Inside a disaster (Hillsborough) Page 96

I can see it now, as we neared the ground we took a sharp left and we were in Leppings Lane. Ahead of us and to the right was a set of old brick turnstiles. This is where it started to go wrong. The amount of people trying to get in was far greater than I expected, and there was very little evidence of crowd control outside the ground. The Police horses marshalling the crowd were actually from Merseyside police and outside of the horses there seemed to be little police presence. The crowd was already a heaving mass but there was an opportunity to marshal people back up the hill alongside a wall. The problem was that access to the other stands also seemed to be through the same area. It looked like the whole of Liverpool’s travelling support had to enter this way and we were all there at the same time. Whilst accessing the Leppings Lane terrace you also had access to the West Stand, which was directly behind the terraced area. It turned out that 10,000 fans had to enter the ground through just seven turnstiles, that’s over 1,400 through each turnstile and the majority in the hour leading up to kick off at 3 o’clock. Simple calculations show that it works out at a minimum of 23 people per minute, which is just impossible to do. From my perspective it looked as if the crowd had not been controlled earlier and as a result the sheer weight of numbers arriving meant there was little chance to gain any element of control. Everyone has their own view as to what then happened and this is mine and mine alone.

The following is an account of how I felt and what I still feel seventeen years after the event. Even now I am starting to bring pictures back I have buried for such a long time, I don’t know if I really want to do it. No; I do want to do it. I don’t need to do it because I found my way forward around it years ago, but when  confronting the thoughts again, I have raised the visions I didn’t ever want to see again. I can now see myself penned against the wall linking the turnstiles, just inches from getting to the turnstile and into the ground. Then, as the body of the crowd moves, I am spinning back into the crowd behind me. I am already losing sight of all my mates and this has really become ‘look after number one’. There is no control of the situation at all now and the pressure on my body is unbelievable. I have been in crushes before but never anything as intense as this. People are pleading for a release from the situation but those joining the crowd from the back cannot see what is happening ahead of them. As kick-off nears, the pressure becomes more intense and people are more desperate than ever. Some, to avoid the pressure, are climbing on to the walls surrounding the turnstiles, with ticket in hand and are being beaten back by police. A horse enters into the seething mass of bodies and only adds to the chaos. The people at the front become more at risk as the crush intensifies. I am now pinned next to a big blue wooden gate that is usually an exit gate and I am next to a girl who I work with, who says she is struggling to breathe properly now and she is terrified in the crush. I think that someone is going to die outside the turnstiles. People are pleading for the gate to be opened to relieve the pressure. After what seems like an eternity the gate is opened and the effect is like uncorking a champagne bottle and the bubbles flooding out, forcing people in to the ground. I can see many people still showing their tickets to police and stewards. That’s how badly behaved we are.

We had dreams and songs to sing (the Istanbul story)

Thursday 26th of May 2005

The ticket story will certainly have to wait, last night is still so fresh and exciting I don’t want to forget anything. As I said we would, just 24 hours ago in these pages, the Red Army rode into Eternity, with the most unbelievable game of football you could ever see. Three nil down at half time, then three-three, and on to penalties, Dudek saves from Shevchenko and we bring the cup back home. Unbelievable. The Red Army erupts and the red gladiators dance gleefully, if gladiators are allowed to be gleeful. Some of the most unbelievable sights, grown men crying, others hugging, others just quiet in contemplation, then delirious, exuberant, I don’t have enough words to describe the overpowering mass of emotion as the players engulf Dudek and signalled a fifth European Cup. The emotion wasn’t just confined to one end of the Attaturk Stadium, two-thirds of the ground was bouncing with delight and shaking with relief. Liverpool fans did our Club and our city proud and travelled in vast numbers. There must have been at least 40,000 Liverpool supporters in this oasis in the middle of the Turkish wasteland. 

The match itself was the most amazing match ever and created the widest range of emotions I have ever felt in one short period of time. From desolation and disappointment to incredible joy and all within three hours. This is how it went, step by step. By the time the teams arrived, the Kop was in full voice and rocking the stadium. I won’t forget the Milanese, even though they were few in number compared to us. The end they occupied was an array of red, white and black flags and I now know, they were all wearing coloured plastic covers. They were, as most Italian clubs are, extremely well organised and take their lead from designated fans who orchestrate their performance as such. Us though, we do it off the cuff and sing as one often with an uncanny knack, we do it with feeling and passion and love. The Liverpool end was a mass of red and white, hundreds of banners, draped across the empty front rows. Each banner and flag has a story to tell, our local pubs, Jamie Carragher and personal banners such as ‘Ian Topping RIP’, still remembered by those close who would wish him there. That banner can be clearly seen during the penalty shoot out. I would like to think that brings some form of comfort to his family and friends. This is what we had come for, or as Phil from Norris Green said, this is what we were made for. This was our destiny. The referee blew his whistle and then it all went so horribly wrong. Within a minute Maldini, that legend of the Rossanieri and Italy scored what I believe was his third goal in 18 years, what a time to do that. What was happening to our destiny? Well 89 minutes left so we would just have to change our plan. The problem was that by half time we were three nil down and totally, and I mean totally ripped to bits. We had a penalty appeal and a Hyppia header that went close, but they had waltzed around our back ten (well it wasn’t just the back four) and we had lost Kewell through injury. We were looking at a serious hiding. Half time was strange. Everyone was totally shellshocked, there are no other words for it. Our dream was over and we had taken a step too far. Zil wanted to go home, I had a booming headache but thankfully Peter said we were going to win 4-3. He is a nutter! But if the first five minutes of half time was shellshock, during the second five we discussed how it went wrong and what could Rafa do, and for the last five minutes it was ‘if they get one you never know’ scenario, followed by the most gloriously uplifting version of ‘‘You’ll never walk alone’’.