The Church of Anfield

I wasn’t at Hillsborough in 1989.  I was an 11 year old at the time, although that’s not the reason why I wasn’t there.  In fact, to be completely honest, I’m not too sure why I wasn’t at Hillsborough that day.

My professional career in supporting the reds began in 1983, aged 5, in a European Cup game at Anfield.  I remember going to the FA Cup Semi Final at White Hart Lane in 1986 and being overwhelmed by the atmosphere of the travelling kop. A season ticket duly fell my way with my Dad in 1987/88 to watch one of the greatest reds title-winning sides of all time, and increasingly my Dad took me along to away games in what looks now like pretty archaic stadiums – caged in like Lions in a zoo.

West Brom away I remember in particular.  As a young lad it’s only natural to get close to the front to try and get as good a view as possible when surrounded by grown men twice your height.  I remember my Dad telling me to not get too close to the big metal fences as they were electrified.  To this day I’m not sure whether that was actually true or not, it may well have been, but the fact I so readily accepted it only goes to remind us how football fans were treated in those days.

So, for whatever reason, the FA Cup Semi Final in 1989 is a game that I never made it to, but if I had I know where I would have tried to get a place to stand – the same place all the rest of the young boys, girls and teenagers would have stood.  And by default, my Dad would have had to have come there with me.

In my absence from the game my FA Cup Semi Final day began with a quick game of footie on the park, firing home 5 or so goals past the hapless Nottingham Forest keeper, played by my mate, with me in the starring role of Kenny Dalglish.  By kick off I was listening to the local Liverpool radio station to what changed from a football match to tragedy.

I went to yesterday’s service at Anfield to remind those in the media, those in Government and above all not only the families and friends of those killed – but also the survivors of that day who must be continuing to live an enduring nightmare about what they saw – that I haven’t forgotten, and that my thoughts were with those people.

There are a whole set of complex circumstances surrounding the Hillsborough families, exacerbated by 20 years of passing, and I am sure we can sympathise with every single viewpoint.

Some families never got involved with the various support groups – understandably the shock and hurt was so much that they probably would never want to hear the word football again.  Others may have thrown themselves in to the fight for justice, with the anger of their loss at the forefront of their mind.  For others, the lies publshed about that day from certain sections of the media have made people even more determined to hold those responsible accountable for their actions that day.

For some parents of those who died, losing loved ones at Hillsborough was not the end of their personal tragedies, nor was it for those who witnessed the scenes.  Marriages have broken up on top of their losses – others have seen their livelihood’s destroyed by depression from that day, and some have even taken their own lives.

I can understand all the different perspectives and how emotions can be different.  If I had lost a loved one at Hillsborough I honestly couldn’t say whether I would be at the front of the queue demanding justice, or whether I would never have watched Liverpool again.  The only way you will ever know is if it had happened to you.

But what I do know is that 20 years on, despite the frustrations at the legal system which have led to some disagreements amongst the families, some words echo in my head from yesterday. While Trevor Hicks spoke congratulating those involved one fan rose to his feet and shouted.

‘Still Together.’

Today, just like yesterday, we certainly are.

More pictures from yesterday’s service