last Edit: April 15, 2005, 01:41:27 pm by Drobs »
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Offline You never wore cologne

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #9 on: April 15, 2005, 06:00:17 pm »
Damian - I want to thank you so much for your bravery in writing those words.

Like a lot of others who weren't there that day - I have struggled to understand what my mates went through.  Many of them carry their pain too deep to dare to show the rest of us for fear, I suspect, it may damage us in some way by it's being brought out to the open.

For those of us who didn't go through it, reading your words makes it so much easier to understand your experience.  Having stood on The Kop since 1976 as a 13 year old in a similar spec to the ones you desrcribe I hope you know how loudly your words resonate for fellow reds.  It truly does help the rest of us to understand better.

The lad who replied to your post (Swoop?) - go and take some expert counselling mate.  We can't afford to let any others become victims and it doesn't matter how many years have passed - you still need help to deal with it.  Just like the 96 - all of you who were there should know you're in our thoughts on this day even more than all the others and You'll never walk alone!

Offline Darren Page1

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #10 on: April 15, 2005, 06:38:33 pm »
Thanks for that--crying again--wasnt at Hillsborough--mum wouldnt let me as i went to Heysel and back in the day when there were no cell phones (and the fact that i was a disrespectful little 15 year old fucker) i hadnt spoke to her for a day after the match--didnt understand why she was crazy mad--i mean i was ok for gods sake..
This is were i see some parrallels
I, like you Rushian, didnt grasp that until i had kids how it must have felt for a parent and how a weep now thinking about it and how id have felt if my son was there.
I also too went to some therapy (actually for a laugh at first) as everyone used to say "your crazy--you need help"  Imagine my suprise after being  hypnotised to find out i had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder--shocked the shit out of me and that she linked it to Heysel, which i thought  didnt really bother me --turns out id blocked it out.
Anyway thanks for your post, living in America i feel sometimes isolated from certain personal demons--i guess sometimes that is a good thing, but i guess it really is true, any Red really will "never walk alone"
I will leave it as that as i certainly couldnt try to match  be as eloquant in my memories as you. I just want to say thank you for coming forward in what has been a hard week personally for me and reminding me "its ok to still cry and still mourn" and how lucky i am to feel apart of the Liverpool family--i really do apprecaite you all

Offline Rushian

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #11 on: April 15, 2005, 06:42:12 pm »
If anyone ever feels the need to talk we can put you in touch with people at the HJC.
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Offline Bob Kurac

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #12 on: April 15, 2005, 06:47:25 pm »
Today's service was even better attended than last year's. There is more remembering, less forgetting. It was poignant that the two readings were by journalists - Brian Reade and Paddy Shennan. The new HFSG chairman's speech was very encouraging - not long-winded and patronising about modern fans' behaviour, as perhaps last years' was, but defiant and committed about a certain newspaper, and the need for justice.

Offline Rushian

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #13 on: April 15, 2005, 06:52:52 pm »
Radio 5 are going to have a lot of coverage tonight of the anniversary and the continuing fight for justice. Think it's on at 8pm.

Can listen to it online here:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio/aod/fivelive.shtml
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Offline nige

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #14 on: April 15, 2005, 06:57:33 pm »
Thank you to Kav, Swoop, and to RAWK  for these incredibly moving  accounts which make us all remember it could have been any of us, that the victims were far more than just the 96  and their families, and that the struggle for justice goes on  through spreading the simple human truth.
YNWA

Offline Ken-Obi

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #15 on: April 16, 2005, 07:38:16 am »
A touching, well written account. Nothing better than to bring the reader to that fateful day itself and let them experience the happenings and the trauma that followed. A testimonial of a survivor is the best way to tell the world.

I'm an overseas Red and I knew little about Hillsborough until last year when I renewed my faith in the team with Rafa's appoinment. Visiting www.contrast.org/hillsborough and reading the articles got me into tears.

Why am I so moved for 96 people whom I didn't know, living more than 10,000 miles away from me? Same reason why there were Everton scarves tied across Stanley Park - a mockery of Shank's 'football is life' quote. I never believed in that. I only believe in life being greater than anything else.

As a part of the Liverpool FC family from across the globe, as always, thoughts for those who lost who were lost and their families.

You'll Never Walk Alone, 96.
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Offline roma84

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #16 on: April 17, 2005, 05:40:27 am »
I've never posted on any forum before. I've never seen any written account of what happened on the day like this one. As everyone who was there knows, it was like that. The pre match excitement followed by the sudden realisation that this was not normal and something was wrong.Then the feeling of utter helplessness, despair and guilt. I am slightly older than you are and during the 80's went to most games, home and away. It was never the same after that day. The final that year was my last regular game.Luckily, the five of us who went to Hillsborough all went home safely but none of us have ever been regularly since and large crowds still inspire panic.  I moved out of the country soon after the 1989 final. I don't think that day in April made me leave the country, however it contributed to the realisation of the fragility of life. I still live abroad and in these days of TV and internet, probably see more games now than I ever did. Still go to Anfield when I get home and hoping for a trip to Istanbul this year!
This story brought it all back to me and you realise how you pushed it to the back of your mind because you had to. Those of us who were at Heysel were already suffering from some guilt Hillsborough was a shock because of the indiscriminate nature of it. All of us there had at some point been in the areas where the worst occurred. In those days, you expected to be faced with discomfort during the game and most of us had been there the year before.
I just wanted to say thanks to you for writing  that account. Nothing will make us forget but sometimes sharing can make us feel better. Thanks mate.

Offline Kav

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« Reply #17 on: April 18, 2005, 10:16:39 pm »
Just wanna say a big thanks to the posts I got from my article. Some touching comments from some nice people... thanks.

The whole point is honesty, education, publicity and determination... I hope that these things do add up to equal justice one day...

"For 8 years the Hillsborough Families have struggled against overwhelming odds to establish the truth about what happened on April 15th 1989. They have had to confront lies, vicious propaganda, and the hopelessly inadequate judicial system and still they have battled for their loved ones. All of those who died would have been proud of them; such courage, such dedication, such love." - Jimmy McGovern 1997

Well its been another eight years and we've still been ripped off but we still won't go away; the truth is on our side. I have heard it said that if Hillsborough had happened to any other city than Liverpool then it would have been forgotten about by now - this isn't meant as a compliment but the more you think about it, the more it is a compliment to the continuing quest for justice

Peter Carney kindly read my mate's poem at the memorial on Friday. Here it is, as it was typed by his mum in 1989:

MY BELOVED CROWD

Every week I watched my team
the Spion Kop the famous scene.
We scored a goal the voices roared
for any player in Red who scored.

The bond between the fans was great
as people passed the Shankly Gate.
90 minutes we would boo and cheer
opposition shaked with fear.

FA Cup Semi-Final day
didn’t need our tickets nothing to pay.
A crowd of Red and White
in the stand all filled with fright.

Went down with FIVE in a car
NEVER went to a public bar.
We arrived at the ground our little crew
Sunday morning came home with TWO.

I’ll miss you lads you were sound
I’ve laid flowers on our home ground.
Another match I’ll never go
my beating heart has sunk so low.

Ta ra boys.


This poem was written by my son Jason Quinn.
I went to Sheffield to bring him back safe and sound.
Other mums never had that chance.

Walk on...

Offline Huyton Fatties

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #18 on: April 18, 2005, 10:44:09 pm »
Kav took some guts to right that piece mate
i managed to get through the 15 th this year
very well .Then on Saturday i read that and cried
absolutely brilliant .I could see vast similarities in
that with what happened to methanks
john joynt
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Offline El Phes

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #19 on: April 19, 2005, 12:30:17 pm »
I really don't know how to express the words in my head after that account - very moving, brought tears to my eyes. I was 18 at the time and watching the whole thing on TV, I couldn't believe what was happening. I have no idea what this has done to the families and friends affected - My thoughts are with everyone involved.

RIP the 96

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The power of a Piece of red elastic ..
« Reply #20 on: April 21, 2005, 10:44:17 am »
Last night I had a night at Shelbourne dog track in Dublin with eight lads over for a team meeting.

Good night had by all.  We ended up in Café en Seine in the city and I was sat next to a fella I have worked with for 5 years but never had a real conversation with

Anyhow we got too talking about football in general and swapping stories of games past etc.  This guy is in is mid – late 40’s and is a Leicester fan.  Pretty typical fella.  Somehow he got onto the subject of Hillsborough and offered me his opinions!  Those of you who know me will expect the normal reaction from me – to not get involved and to just tell him to read the website etc but not really talk about it at all.

Well thanks mainly to a little piece of Red elastic on my left wrist I couldn’t just walk away.  Some conversations posts and mails I’ve had from some of you guys over the past week have helped me enormously as well.  So I gathered my courage and for the first time since that awful day I managed to talk about my experiences.  I shifted his opinion at least enough so that he will seek out more information from the website.  Result, one less person to spread half-truths and stereotypes.

More importantly I feel an enormous relief at being able to actually talk about the events that day without breaking down.

So a big thank-you to all of you RAWKites, especially those that have posted their personal stories and shown me the way.

Today a dark place within has finally had some light shine in and all it took was a piece of Red Elastic.

RIP 96
YNWA
« Last Edit: April 21, 2005, 11:21:16 am by Swoop »
Its a dogs life for me

Offline Beef

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #21 on: May 1, 2005, 03:31:35 pm »
I wasn't even born at the time of Hillsborough but it was a terrible tradgedy, and my Granddad, Gerry McIver sat me down and told me all about it and it was the most upsetting thing to think about, all of those people at the ground and 96 of them innocently died. I have never watched a video of this tradgedy and I have onlt ever seen one picture and I do not ever want to see another one as it is too upsetting to look at. The survivors story is so upsetting and he is very lucky that he still has his life and for the ones who are not with us today R.IP and remember YNWA.

Offline Shaun101

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Re: Hillsborough: A Survivor's Story
« Reply #22 on: May 17, 2005, 05:09:03 pm »
My first post and probably the right subject to start.

I have been reading the forums for a while now and for the first time thought it was time to actually reply to a post.

Rushian and others many thanks for your accounts, they have moved be both emotionally and back to a time when a friend of mine went to a game and came back in a box.

I still have mixed up feelings about Hillsborough as I couldn't get a ticket . I said goodbye to a friend Gary as he smiled and revelled in the prospect of going to another match that I could not attend. given that we were competing on who was not an "armchair" and neither of use had season tickets.

I still see his face at his work gates the same as on that fateful Saturday waving his ticket at me.

I still feel the pain and guilt of why wasn't I there to help. Not that I could have done much but you know what I mean.   

I still feel the emptiness inside as people who knew him longer than me "competed" (FFS) over a right to grieve " You are not his real mate" I had some strange associates in them days! I understand now that this was just their way of dealing with this , but at the time the feelings of rejection from some of my peers at the time burned deep on top of the obvious emotions running through me.

His funeral was the first and the only time I have stood next to group of Kop Heros and not been fazed. Just stared straight ahead all through the service.

I have exorcised my demons and ghosts but the memories will always be there and I dearly hope we can find justice for those taken away so wrongly on that day.

I would write more but I have to pick up my daughter, a blessing that many others will never know.

This is why being a Liverpool fan means more to me than anything apart from my family. It goes deeper than a team, you really will never understand it unless you are one. 


JFT 96
YNWA