Stan Hey: Terrace apprenticeship was fun – but not to be repeated
‘At times the sway would lift you 30 or 40 yards from your spot and deposit you in the beery heart of the Kop’
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.It doesn't show up on my CV but the Saturdays spent in the Boys' Pen at Liverpool Football Club in the early 1960s were character-building.
I learnt that having spent 6d to get in, I was buggered if I was going to hand over a shilling to a bigger boy to avoid being smacked in the gob. You could act tough, but I also learnt to point to my National Health glasses; I learnt to be self-effacing and to hide in a crowd; how to put out small fires made of newspapers, lit by under-age cigarettes. And I learnt the rough comradeship of watching your team in the midst of heaving bodily contact.
Graduating to the Kop, of which the Boys' Pen was a small part, the 24,000 all-swaying mass was a beast of great beauty. At times it would lift you 30, 40 yards from your spot and deposit you among the beery heart of the Kop, from which you'd be helped away with a kick up the arse.
But you learnt the joy of communal celebration when Peter Thompson put a 25-yarder into the top corner, or Ian St John headed one in, and you learnt this overcame all the discomforts; such as the sudden wet warmth on your trousers as someone emptied their bladder, or the regular loss of shoes.
During the 1980s, hooliganism meant the terraces became bleak places. But Hillsborough changed everything. The moated, spike-fenced terraces became the equivalent of penal colonies, as far as the police were concerned, and then on that terrible Saturday, a death-trap. If any fans of the new generation feel a longing for terraces they never stood on, they should read Lord Justice Taylor's report which embraces passages that could have come from a Wilfred Owen war poem. Taylor made football grounds safe and civilised. Women and families began to attend the game.
Now there's a clamour to open up the terraces again, thanks to a fit of nostalgia – a nod to harsher economic times or a belief that some of the joy has gone out of the experience. Indeed, some grounds are so quiet, they are now called "The Library".
So, have your campaign for the noise and the swaying – but please, be careful what you wish for.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments