CELTIC in world wars are like Jekyll and Hyde. Brilliant in 1914-18, (winning everything they entered bar one Scottish League, three Glasgow Cup and two Glasgow Charity Cups in five seasons), but awful in 1939-45 (losing everything bar one Glasgow Cup and one Glasgow Charity Cup).
The reasons are obvious – in 1914-18 Maley was at the peak of his powers, he had a great team to start with and he knew how to keep them out of the forces (most of them) whereas in 1939-45, the aged Maley had now gone, leaving the well meaning but inexperienced Jimmy McStay in charge and Rangers had now learned the tricks of keeping players out of the Army while all the time trumpeting false patriotism.
“Celtic Triumphs in World War II” would be a book to rival “Mountaineering in Holland”, “The Intellect of Donald Trump” or “Reformed Popes” on the book shelves for those who prefer a quick read rather than “War and Peace” or “Gone With The Wind”, but let us talk about one war time day when Celtic fans could shout and smile. This was the Glasgow Cup final of 28 September 1940.
Glasgow remained buoyant with its cheerful inhabitants and ready patter, but there was a grim austerity as well with rationing, blackouts at night and sandbags outside a few buildings. Yet the feeling was growing that the imminent danger of invasion had passed. No-one really told you the truth, but the papers and the radio seemed to be saying that the RAF had cleared the skies of Kent, and that there was to be no invasion this year.
It had been meant to be two weeks ago, someone said, but it never happened. There was even beginning to be a reluctant acceptance that the much hated Winston Churchill (and God knows, he had done enough to make the miners and the Irish – and these two groups made up a lot of the Celtic support – hate him in the past) might just have something to him.
The menace was now bombing. Glasgow was prepared, but it was clinging on to the belief that it might just be out of range of the bombers. There had been a few sporadic raids on the East Coast of Scotland, but nothing significant as yet in the West. But everyone had to be prepared.
The crowd at Ibrox for the Glasgow Cup final, given as 50,000 in some accounts, would contain quite a few people carrying gas masks (although they were now an object of fun and ridicule), loads of men and a few women in uniform, and a few bearing the scars of the unmitigated hammering of Dunkirk.
The Glasgow Cup final was much looked forward to. Football was indeed booming with many Junior games going on, all well attended and given an extra boost with the strong but unexpressed feeling that this might be the last football match for a lot of people.
Celtic had been mediocre with a tendency to win games 1-0, but they had beaten Queen’s Park and Clyde, each by the odd goal to reach the final of the Glasgow Cup. But Rangers exuded arrogance and confidence, having had a good season in 1939/40 with little opposition from anyone, either Celtic or anyone else, Celtic being handicapped by the continuing absence of Jimmy Delaney whose broken arm was taking taking an unconscionably long time to heal up
But this was Celtic’s day. Johnstone, Hogg and McCulloch; MacDonald, Waddell and Paterson; Kelly, Conway, Crum, Gillan and Murphy appeared in the green and white hoops that day to a great cheer from those who had paid their 1 shilling to stand on what was then known as the west terracing, (now known as the Broomloan end). The weather was not great, and neither was the standard of play in the first half, but Celtic fans were relieved to see the teams turn round at 0-0.
It was George Gillan, a “stocky lad from Alloa” as The Dundee Courier describes him who broke the deadlock. He might have been offside (certainly Rangers and Willie Woodburn in particular were convinced he was) but the referee, the sometimes controversial Mr MC Hutton, didn’t think so and Gillan ran on to a fine pass from Johnny Crum to put the ball past Jenkins in the 60th minute.
But that was not the highlight of the game, according to Waverley of The Daily Record. This was the brilliant save by Celtic’s George Johnstone from an Alec Venters shot. But Celtic were also well served by centre half Willie Waddell (no relation to the Rangers player of that name, but a loanee from Aberdeen) and the old hands of George Paterson, Frank Murphy and Malkie MacDonald. Full time came to an explosion of joy on the west terracing. It had been a narrow but deserved victory.
This victory will never be classed alongside Lisbon, the 7-1 or the Empire Exhibition. Indeed it was historically insignificant, because Celtic immediately reverted to their wartime inertia and inability to stand up to Rangers, but for at least one night, the Celtic fans in Glasgow, the rest of Scotland, on the high seas, in Army camps “somewhere in England”, and even POW camps, if they were lucky enough to have someone write them a letter with the news, had something to be happy about.
1940 was grim, but that night, as everyone hurried to get home before the blackout, was a little more bearable for those of the Celtic persuasion.
David Potter