Don't Look Back In Anger - I Always Say

AS Scotland and England prepare to resume hostilities at Hampden tonight, I thought I would tell you about my own first exposure to football's first and greatest international footballing rivalry.

Tommy Docherty and Billy Wright lead-out the teams in 1958

I CAN still remember my first. That Saturday morning, I had, as usual, been up at the field behind the big hoose, playing fitba with Curly, Rab, Walter, Bobby and Davie. This was something we did every day – after school during the week, twice a day at weekends.

I went home at just before 12 and my Dad was home, this was unusual – he didn't normally get back until 1pm or later. Father was a Coal Board official, and a conscientious one. He put-in seven-day weeks, feeling, if he had men working, he ought to at least be around, and, as I later discovered, at the weekend, he had the time and the peace to do his forward planning.

Any way, that Saturday morning, I walked in and my mother told me, to hurry-up, get washed and changed and she would make me a sandwich. The next 15 minutes passed in a flurry, and, before I knew it Dad and I, me still eating my “piece”, were walking along the main road towards the station, where we joined the small crowd on the platform, waiting for the Glasgow train.

I can still remember asking Dad, as we left the house – why we were going to Glasgow. “We're gaun tae the fitba”, I was told. This was big news – Dad NEVER went to the football, and, that particular day, 19 April, 1958, there was only one game being played – Scotland v England, at Hampden.

We got into the deep red British Railways carriage, along the corridor and into one of the compartments, which we had to ourselves until the train reached Kilmarnock, where it filled-up. The grown-ups began to speak, of past Scotland v England games, and of great wins, bad defeats and hilarious experiences on the bi-annual Wembley trip.

This was all new and in a lot of it, news, to me. I new Dad had a soft spot for Rangers, but, on that hour and a bit train journey, I discovered he had once been a regular at Ibrox and other grounds. I learned too, we were related to a former Rangers great and heard, for the first – but not the last time – that hoariest of Rangers-Cletic chestnuts: the one about the Celtic new boy, a protestant, being upset at being called: “Fenian Bastard” by the Rangers fans. Said new boy was not moolified when Jimmy McGrory told him, not to worry, it happened to him all the time. Punch line time: “Aye, but you are one”, was the reply.

That tale will soon be 100-years old, it still gets told.

Any how, this train being a “Hampden Special”, we alighted at Mount Florida, walked up the steps to the road, then down the hill and along the jam-packed Sommerville Drive, where Hampden reared-up, in all its majesty before me.

I never noticed much of the what was, even then, 59-years ago, what my great friend and mentor Hughie Taylor would describe as: “the old lady's fading grandeur”. I was disappointed by the twin towers at the back of the stand – which I would later ascend, as they gave entrance to that gloomy, decrepit but strangely beguiling old press box, with its fantastic view of the pitch. Dad produced the precious briefs, and we were in.

The tickers which Dad had procured, through connections in the motor trade, were for the enclosure, in front of the main stand, at the King's Park “Celtic” end. We , actually standing just along from the dug-outs. I managed to wheedle my way down to the front, so I had a great view of the ankles of the policemen walking round the track, and of the players.

The late Robert Wilson was the star of the pre-match entertainment, such as it was, finishing his piece with a rendition of Roamin' in the Gloamin'.

The vast bowl filled-up, then, just before three o' clock, I felt (you felt it back then, more than heard it) the Hampden Roar, as 127,874 of us greeted the teams. Closest to us, in their navy blue shirts, with the deep white vee, their pristine white shorts and their socks of navy blue with the red tops, led out by skipper Tommy Docherty, was the Scottish team. On the far side, led, as ever by Billy Wright, in their white shirts, navy blue shorts and their red socks, with the white band around mid-calf, were the English.

 George Herd (above) and Harry Haddock (below

two Clyde players in the Scotland side - not unusual back then

The teams that afternoon were: Scotland: Tommy Younger (Liverpool); Alex Parker (Falkirk), Harry Haddock (Clyde); Ian McColl (Rangers), Bobby Evans (Celtic), Tommy Docherty (capt, Preston North End); George Herd (Clyde), Jimmy Murray (Hearts), Jackie Mudie (Blackpool), Jim Forrest (Motherwell) and Tommy Ewing (Partick Thistle).

England: Eddie Hopkinson (Bolton Wanderers); Don Howe (West Bromwich Albion), Jim Langley (Fulham); Ronnie Clayton (Blackburn Rovers) Billy Wright (capt) and Bill Slater (both Wolverhampton Wanderers); Bryan Douglas (Blackburn Rovers), Bobby Charlton (Manchester United), Derek Kevan (West Bromwich Albion) and Tom Finney (Preston North End.

Bobby Charlton - making his debut at Hampden

The referee was Herr Hubert Dusch of West Germany, one of the world's top officials of the time.

Both sides would shortly be embarking on trips to Europe, which would take them to Sweden for the 1958 World Cup Finals, where England were drawn in a group with Austria, Brazil and the USSR, while Scotland would face France, Paraguay and old foes Yugoslavia. As was usually the case, the Home International Championship was up for grabs, the winner would take the magnificent Jubilee Trophy.

I remember being annoyed at Wright, when he playfully punched Docherty in the stomach at the coin toss. They were, of course old friends; this might be Docherty's first time captaining Scotland against the Auld Enemy, but, it was the fourth time they had been on opposite sides in the fixture.

The early exchanges were fairly even, with both keepers called on to make saves, then, England struck, swiftly and surgically: Bobby Charlton taking a free-kick quickly, giving Bryan Douglas time and space in which to drill the ball home.

Big Derek Kevan, who got little change out of the smaller Bobby Evans, the Celt's red hair a beacon in the heart of the Scottish defence, took one of the rare chances accorded him in the first half and, at the break, England led 2-0.

At that point, we were not too disconsolate. Scotland had had chances, Hopkinson had made some decent saves, while Jackie Mudie had rattled the english crossbar with a firm header. From the restart, Scotland pressed, but, theirs was a disjointed team – the tall, lean, Motherwell man Forrest displaying those Scotland fans, such as Dad, who were convinced he was not Scotland class, were correct. He seldom brought Tommy Ewing, who had shown early-on he had the beating of Don Howe, into the game.

On the other flank, the other Scotland debutants, Herd and Murray, suffered from a lack of support from Ian McColl. But, Scotland put the English under pressure for the entire third quarter, without getting the goal they perhaps deserved.

Then, in 67 minutes came the defining move of the game, that time stood still moment in which a legend was born. England attacked down the left, as so-often in the past, via Tom Finney. Alex Parker stood-off the Preston legend, reluctant to tackle as Finney reached the by-line and cut infield.

Still, Parker would not commit, so, Finney looked-up and sent over a low cross which was met, knee-high, on the volley by the English debutant, Bobby Charlton. Tommy Younger dived to his left, but, it was a reflex action, the ball was already in the net as he moved.

Bobby Charlton's first goal for England - he never scored a better one

The English team engulfed Charlton, an, as the Scots prepared to restart the game in the centre circle, in an extraordinary moment of sportsmanship, Younger ran past them to shake Charlton's hand.

We knew, we all knew, at that moment, the game was lost. Thereafter, England took their foot off the gas and began to stroke the ball around at will. Indeed, with 15 minutes to go, they absolutely cut Scotland to shreds with a multi-pass move, which ended with Kevan firing home their fourth goal.

At this point, many of the Tartan Army had seen enough and headed for the exits.

It was a long, morose train journey home, few words were spoken – we had been well beaten.

I learned a harsh lesson that day – never get too confident when it comes to Scotland v England. I thought we would win. I got to see three English legends in action – Wright, Finney and Charlton, actually, make that four – Johnny Haynes, who ended his days living in Edinburgh and watching Hearts regularly, was as good a midfielder as you could wish for. Only Jim Baxter of the players I have seen, was his better as a crossfield passer.

 Three English Lions - Matthews, Finney and Haynes; the latter two played in 1958

But, I got over the disapointment. I had my moments – 1962, 1964, 1974, 1976, when I could celebrate great Scottish wins – I remember the laps of honour after the 1962 and 1964 games. Yes, this wasn't the last Scotland defeat at the hands of the Auld Enemy which I witnessed at Hampden, but, since I missed the Centenary Disaster of March, 1973 – it was the worst.

I don't think we will lose by four goals today, but, you can never say never. I only hope those young Scots attending their first Scotland v England game tonight, get a better first eposure to the fixture than I did, all those years ago. And, just maybe, we can get a good-enough win to make George Herd and Tommy Ewing, the last two survivors of that beaten Scottish team, fell a wee bit better. They are surely, still hurting.