SULLY
The Inside Story of Manchester City’s Notorious Mayne Line Service Crew
EMPIRE PUBLICATIONS
MANCHESTER
*
First published in 2011 by Empire Publications
Smashwords Edition
© Tony Sullivan 2011
ISBN: 1901746534 - 9781901746532
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Published by Empire Publications at Smashwords
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is available in print at:
*
INTRODUCTION
“I am the sweet and tender hooligan
And I swear that I’ll never, never do it again
(And of course he won’t,
Well, not until the next time)”
Sweet and Tender Hooligan - The Smiths
Let’s get this straight from the start. I was never one of the leaders of a football firm and I do not pretend to be, I’m just one of the lads who ran with the gang, yet after chatting to fellow inmates during my last stretch in Strangeways about my experiences, one or two suggested I wrote the details down and had them published and that is what I did, this book was completely written inside. I also decided to write it after reading a few similar books by lads from other firms - in particular one certain Munich who wrote a pile of shite about City fans always hiding in Fallowfield at derby games. Every firm at one stage has been run ragged or smacked all over the place. Reading some of these books makes you think they were all SAS material and invincible. What a load of bollocks! Some books are like sociology lectures and fashion catwalks. The wankers wearing all the labels and Stone Island crap wouldn’t be seen anywhere near a fight - they’d be too scared of ruining their shirt, jacket or trainers. Wankers.
Throughout the book you will read about so-called hooligans who talked the talk but couldn’t back it up by walking the walk - wannabee hooligans on the fringe of the action, watching (and running when it gets a bit too near them) and then telling their mates all about it later, with a slightly exaggerated version to impress their mates eagerly listening to the story and being impressed by the narrator.
And it is the same with a book. If you are going to write a hooligan book, simply tell the truth, do not over-inflate your ego filling page after page with fantasy fighting that never took place and the book being an exercise in bullshitters simply going on with themselves to impress their mates.
Writing this book, I have set out to explain how I got involved in my early teens - not just into football hooliganism, but robbing, gang fighting, running away from kids homes and ending up in prison on a number of occasions on different charges, not to mention ending up in hospital on a regular basis! There were also lots of funny stories to tell and hopefully the humour involved in some of the activities I got involved in will come across whilst you are reading this.
I apologise to no one for what is written. It happened so it is included. The language used is strong at times, but then again it is a real language that we used all the time.
I originally wanted to put the book in chronological order from start to finish, but although the games and incidents are fresh in the memory, in many cases the dates are just a blur (due to too many cracks on the head!). Some are obvious to recall like specific derby games or cup games, but the rest are just one big memory with no dates attached. Therefore chapters in the book concentrate on particular geographical teams such as Yorkshire clubs and Cockney clubs etc.
This book concentrates solely on my times as a Manchester City hooligan - I am in the process of writing a further book on my experiences watching England home and away and hope to have that book published in the near future. In the meantime, you have this one to read, I hope you enjoy it,
Tony Sullivan
‘MUNICH’
Before we get into the book, I would like to comment as to my repeated use of the word ‘Munich’ - referring to Manchester United fans. This word has been common currency among City fans for sometime but as far as I’m aware it has never been used in print before - other than once by accident in the official City Programme!
Many United fans, indeed football fans in general, maybe appalled by its liberal use in this book, referencing as it does the Munich Air Disaster of 1958 that claimed the lives of Manchester United players and staff and, lest we forget, the life of former City goalkeeper Frank Swift.
But let’s be honest here. City fans use this word in reference to our rivals all the time. Walk into a City pub when a United game is on or before the derby and the word will be heard many times by all sections of our support, in the same way that United fans refer to Liverpool supporters as ‘Murderers’ in reference to the Heysel Stadium Disaster of 1985. To deny these words exist as part of modern football culture is to stick one’s head in the sand.
My advice, should you be offended by the word and think it wrong, is to put the book down and read something else instead. These words, and other epithets bandied about between rivals, are just that. As the saying goes ‘sticks and stones... ‘
Chapter 1: MISSPENT YOUTH
I grew up in Blackley one of five kids (three brothers and two sisters). Now my old man was a blue through and through and there was no debate whether you were City or United in our family – you were a blue, plain and simple! I went to my first football match when I was just three months old. Obviously I was too young to remember the details but my old man reckoned it was against Spurs.
I used to go to all the home games with my dad, but my main memory of this period was the fighting between my mam and dad and my brothers and sisters taking sides. I remember trying to stop my elder brother trying to have a go at my younger brother – I jumped in to stop it and one of my brothers gave me a crack. I turned to him as if to say ‘Is that the best you can do?’ as he’s having another go at me. I was surprised that I wasn’t knocked out by his punches and before I knew it we were having a full-on fight.
Then he dissappeared into the kitchen – I thought he’d run off but all of a sudden, as he returned, my dad knocked him to the floor and he was holding a pair of scissors. The old man started having a right go at our kid, saying ‘Why did you want to stab your brother?’ My dad might have been a fighter but he didn’t like weapons – he used to say ‘If you can’t fight, you shouldn’t start one’. It’s not nice to witness things like that as a kid but things got worse. One day my sister told me that my dad had been nicked - he was a bit of a villain and about two weeks later mum and dad sat us down and told us they were separating – it wasn’t a surprise.
As time went on I was getting into trouble: nicking cars, missing school, shoplifting and getting into gang fights. I wasn’t even eleven! I went to stay with my dad because mum couldn’t cope with it any longer but that lasted two months.
My dad was a card player, he was mad for it. Anyway one night he’d gone out playing cards and our kid was looking after me and there’s a knock on the door. It’s a our kid’s chick, Tracey – anyway, I let her in and she sits down next to our kid but you know what it’s like when your younger brother is hanging around when your bird’s there and you can’t get up to anything. Anyway I went into the kitchen to make a brew and when I came back in they’re having a kiss and a cuddle. Suddenly he starts bribing me to get lost – finally, losing patience, he says, ‘haven’t you got any homework to do’.
So I go over and turn the telly on – Z cars was on I remember. He jumps up but I can’t stop laughing because there’s this big bulge in his pants that he’s trying to hide. Luckily enough there’s a knock at the door just then and my friend answers.
‘Are you coming out?’
Before I can answer our kid pipes up, ‘Yeah, he’s going out but be back by ten’, because he can’t wait to get rid of me. So we went round the corner, gave it ten minutes, sneaked back in and caught them both bang at it. So I crept upstairs and got my catapult and passed it to my mate who fired this stone at my brother’s arse, then we ran off with their clothes and put them in the front garden and hid round the corner. When our kid thought the coast was clear, he came out with nothing on. The neighbours were watching by now, the nosey ones looking out of the window and a man and his wife walking home from the pub.
By now our kid’s face was a picture and someone shouts out ‘it’s that shag bag Tracey, she was at it with the scoutmaster last night!’ – what an embarrassment. Mind you, I don’t think she was the type to get embarrassed. Anyway, after that our kid never bothered to come round to dads – every time he did he got loads of grief and I don’t think he ever forgave me for setting him up.
Later, he grassed me up to dad for nicking a car and I certainly paid for that - I had a sore arse for a week but you know what it’s like, after a few days you’ve forgotten the beating and you’re back doing it again for the buzz. It was great living at my dads because he was never in, so he never knew what I was up to – my school wasn’t bothered (in fact they were probably relieved) that I didn’t turn up so I had a great time.
So there’s my childhood: a broken home, brothers and sisters who didn’t give a fuck and me, the youngest, left to fend for himself - it’s enough to make a social worker weep. In truth, I had to learn fast and think on my feet to survive. I was already a cocky little shit who didn’t give a fuck!
*
I can always remember a kid called Timmy, he was a buzz. Apart from nicking cars he liked to fight and there was one time he called round to the house to tell me of some shit he was having with some lads who lived on Monroe Road, Blackley. Clearly, it needed sorting so we planned to go down there that night.
Anyway, I knew dad wouldn’t be back ‘til late so I was alright and my sister didn’t care as long as I was in before dad. Everyone was due to meet at 6.30pm on the hill-top. There was a nice firm (about 50 lads) and we started to go over the hill - it would only take us ten minutes so we split-up - we knew they’d be at the youth club.
We crossed over the road and some went the back way with the rest taking the front as we all picked up stones for catapulting. Anyway we were round the back when all of a sudden you just heard someone shout ‘come on’, it was Ged leading the way forward and, as we made our way to the front, there were some of the Monroe gang backing off towards us. This kid just let loose with a catapult and whacked this kid on the head with everybody just steaming in - it was going off for about 15 minutes. Suddenly, the dibble came and everyone was trying to hold the line. In the end I was trying to stop people getting nicked and sure enough I got nicked myself and wound up in the back of a black Maria.
I can remember my mam and dad coming to get me out. My dad turned round and said ‘you’ll have to go to your mams’, and then my mam saying ‘1 don’t want him he’s nothing but trouble, he’s just like you’.
After all the arguing I went back to my mams but that didn’t last long (about a week if that) before my mam said to me ‘I’m fed up, all you do is bring trouble’. I promised her I’d change my ways but you know what it’s like after you’ve had a telling off, your like ‘yeah I’ll be good’ knowing as soon as she’s gone into the next room you start giggling like fuck to yourself.
Anyway the next morning I got up ready for school looking like an ultra bright kid, sparkling like mad. ‘Right mam, I’ll see you later’ and she gave me some dinner money. Next thing, my mate is knocking on the door and we’re walking to school, or rather legging it past the school so no one noticed because my mam lived right round the corner from school. We legged it for the bus, sometimes we might have to go three stops down until we found a queue so you could successfully jib on. The bus fare was only 2p but you’d jib it anyway and hope that the blakey wouldn’t get on. Then it was straight into town and a go on the amusements - then you’d be starving, go into the sandwich shop, rob the butties and crisps and try and eat them in the Arndale, looking round to make sure you’ve not been followed before trying to work out what you’re going to do for the next five hours... believe me missing school was fucking hard work!
So we headed back to the arcade. One scam was to kick each other in the bollocks and tell someone we’d just been robbed of our dinner money, someone would always help you out. We’d be like ‘cheers mister’ and then you’d be thinking ‘silly bastard fell for it again’ and we’d try it on with the next person - this was a buzz and it rarely failed - I was the younger one so I always had to do the poor boy act. Then we’d go into the shops, a personal favourite was Debenhams - the jeans were near the door and there were no alarms back then. We’d always do it at dinner time because the staff would change and sometimes there was no one near the till where the jeans were.
Anyway I bunked school all week and then it was the weekend. On the Saturday my mate called for me and my mam gave me some money for the match, City v Brighton, and I headed out at about 9am. I was buzzing like mad as I’m going out of the gate, I shouted ‘don’t worry I’ll be back for 7pm, I’m going with Gary’.
My mam shouted back ‘two lads knocked on, Darren and Jay, they’ll meet you at the bus stop’.
‘Nice one mam’, my mam liked them two so I knew it was okay. My mam was a bit funny if she didn’t like you she’d let you know but Darren and Jay were older than me, (I was 10, they were 13 and 14). I always knocked around with lads who were older because most of my school mates were still into action men and none of them would dare go to the fair as their mams’ would shout. I couldn’t imagine my mam shouting at me, it was more a case of giving me money and telling me to get lost and don’t come back for a good few hours. At the time I thought it was because I was her blue eyed boy!
Anyway we set off to the match. Got the bus, usual thing - jib the bus, get off in town, cut through Debenhams and as we were walking through we couldn’t believe our luck, there was no one near the jeans so we grabbed a couple of pairs of jeans and walked out with them and sold them in town to a woman near the underground market. I got £20 for 5 pairs. Now I’m thinking ‘£20 I’m only 10 years old it’s a lot of money’.
We went to the bakers – as usual riffle Gregg’s for sandwiches and a drink and then go to the amusement arcade. Then we’d get the match bus which was an easy jib because everybody’s getting that. It was hammered at the turnstile so we’d try and double up with other fans, it was easy to get in. There was always a gap somewhere or something left open and we’d be in, making our way to the top of the Kippax and we stood there looking at the away supporters. On this day, City won 1-0 and I can always remember the chant going up on our way out, directed at the small band of Brighton fans, of ‘You’ve come all this way - and you’ve lost, and you’ve lost’! As we were coming out of the Kippax we could see some lads hanging around and their number was getting bigger by the minute. I could sense something was going to happen and the next thing the gates for the away fans opened up and all I could hear was ‘come on’ from the City fans running towards Brighton.
Me, Gary, Jay and Darren are buzzing shouting ‘Come on lets have it’ and the police start steaming in on their horses like the cavalry whacking out with their truncheons and charging everyone. It was going on for ages, I was loving it. I was ten years old and this buzz was like something out of a movie. Eventually they cleared everyone away and we went to get the bus from near the Parkside pub on Lloyd Street.
As we were waiting you heard ‘come on then’ and there was a group of Brighton fans on the other side of the road. They came over and grabbed me, kicking and punching and then a group of City fans came to the rescue from out of nowhere. I started fighting back and a blue cracked this Brighton fan who had been attacking me and as he was on the ground, I followed up with a few kicks to his balls. I could see Darren, Jay and Gary chasing these two lads away but then Darren stopped and turned round and also started steaming into the lad who had jumped me.
I remember saying to him, as I delivered another kick at him ‘Don’t fuck with Blackley’! He must have thought ‘who the fuck is Blackley‘? Eventually the dibble came and everyone was running to get out of the way. We made our way to the bus stop, got on the bus and went home laughing at what had gone on. I’d just caught the bug at the age of 10. The bug and the buzz that was to remain with me for many years to come…
*
I can always remember Timmy calling for me late on night and my mam telling him ‘He’s in bed. What are you doing calling for him at this time of the night?’ Anyway I climbed out of the window, down the drain pipe and met him round the corner.
‘What are you doing knocking on at nearly midnight’. Now Tim wasn’t the brightest of lads, but he apologised and then said ‘Come on I’ve got a car, you right?’
‘Yeah anything for a buzz’. I couldn’t nick them but I’d always go for a spin with him. Anyway he took it on the grass and rallied it around for a bit then I climbed back up the drain pipe and it was the same the next night.
A few days later we got chased and I legged it up the drain pipe got undressed and into bed, just as I got in bed the door went and it was the car’s owner. I could hear my mam say it couldn’t have been me as I was in bed fast asleep, anyway I heard my mam come in the room and then go back downstairs, she said ‘go and have a look if you don’t believe me’. I could hear my mam come back up with this bloke, the door opened and then shut; I could hear them go back down and I started giggling to myself.
The next day we did the same again. As I’m climbing in the window I just got in and the light went on it was my mam. She started screaming and shouting like mad hitting me with her shoe, ‘I knew it was too good to be true, I’ve given you a chance, but not this time, I’m ringing up social services tomorrow I can’t cope with it anymore’. I knew she meant it this time, I was going to be put in care.
After that I sat on the bed thinking how can she put me into care - why me? Anyway can you imagine what it was like, a ten-year old kid being told he’s going away - my head was up my arse and I was shaking like mad. I just kept thinking over and over again until I made a decision.
I jumped off my bed and got my bag and started packing. I wanted to cry but couldn’t get any tears out. Eventually I made my way downstairs, packed some butties and made my way out of the door. I walked down the hill towards the motorway. That was the worst feeling I’ve ever had. As I’m walking along I decided to get my head down under a tree. I soon fell asleep and when I woke up it was daylight, I didn’t know what time it was. I started making my way to the bus stop and as I’m walking I found £10 in my pocket - it must have been some of the money I had left over from the jeans I’d sold. I carried on walking, eventually I found a bus stop that was pretty packed, I waited for the bus and jibbed it as usual. As I sat down I heard someone shout ‘Sully’, it was Tracey. I told her what had happened and she gave me some money.
‘Where are you going’ she said.
‘Blackpool’ I answered. As the bus reached Piccadilly I got off and told Tracey ‘don’t say a word’. I started walking to Piccadilly train station and watched the trains. I saw on the screen Blackpool and made my way to the platform, someone said it’d be here in ten minutes, so I thought I’d nick some crisps, coke and chocolate for the journey. I came back to the platform with my head still up my arse.
The train came in; I jumped on it and sat by the toilet in case the blakey came round so I could hide in there. In those days it was easy to jib the train, a lot of the conductors never bothered coming round - you might get one if the train was small but a lot of them were long enough to hide in.
As I was sat there, I heard someone call out my name. I looked up and it was Tracey. She came down and sat next to me – we just started laughing and talking about the time I’d tricked her and my brother when they were at it on the sofa. As the train pulled away from the station I asked, ‘How come you’re going to Blackpool?’
‘Well I couldn’t let you go all on your own, could I?’
At some point I went to the toilet and when I came back Tracey was nowhere to be seen. So I started wandering up and down the train. As I passed through First Class I saw two people bang at it in the carriage - it’s Tracey and one of the conductors! I thought ‘nice one’ so I went back to our seats by the toilet. Half an hour later Tracey comes back and she says ‘It’s ok, I’ve paid the conductor for our tickets’ and I started laughing.
‘What are you laughing at?’ she asked innocently.
‘You silly twat, I’ve seen you bang at it with the conductor!’
She tried to say it wasn’t her but we both knew different. Anyway, I thought, Tracey’s a free ticket to anywhere.
As the train pulled in at Blackpool she said, ‘come on, let’s get something to eat’.
After we had eaten, we had to find somewhere to stay.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll find somewhere,’ she said and, well, she sorted it – although the first night was in a shitty hotel, by the second night we’d upgraded to a better one.
We covered the hotel bill by shoplifting. Tracey was street-wise as fuck and she knew the script backwards. She even banged the bloke who owned the hotel so we got a week out of it on the house. When he’d had his way she came out with, ‘I’m not sixteen yet’ and to keep her quiet the landlord gave us the complimentary room so he could keep an eye on her. Tracey may have looked seventeen or eighteen but she was only fifteen years old!
One time I went out on my own and I came back with jeans and T-shirts and I was buzzing. Tracey had shown me the ropes and she was mustard at the game. At the time Blackpool was a bit behind the times in terms of security - we would go into cafes, have something to eat and leave without paying or go to the toilet and jump out of the window.
After a while we jibbed the train to Birmingham – I don’t know why we went there, I suppose it was for the buzz and to see how far we could get but it was probably Tracey’s idea and deep down inside I felt safe with her.
When we got there it was the same old trick from Tracey. Some old git would cop for the ‘I’m only fifteen’ line. We’d only been there a few days when I went out on my own to do a bit and I was caught with a pair of jeans dangling underneath my coat. Anyway the police took me to the station asking, ‘how did you get down here’ and I just looked at them as if to say, ‘shut the fuck up you silly bastards’. Eventually I told them I was from Manchester, I’d lost my sister and I was just holding the jeans for someone.
Anyway they eventually worked out who I was and told me ‘your mam’s coming down’. Sure enough eight hours later me mam shows up. I was too young to be charged and we went back to Manchester. When I got back a woman from Social Services turned up – after a brief chat she says, ‘you’re coming with me’ and without another word I left with her.
*
I got in the car and the woman is going on about this kids home and I’m looking out of the window paying no attention. My ears pricked up when I heard the kids home was in Southport. ‘Won’t be there long’, I thought, they’ve tried to send me as far away as possible so I can’t get back to Manchester. Anyway the place was called Beech Mount and as we pulled up it just looked massive.
‘There are a lot of kids your age in here,’ said the social worker, ‘but you have to do chores’. I just smiled. Eventually I was shown to my dorm and all the time I was thinking I was looking for an escape route. After Social Services had gone all the kids started coming up to me asking me what I’d done and where I was from, one kid even tried to shake my hand. Needless to say I ignored the silly cunt.
My first night in there reminded me of the final scene from The Walton’s - ‘Good night John Boy, good night Jim Bob’ and every fucker’s name you could think of. Then this lad comes over, I’ll never forget him, he looked like a long streak of piss. Anyway he comes over saying ‘I’m the Daddy in here’ and asks my name, adding that I am to address him as ‘Sir‘.
As he‘s waiting for a response I look him right in the face and ask him ‘What do you think my name is, you silly twat?’ and before he can answer I jump off the bed. He went to punch me and as I moved out of the way he went smack into a wall. He was going that quickly that he cracked his head open and started screaming. I ran back into the dorm to get a sock to shove in his mouth when the staff came running to his rescue. Still I tried to get at him and the staff are pulling me back so I whacked one of them and as I’ve done that the carer reaches for the red panic button. Then they’re all on top of me whacking me all over the place and eventually I was carted off to some lock-up, a bit like a prison cell.
As they were leaving they cracked me again and the last one out says, ‘Sullivan, you’ve been here a couple of hours and you’ve already started. You’ll learn anyway’. After that I lay on the floor. I wanted to cry but couldn’t so I just lay there thinking of all things I had done – I wasn’t even eleven years old yet. From the night mam and dad told us they were splitting up I had been in nothing but trouble: fighting, nicking, running off to Blackpool and Birmingham with Tracey and then being brought back by the dibble.
I didn’t sleep that night because before I knew it, it was daylight and I heard the door open, it was three of the care assistants. They were telling me how I should be sorry because that lad was in hospital and I just said, ‘Ok, just close the door on your way out’.
Then one of them grabbed hold of me saying, ‘Don’t be a cheeky bastard’ and I said, ‘Don’t you mean I’m going to be a hard little bastard’. Well he was fuming at that and I could tell he just wanted to leather me – everything he said I had an answer for.
Eventually I said, ‘You’re forgetting that I come from a family of five kids and I’ve had more kickings and belts across the arse from my old man and my brothers than you can imagine. So a kicking off you lot is a piece of piss compared to that and before you start again, that fucker,’ I pointed to one of them, ‘Yeah you in the middle, you hit like a tart you fat fucker’. Well, you can imagine his face. I knew they wanted to give me a kicking but they couldn’t because it was daylight and there were more staff on.
When they’d gone out and closed the door I could hear them saying, ‘There’s only one place that fucker is going and it’s prison’.
Half an hour later the door opens and a woman enters with my dinner. I just looked at it and said ‘no thanks’ and she notices the bruise on my face and asks my age.
‘Ten and a half’
‘I’ve got a son your age’ she says and I could see her thinking ‘poor little thing’.
Then she’s asks me more questions. I thought to myself ‘is she dibble, I better not say anything’, I knew the script I’d been in the dibble shop that many times.
After she left three care staff came to get me, ‘Social Services are coming to see you’ and they made me have a shower. As I’m walking about the place I can see all the different rooms and all the kids are doing different things in them. In one room they were cooking, in another they were playing table tennis or snooker. At the end of the corridor I was told to wait, they opened the door and there she was sitting with a smile on her face asking me how I was. I didn’t answer. She didn’t seem to notice the bruise on the side of my face – some social worker she is!
When she’d gone I asked one of the careworkers if I could have a breath of fresh air and he says ‘fair enough’. They took me outside and as I was sat there I clocked this hole in the fence. All of a sudden there’s a voice in my head shouting, ‘go, go, go’. So I made a run for it. I got through the fence and carried on running, glancing back to see if anyone was following. I saw the fat fucker trying to get through the fence and reckoned that now was my chance to get my own back. He was never going to get through the hole and by now he was stuck so I ran up to him and twatted him and shot off over the grass.
When I thought I had run far enough I slowed down to catch my breath, keeping an eye out for any chasers before I spotted the train station sign. The station itself was off the road and I was glad to get away but then I realsied that this would be one of the first places they’d look, so I went to hide. As I was walking along I saw this old house and took cover in there but just as I was about to hide, a car pulls up with this fat fucker and two others in it. I climb on to the flat roof of the house and put my head down. They came sniffing around right next to where I was but luckily they couldn’t see me. I heard them say, ‘He’s not here’ and they carried on looking down the road. I stayed on the roof for a bit longer, it seemed like ages.
Soon after a train pulled in and I got on it and sat, as usual, near a toilet. It seemed to take ages for the train to pull away but soon I was on my way. When it pulled into Manchester I decided to have a walk around looking at the shops. I didn’t lift anything and as I was walking through the Arndale there were a couple of lads I recognised. I didn’t let on or anything and went to look in a shop window. As I’ve turned to walk away I felt a tap on my shoulder, I jumped, one of them said ‘didn’t mean to scare you’ – it was then that I realised that it was Roy and Chalkie - lads a little older then myself I had met hanging around the Arndale all the time.
Anyway I told them what had happened and they both said I could stay at their house because my mam’s house would be the first place they’d look. I stayed at Roy and Chalkie’s for a while but I knew, deep down, that I couldn’t stay there forever. I was soon back robbing to make a bit of money – Roy and Chalkie were both at it as well and while I was hanging about with them I got to know a few lads and girls who knocked about in the Arndale but I was always on edge, looking about – it was hard.
Roy and Chalkie were going to Crystal Palace on the Saturday and said if I could get some money together I could come along. On the Friday I went into town as it was the last chance to make a bit of cash and that night I stayed at Roys, buzzing – I couldn’t wait for the trip to London.
We went on the football special train. There were loads of City fans. Chalkie said the blakey wouldn’t come round because there was no way he’d get past everyone. Everybody was singing and dancing, having a laugh and before long we pulled into Euston – there was dibble everywhere as we headed towards the ground following these City fans. Time was getting on and we needed to get to the turnstiles pretty quick as to not miss the start of the game.
As we were walking round the ground Chalkie spotted this gate half-open. As we got closer we saw there was no one guarding it and we dashed in. A few of us got caught but the rest of us made our way into their end – it wasn’t hard in those days you could just walk around the ground.
When we got there we spotted Billy and Jay. Billy turned around and said, ‘it’s just like walking into Tesco’s’. We all laughed but then people started clocking us, Billy pointed out some blokes staring at us. No one was bothered, we all knew that if anyone got a crack, we were all there for one another. Anyway they started edging closer and all of a sudden there was a shout of, ‘Come on Mancs’ and that was it – everyone just ran at them and it went off. We got the better of them before the police moved in to separate us. They formed a line and everyone was trying to get at each other again, buzzing like mad. Then City scored and we all jumped up and no one gave a fuck because we were in their end. I can always remember a copper looking at me as if to say, ‘you cheeky little bastard’. All the lads were older than me and I couldn’t believe how no one got nicked.
The game finished and we had to stay in for an hour. Then they marched us all back to the train station, we were buzzing that we had taken their end. The dibble held us up for fifteen minutes at the station before we were allowed on the train and when we got on everyone was singing, ‘number one is Colin Bell’. As the train pulled into Manchester there was loads of dibble waiting but we went to the amusement arcade and Roy came back with a burger for me and said there were loads of Geordies in McDonalds.
Chalkie went to scout it out and sure enough there they were. We went to the bus stop over the road and there were others in the Gardens where they could see everything as well. Eventually they came out and Eammon said, ‘we’ll follow them over the road’. They were heading towards Piccadilly and as they approached Hurleys sportswear we started falling in behind them in twos and threes. As they got closer Roy turned around and whispered, ‘get ready’ and soon we hit them from the side and then everyone was laying into them from all over the place – they were in disarray, hitting them from the side came as a complete surprise. We started to chase them as they ran for the safety of the station, then one of them shouted, ‘fuckin’ hell – they’re only kids’. With that Billy twatted this guy and he went down, ‘not bad for a kid’ said Billy.
Then the dibble came and they were nicking all of us. Well we were kids and we didn’t give a fuck – one gets nicked we all get nicked. The lads I was with trusted each other but I was thinking, as I sat in the back of the Black Maria, I couldn’t help thinking that I wouldn’t end up back at the kid’s home.
*
Eventually I was bailed and when I came out I was expecting Social Services to be there but was buzzing to see my auntie who assured me that everything was ok saying, ‘I’ll explain it all in the car, let’s go’. My auntie was as scouse as they come – she was funny and she used to call me a ‘little alarse’. As I got in the car she starts telling me what had happened. I could tell she’d been crying.
‘How did you know I was here?’ I asked.
‘The police rang me. I was at your mams and your dad told me what happened and then the bizzies came to your mams to let her know. I was sorting out with your mam to take you to Liverpool. She said, ‘take him if you want’ and she rang up Social Services. It was hard work at first but eventually they agreed. Your dad’s been put away for eighteen months’.
‘Can I see him’
‘Not just yet but soon’
Then as we got back in the car I gave her a hug and a kiss and told her what happened in the kids home, my auntie just looked and gave me a massive hug – I was buzzing and told her she was the only one that cared about me. Which was true.
‘Your Uncle Dan and everyone in Liverpool is buzzing and can’t wait to see you’ – this was the first time I’d ever heard anyone say that to me.
I told her that I was going to come to Liverpool anyway but thought that she might turn me in. She said, ‘I’d never have let them take my little alarse away’. I smiled, my auntie and uncle’s family were great, I used to go up and see them a lot. I know my auntie didn’t like my mam and even more now for what she’d done to me.
When we got to Liverpool, I couldn’t wait to see everyone. She told me that my Uncle Dan had taken the day off work and my cousin George hasn’t been to school and my other cousin Glen not been to work and my Auntie Jean had come up from Widnes. As you can tell, my auntie had a big family and they all seemed to have come up to see me!
When we arrived, George was the first out of the house he gave me a dig in the arm and then a hug – me and George were like brothers, he used to come up to Manchester a lot. He was another one who didn’t like my mam but put up with it because of me and my dad – he was glad when my mum and dad split up. George didn’t get on with any of my brothers or sisters and neither did Glen. I was like the blue-eyed boy to this side of my family. I could do no wrong, which made a bit of a change from doing no right.
Everyone gave me a hug and a kiss and I felt like a bit of a pop star, I’d never been fussed over so much in my life. My auntie had made cottage pie with Jam sponge for afters and I sat and ate the lot. After eating all that I thanked everyone and told my uncle thanks for having me. He gave me a hug and that night I just sat in with everyone. Then Glen and George’s mates came round, I knew them all because they used to call me the ‘mad Manc’. It was as if I’d come home to my family.
*
I always remember being sat outside this pub called ‘The Nook’ and I was talking to this lad, one of Glen’s mates. He used to live in Manchester, in Crumpsall he said and he’d been down in Liverpool for six years after his mam married a Scouser.
The next thing I remember he looks across the road and says, ‘I’m sure that’s Lee Park over there’ I could see a few lads having a look at us. Then I heard someone shout ‘come on then’ and I can remember this bloke about to take a swig out of his pint pot. I nicked it off him, poured the contents on the floor and took off after these lads shouting, ‘come on then’.
We chased most of the lads off but there was one that fell on the floor so I started hitting him, then he started to shout ‘don’t hit me’, I thought ‘you’ve come down here for a battle and now your screaming “don’t hit me”’ so I cracked him again and let him go. As I turned around I saw my uncle coming toward me and I’m expecting a crack or a lecture, so I went over and said, ‘go on then give me a crack’ and he just looked at me and said, ‘don’t be daft’.
Anyway he comes out of the pub with some crisps and a glass of coke for me and my uncle says, ‘I wish our George was like that, you’ve only got to say “boo” to him and he runs a mile. He’s probably inside now changing his strides!’
I went back to sit on the wall and this bird came over and started chatting. Anyway the next day we’re at my aunties and this girl calls round for me. So I’m sitting next to her in the lounge and when my uncle comes downstairs, clocks the girl and gives me the wink. Then he says, ‘George, did you see our little alarse running after them lads last night. Oh, you probably didn’t ‘cos you were changing your keks at the time!’ and me and this chick are laughing.
A bit later we were sat outside and George says he’s going to Everton the next day to watch the game with Brighton. Well I was well up for it, I couldn’t have given a fuck about Everton, it was getting after Brighton that I was more interested in. I said, ‘I’m not that bothered whether I get in the Everton end or the Brighton end’, George is like ‘fuck me’. Anyway me and George are talking about it and I bet him that I can get in without paying. I was buzzing and this bird is just looking at me like I’m daft... she wasn’t far wrong.
Now I couldn’t wait until Saturday, and when the day arrived John came round with three others and I went with Glen and our George and got the bus to Liverpool and then onto Goodison. We got off at Stanley Park. Glen said he’d got me a ticket, I said ‘You’d better sell it, I’ll either get in or get taken in a Black Maria’.
So we were walking round the ground and I spotted an open gate but didn’t go in. ‘I need to get in their end’ I said to Glen, he just looked at me as if I was mad. Anyway I ask, ‘who’s coming to have a go at getting in their end?’. There was no response. ‘Ok, Glen, you go in with George and I’ll meet you at the pub afterwards’. Just as I said this a gate opened and I dived in. John and three of his mates followed me and there were a few other lads. We were in Brighton’s end and I was buzzing like mad.
Half way through the first half Everton scored and we jumped up and everyone is looking at us – these lads were giving us daggers so I went, ‘let’s go over, if they want it, let’s do it’. We went right over to them. At half-time Glen’s mate got whacked and we were outnumbered but everyone went in. Then the dibble came over and marched us around the ground to the Gladys Street end. I couldn’t believe it, the Scouse coppers weren’t like the Manchester police, they weren’t bothered about the away fans, they took sides.
I was buzzing and after the match we met Glen and George at the pub and we were telling them what went on but Glen had seen it and said, ‘why did you want to go in their end?’ So I told him about the Palace game when we got in their end, well Glen’s mates couldn’t believe it – ‘you game fucker’ one of them said.
On the way back in the bus we were sat there chatting about what had gone on and these guys were staring at us. So I said, ‘what you fucking looking at?’ Still they were staring and I couldn’t help myself, I just went over and lamped him one in the kipper and we start scrapping. We were quickly pulled apart.
As time went on I was getting into trouble: fighting, shoplifting, missing school and I can always remember my 11th birthday as I spent most of it in the dibble shop as I’d been caught trying to break into this shop and I was trying to tell them it wasn’t me.
Then this copper comes out and as I’m saying it wasn’t me he just says ‘save it’ and sticks me in the cell. They ring up my auntie to come and get me and this kept on happening.
In the end there was a bad fight in which two lads got slashed and I got roped in for it and I ended up at a Young Offenders Institute. I can always remember the first night, it was miles worse than the children’s home – these lads coming up to me, giving me shit, telling me to clean their shoes. I just looked at them and said, ‘alright, I’ll have them sparkling like mad’.
Anyway the next day I’ve gone to get something to eat thinking ‘this is a bit of a shit hole but there’s no chance of getting out’ when these lads came up and asked me where I’m from. When I said ‘Manchester’, they said they were too, but one said ‘you sound a bit Scouse’. I explained that I’d lived with my auntie in Liverpool for a while. They told me that everyone tries it on in here so don’t worry and I told them about the fat twat wanting me to clean his shoes. The next thing the fat twat and a friend came over saying, ‘don’t forget about the shoes’.
As he said that I picked up a tray and whacked him in the face with it. He started screaming and went down on his knees I whacked the other one quickly as well, his nose was gushing with blood and then I turned and cracked the fat one as he hit the floor again.
‘You’ll be doing my chores and cleaning my shoes from now on, you fucking half wit!’ I said. The next thing I was nicked again and I shouted, ‘any other twat that wants it, I’ll give it them’. Anyway they walk me down to the cell and it was freezing cold and pitch black.
I was in there for three days until they eventually let me out and when I got back on the dorm I started making friends. I even went to school and only had a few fights – I thought fuck me, I haven’t got a choice here, I’ll just have to go with the flow. The next time I was released I was put into care – there was nothing my auntie could do about it.
*
Eventually, I ended up back in Blackley – my mam had already moved from there, not that I gave a shit about her anymore. I was put into foster care with this couple who had three kids of their own and another three that they’d fostered while I was in the Young Offenders Institute – I went to visit them twice and then I stayed there. I couldn’t believe it, I knew the other two in care but not to talk to, so I settled in well. They were City fans and I started going to the matches with them.
One time we went to City v Wolves and we were stood near the away end that was segregated off with a huge fence. I saw Chalkie, Roy, Billy and Emmon and I told them what I’d been up to and that I was back in Blackley. Billy reckoned I was lucky to end up where I had and as I was introducing one of the other foster kids to them it was going off – some Wolves had got in our end, so we just rushed them and they were getting it from all angles. The dibble came and got them out, some of them were leathered to fuck, another was on a stretcher.
Anyway we were all buzzing like mad and I started knocking about with Billy, Roy and Chalkie again – we’d be in the Arndale Centre in the day and then in the Amusements at night – looking for fights with others lads and robbing shops.
When West Ham played City at Maine Road we were all up for it. There were about thirty of us milling round the Arndale and then we went up to the train station. It was mid-day and we hung around Piccadilly Gardens for a bit when we heard the unmistakeable East End song, ‘I’m forever blowing bubbles’. As a group we started moving towards the noise - there were about 60 or 80 of them. We met them at the bottom of the ramp near the train station and just steamed into them. It was going on for about fifteen minutes before the dibble came and separated us. There were a few other lads there as well that I recognised and eventually the West Ham fans went to the Brunswick pub, the nearest pub to the station while we went over the road near the gardens.
At about 1.45pm we could see them getting ready, there weren’t many dibble with them as they started towards the ground. We followed them towards Oxford Road, some of the lads went the back way near where the Imperial is now – we kept behind them, then, as they turned the corner you just heard ‘come on’ and everyone steamed into them from all directions. They were completely taken by surprise and strung out all over the place – they split up and some ran up the steps to Oxford Road station – they were getting it all over, it was happening all the way to the ground.
After the match we all met up at the Parkside to have another go at them. We got the bus into Piccadilly and while we were hanging around the Gardens we saw these lads – one had an afro and was wearing a polo shirt. He looked at us, we looked back at him so we go over to him, ‘come on then’. He just smiled at us and said, ‘you cheeky little twat, we’re City’
As we were sorting all this out we heard West Ham going towards the station – so we chased them back, giving it them all the way up to the station.
On our way back we came across the guy with the afro again. He told us his firm was called the Cool Cats, a firm that everyone knew about. A few of them recognised us from the underground market and in the Arndale and we were getting a bit of a reputation. We were given the name, ‘the Arndale boys’ and I went home that night buzzing because we’d met the Cool Cats and they respected us – they knew we were game and didn’t give a fuck.
As time went on we would meet everyday in the Arndale by Alley Square – we were also getting a reputation with the older heads who hung around in the Brunswick. We might have been too young to drink but I always remember going in there to sell some jeans and meeting Donald Francis and a lad called Vinny who had blonde hair. Donald bought the jeans off us and said ‘anything you get, we’ll buy it’. Then he said, ‘we’re playing Liverpool next week, do you want to come?’ Obviously we were up for it, so then Donald says, ‘fuck the train, we’re getting a coach from the Brunswick – be there 10am Saturday – we’re leaving dead on 10 so don’t be late’.
I was buzzing for the rest of the week, I couldn’t wait for the weekend to come around – on the Friday we bumped into Donald, he was with another lad called Charlie and he was telling this lad about our exploits against West Ham.
‘Do you think these lads are up for it?’ asks Charlie.
‘Without a doubt’ says Donald, ‘don’t forget lads 10am tomorrow’.