I DECIDED to write this Lisbon story at the request of my grandson Liam Woods. Liam had earlier completed a school project on someone interesting he knew, and he decided to use me as a subject. The story is about an eight day car journey in May 1967 from Glenrothes to Lisbon and back, which I had intended to turn into a book. The reason for this journey was to attend the European Cup final between Celtic and Inter Milan on 25 May 1967. The title of this book was to be “To Lisbon and Back On A Fiver”.

I would also like to mention Morris Motors Ltd, Cowley, Oxford who manufactured the Morris Oxford Saloon series 111 from 1956 – 1959. Without this fantastic piece of British engineering, it would not have been possible to complete the Lisbon journey. As testimony to this car, in 1959, Morris sold the manufacturing rights to Hindustan Motors, India who renamed the car Hindustan Ambassador and it continued in production in India from 1959 until 2014. The Morris Oxford was designed by the famous Italian designer Alec Issigonis, whose most famous car design was the iconic mini.

I would also like to thank John Allan who assisted me with his memories of 8 days in May 1967. John was part of the famous five who participated in that epic journey.

Finally I would like to thank David Potter (author of many Celtic books) for the help and assistance given.

Before reading this diary, I would like to give a brief introduction that might help any reader understand the background for the journey with some details I should have considered before embarking on such a journey.

I was married with the 17 month daughter (Pauline). My wife (Helen) did not work. I was paid weekly and lived week to week. I had only Five Pound savings. I had only moved into a Council house in November 1966.

The car was ten years old, bought in February 1967, it was bought on Hire Purchase with 20 payments still due and had been in an accident in the first week of April 1967. The car was only insured for Third Party, Fire and Theft and had a radiator problem which required repair. It had one spare wheel, one jack and one jerrycan.

I was the only driver, I had never driven outside Scotland and I had no breakdown cover for Europe. I did not have the necessary documents for driving in Europe and I was liable if car had broken down and had to be abandoned, reported stolen or set on fire.

Other than Danny, the others would have abandoned me and my car. I took unpaid time off work and did not inform my employer about my absence.

I was not part of the original plan, if there ever was one.

In 1967, there were no Credit/Debit cards, and everything was cash or cheque. There were no mobile phones, and only a few land line phones. Danny assured me that all costs would be covered.

I took all these risks with Five Pounds…

Jerry Woods

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Friday 19 May 1967 – Poems, Prayers and Promises, Plus “Would I Take Them?”

On this day at 8.00 am I finished the nightshift at Cessna Ltd. Glenrothes. I was paid cash in a weekly pay packet and lived week to week. My outlays were rent, rates, HP payments, food, heating (coal fire), petrol etc. and in fact I had not much money left at the end of any week.

I was 23 years old, married to Helen and with a 17 month baby daughter called Pauline.

Helen required a new washing machine, and we had managed to save the Five Pound (£5) deposit required for this item that we intended to purchase the next day from our local Co-op. That Friday afternoon, I drove with Helen and Pauline to visit my parents (Paddy and Helen) in Hawthorn Street, Methil. During a snack my mother informed me that she had just learned that Danny and Martin Sullivan (my cousins) had departed earlier that day on a trip to Lisbon with some friends for the Celtic v Inter Milan European Cup final due to be played on Thursday 25 May, the following week. Their mode of transport was a van, and they had arranged to depart Methil at noon.

I WAS very hurt and annoyed on hearing this news and that Danny Sullivan was involved with this trip. The reason for my annoyance was that, up until April that year, I had driven Danny to lots of the League and all the European home games in my car. This stopped in April because my car was off the road for over three weeks due to damage caused in a car accident that month. Now here was Danny off to the European Cup final in Lisbon without a word, mention or invitation for me to join him.

About 4 pm I left Helen and Pauline at my parents’ house and decided to drive past the Sullivan’s house (Kirkland Walk, Methil) to check if what my mother had told me was true. On driving past the house, I noticed Danny looking out of their upstairs window. He waved and gestured for me to stop. I parked my car and on entering his home, I noticed a suitcase and a large mattress with pillows in the hall. Entering their living room, I found Danny, Martin, Aggie (their mother) and Margaret (their sister) all looking very upset.

Pretending I did not know, I asked “What’s up?” and they told me. Martin and three friends plus Danny had arranged a trip to the European Cup final in a van belonging to one of Martin’s friends, who was also the driver. They had scheduled to leave at noon in the van, but this had now been cancelled because the driver with the van “the most important one” had pulled out at the last minute, leaving them high and dry.

Having noticed the mattress in the hall, I enquired about their sleeping arrangements  (Hotels or B&B). They informed me that they had a three man tent, and that the mattress was intended to be used in the rear of the van for the daily travel and their sleeping stopovers. The rear of this type of van had only small windows on the back doors. There were no side windows.

With regard to the van and the driver, it turned out that the van belonged to the driver’s father. He knew nothing about his son’s Lisbon plans and refused to hand over his van for such a foolhardy journey. To me it sounded like the van driver had made “promises” that were lies and impossible to keep. Knowing what I know now in 2019, I fully understand why the original trip was cancelled. The driver of the van was not the owner or the registered keeper and did not have the Registration Document or insurance for driving in Europe. “No van, no trip”.

Up until my mother had mentioned it, I had no knowledge of their planned Lisbon trip. I had only driven past the Sullivan house to express my annoyance and now I was soon to find out what was to befall me. While I was listening to their hard luck story, Danny informed me that they had everything that was required to complete the journey. I was told they had the match tickets, passports, car and passenger ferry tickets and more than enough money to pay for everything.

(To digress, after Monday 22 May, I discovered that the above information was untrue. They only had match tickets and passports and “limited money”. Everything was to be split five ways when a payment was required. The five way payment included the car and five adult passengers plus all the fuel required for the journey. Everything else that was required (food, drink etc. ) was to be on an each to his own basis (“I’m all right, Jack”). Now the split payment was only to be four ways).

It was then that Danny on noticing that my car was back on the road, uttered these famous or infamous words, “Would you take us?”

I explained to him the situation regarding my car, the shortage of money and how was I going to get a passport plus everything else required at short notice to undertake the journey? I also had the added problem of explaining my absence from work.

Having listened intently, Danny asked that if he managed to get my car repaired and paid for all the travel arrangements and documents, plus if he covered my money situation, would I at least consider his offer? With Danny Sullivan, I had no reason to mistrust him. I always found him truthful and his generosity could not be faulted, and with these facts in mind, this gave me the confidence to at least give his offer a try.

Agreeing with my concerns regarding my passport and photo, Danny said that he had used a near neighbour who was an amateur photographer for his passport photos. We therefore decided to visit the photographer (whose studio was his shed). Danny explained to him my predicament, and there and then I had three photographs taken and developed. Danny thanked and paid the man.

Now with my photos in hand, I arranged to meet Danny the next day (Saturday 20 May) about 8.30 am at his house to attempt to get a one year visitor’s passport at the “Buroo” in Leven. In 1967, it was possible to get a passport at your local Labour Exchange now called the Job Centre (or in 1967 speak the “Buroo”) and they opened on Saturday till noon. All that was required to get this type of “Paper” Visitor’s Passport was your Birth Certificate, a recent photograph and the payment.

I said my Goodbye to the Sullivans with lots of resevations on how this was going to turn out. My reservations at this time were – I only had Five Pounds, no Passport, no International Driving Licence, no Green Card Euro Insurance, no AA Breakdown Cover for UK or Europe, the car had a radiator leak, and was on Hire Purchase, the car had no spares other than a spare wheel or a jack, the car was only insured for Third Party, Fire and Theft, I had never driven out with Scotland and how would I explain my absence to my employer?

I returned to my parents’ house about 8.00 pm and Helen enquired why I had been so long as it was past Pauline’s bed time. I explained about the Sullivans’ offer, and that I was considering taking them to Lisbon in my car. The whole family were really concerned and my father (in his poetic language) told me to “Forget it”, and to let the Sullivans know the next morning that it was impossible for this trip to go ahead.

On arrival back in Glenrothes we put Pauline to bed. Helen and I then had a long discussion about this Lisbon venture and we both decided that with Danny Sullivan’s assurances, we should go for it. Why Helen allowed me to take this on, I still don’t know. Maybe it was because she was getting to stay at her parents’ (Tam and Helen McGregor) for over a week in Tullibody. We both agreed that if everything worked out OK the next day (Saturday 20 May) I would drive Helen and Pauline to Dunfermline Bus Station on Sunday 21 May to catch the Tullibody bus. The rest of the evening was taken up preparing all the documents required for the car, and my personal items for the journey.

Jerry Woods

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Jerry Woods, in 1967 a 23 year old Celtic supporter who made a remarkable road trip to Lisbon to see Celtic beat Inter Milan in the European Cup Final….

Saturday 20 May – To Be or Not to Be with God’s Help

I awoke early. I really didn’t sleep well contemplating the upcoming Lisbon trip. After further discussion with Helen, I decided to go ahead and see what transpired. Big problem – the car!

I arrived at the Sullivans’ house about 8.30 am to pick up Danny. At 9.00 am we were first in the queue at the Labour Exchange, Shorehead, Leven (the Dole or “Buroo”), now called the Job Centre. All that was required for a passport in 1967 was a recent photograph, birth certificate and payment (perhaps £2.50 or £3.00). Danny kindly paid. The passport was called a “British Visitors Passport”. It was valid for 1 year, had 3 pages and was made from paper.

After obtaining the passport at around 10.00 am, I drove to a garage in Buckhaven that had been recommended by the person who had repaired the damage to my car in April with the exception of the radiator. On arrival, I started chatting to the owner and explained the Lisbon trip, my radiator problem and that this was the only day to have the radiator repaired.

Danny kindly offered him a couple of pounds extra and he happily agreed to conduct the repairs immediately. In order to carry out the repair properly, the mechanic had to remove the radiator to deal with some of the brass fins that were damaged and causing the leak. He also fitted two new top and bottom radiator hoses. After the repair test, the mechanic stated that everything was in order, but he expressed his doubts regarding the car – in particular the age of the car and whether getting to Lisbon and back with 5 adults was actually possible. Danny paid and thanked the garage owner.

Please note – About this time in Glasgow, the Celtic Cavalcade was leaving Celtic Park.

1 pm. We drove to my Insurance Broker in Beatty Crescent, Kirkcaldy to obtain the Green card Insurance for European travel. I explained to the Broker that I was anxious to obtain the Insurance due to the impending Lisbon trip.

Unfortunately, the Broker advised me that he was unable to issue this type of cover note for European travel and it would take at least 10 days by return post from the Prudential Head Office in London to receive the Green card.

He noticed how disappointed we were with this news and he suggested the only and quickest way to obtain the Green card insurance was to visit the Prudential Head Office in person. The Office was in Holborn Bar, Central London and would not open until Monday morning.

The broker also explained that he had previously driven in Europe on a couple of occasions, and it was also necessary for me to obtain the AA International Driving Licence Permit. The quickest way to obtain this was to visit the AA Head Office at Leicester Square in London. I’d have therefore not only to visit the Prudential Head Office but also the AA Offices. Additionally he advised that for driving in France, the regulations required yellow light bulbs, and head light beam deflectors would be required to be fitted to the vehicle. I also required a GB plate.

The broker’s advice was to cancel the trip because of our shortage of time and because forward planning was necessary for this type of journey. Not being deterred, I asked him for a letter to give the Prudential staff and a small sketch with directions to their London office. He obliged, I thanked him for his valuable help and left Kirkcaldy en route for Methil.

I stopped at the Toll Bar Garage, Methilhill to see if they had the necessary yellow light bulbs for driving in France. By luck they had them and kindly fitted two new yellow headlight bulbs. Danny generously paid once again.

When dropping Danny off at his house, Martin Sullivan informed me that he’d met up with his two friends (whom I’d never met) and he told them the Lisbon trip might be back on and if it was, he’d give them all the details that evening. After a brief discussion with Danny to re-iterate the assurances given by him regarding the necessary funding of the trip, I made the decision to take the trip on.

I therefore informed Martin to advise his friends that I’d pick them up on Methilhaven Road, Buckhaven where one of his friends lived. I decided to collect them the next day, Sunday 21 May at 1 pm with clear instructions to be packed ready to leave.

Finally, I returned to Glenrothes in order to prepare for the journey and to ensure I had all the correct documents required for this trip, as without one vital piece of information, there would be no Lisbon!

I discussed the day’s events with Helen and we agreed that the trip was now possible. I arranged to take Helen and Pauline to Dunfermline Bus Station the next day (Sunday 21 May) to catch the 11.30 am bus to her parents’ house in Tullibody.

Jerry Woods

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Sunday 21 May 1967 – Lisbon or Bust!

Today was the Big Decision day! To go or not to go? I decided to go and “no turning back now”.

I was up early, around 7 am and placed all necessary documents in the car’s glove compartment for safe keeping. Helen dressed Pauline and ensured that she had everything required for her stay with her parents. I locked up the house and departed Glenrothes around 10.15 am and dropped Helen and Pauline off at the Dunfermline Bus Station to guarantee they caught the 11.30 bus for Tullibody.

We said our goodbyes and the next time I would see or talk to them would be Monday 29 May. This was 1967 after all. There were no mobile telephones/email/social media and the only way possible to contact an “average” family member from abroad would be via an emergency telegraph.

I left Dunfermline en route to the Sullivans’ house in Methil and arrived there with trepidation at around 12.30 pm to collect Danny and Martin Sullivan. Their mother (Aggie) had kindly made some sandwiches and sent them off with a box containing biscuits, milk, tap water, a loaf of bread, Mars bars, plus tins of soup, beans, sardines, John West salmon and a jar of jam which I loaded into the boot.

Martin then tied a “Lisbon or Bust” poster on the front of the car. We then waved goodbye to a large group of neighbours who had gathered, including our cousins, the Lawlors, and Joe Sullivan.

With apprehension, I drove to Methilhaven Road, Buckhaven for the agreed time of 1 pm to pick up Martin’s two friends, and we made brief introductions for the first time. John Alan was of average build, but Brian Whyte was very tall, and they were both 19 years old, the same age as their friend Martin.

John’s mother gave us a box of Smith’s Salted Crisps and some lemonade. His mother had also made 2 large tricolour flags from bed sheets which she had dyed green, white and gold. We placed them on the rear parcel shelf and waved goodbye. Brian also brought with him a small tent and a large filled water container. We all smoked, except Danny.

Just outside Buckhaven we stopped at the Rosie Garage in East Wemyss to fill the car up with petrol. This was the first stop of ten that was required for this trip. I also filled the spare I gallon Jerry can. Ultimately the ten necessary tank fill ups during the trip meant 120 gallons of petrol. Whilst there, the pump attendant remarked about the “Lisbon or Bust” poster on the front of the car. He was astounded that we were attempting to drive to Lisbon in 4 days. He wished us “Good Luck” and shouted as we departed “better to watch the game on telly, you’ll have more chance of seeing it!”

Finally we were on our way! 420 miles ahead of us to reach (initially) central London. I departed Fife via the coast road, crossed the Forth Road Bridge (which in 1967 had only been open a couple of years) and paid the 2 shillings and sixpence toll. After crossing the bridge, I had to make an impromptu stop to remove the “Lisbon or Bust” poster from the front of the car, as the engine was showing as overheating. Fortunately it was just the lack of air into the radiator that was causing the problem….otherwise, the trip was off!

I drove via Edinburgh to Musselburgh to join the A68 south; the A68 took us via Jedburgh, Carter Bar (Scotland/England) border. Once in England we headed towards Darlington, and then joined the A1 south to Doncaster. I had to make a second fuel stop north of Doncaster on the A1. I stopped at a small independent garage, then joined the new AI(M) motorway to London. This motorway ceased at Edgeware North, London – a distance of 152 miles. This was the first time I’d ever driven on any motorway – what a fantastic experience! En route, I stopped at Toddington Services where we finished off Aggie’s sandwiches, biscuits and milk.

On arrival in Central London just after 11 pm, I parked the car in a sort of empty bomb site with 3 large walls on each side. We were in the Fitzrovia area, 49 Maple Street, Fitrovia which was very close to the new GPI tower (now known as the BT tower) and not far from the Prudential Head Office and Leicester Square for the AA offices. The sleeping arrangements for that night were the car – 3 in the back, 2 in the front (Danny and I).

Just before midnight a car drove in and parked near to us on our passenger side with a male driver and a female passenger. They must have thought our car was empty because all our windows were steamed up with 5 adults inside. With their engine still running the male passenger put the front seats down (new type of car!) and started kissing the female. Next it was full blown sex, during which the car stalled but they kept at it with the car rocking from side to side.

During this period and although our windows were steamed up other than a few viewing holes on our passenger side windows, we did not make a noise due to the free entertainment. When that finished, they raised up their seats, fixed their clothing (knickers and trousers) and the male driver tried to re-start the stalled car, but to no avail – he had either flooded the carburettor or had a flat battery.

With us laughing inside our car at their predicament and for the enjoyment they had given us, we all decided to help them get their car re-started with a push start.

The couple nearly “s**t” themselves when 5 smelly Jocks appeared from the car and went to assist them, offering help which the driver (with his stained trousers) gratefully accepted. The female never looked at us. The push start was successful and off they went, at speed into the night.

At around 12.30 am, Martin’s two friends John and Brian decided to check out the GPO Tower (or left to find food) and returned just after 1 am. Minutes after they returned to the car, 3 other cars entered the site and surrounded our car, 2 at the sides and one at the rear. They were uniformed and plain clothed Police officers. They had noticed John and Brian earlier and had followed them to where my car was parked.

They removed us from the car and separated us. We were all body searched. They questioned us individually about what we were doing in the area, where we came from and wanted to establish what we were doing.

They knew nothing about Celtic’s Lisbon game. They were “Cockney Coppers” and this was beyond their realm of thought. Fortunately one of the plain clothes Police officers was originally from Kirkcaldy, Fife. He asked us various questions such as what we knew about Methil and Kirkcaldy – the High Street, Raith Ballroom, Raith Rovers (Stark’s Park) and East Fife (Bayview). Suddenly John had a “eureka” moment. He showed the officer the match tickets for Lisbon. The officer then had a discussion with the other officers, explaining that we were genuine, but crazy. They then took our names and vehicle registration details and allowed us to park there overnight, but to leave before 8 am the next morning. The time was nearly 2.00 am, and it had been an eventful and stressful day. Sleep came easily…

Jerry Woods

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Monday 22 May – Mission Impossible and Hail, Hail Mary

Today was an early start after a most uncomfortable sleep in the car. We found a local bakers and bought milk and sandwiches which we returned to the car to eat.

We departed our overnight parking just after 8.00 am, then we had a short drive to the Prudential Insurance Head Office (Holborn Bars, London EC1N 2NQ) and parked outside the Main Entrance for the 9 am opening. At Reception, I explained my requirements and handed over the letter written by my Insurance Broker in Kirkcaldy.

The Documents required to obtain an “INTERNATIONAL MOTOR INSURANCE CARD” (called a Green Card) were full UK Driving Licence, Certificate of Car Insurance and Current Log Book for the car. The cost of the Green Card was £2 and was valid for one month. I had no problem obtaining an Insurance Cover Card, and we were on our way to the Automobile Association Headquarters by 9.50 am.

We arrived at the AA Head Office about 10.15 am (Fanum House, Leicester Square, London WC2H 7LU) to obtain an “INTERNATIONAL DRIVING LICENCE PERMIT”. The documents required for the permit were the same as the Green Card plus a photograph, the same as for the Passport.

The Counter Clerk at AA noticed Brian and John with tricolour flags and told me he was from Cork in Ireland. I explained I required the permit quickly to proceed with our last minute plans to Lisbon and the Celtic game. The Clerk promptly issued the permit (free of charge) and returned all my documents. Outside the AA Headquarters in Leicester Square (now a pedestrian precinct) Brian and John had been entertaining the residents with their songs and flag display.

We departed Leicester Square about 11 am and headed south on the A20 for Folkestone via the Dartford Tunnel (toll 2 shillings 6 pence). The distance from London to Folkestone was about 90 miles.

We arrived at Folkestone at about 1.00 pm for the Folkestone/Boulogne ferry, only to discover that there was only one ferry per day from Folkestone and that ferry had already departed. We also found out that the only loading procedure for that type of ferry was by “craning” (ie one car was lifted onto the ferry deck by crane one at a time) and that the ferry could accommodate only a small amount of cars.

After this Folkestone ferry fiasco, I realised there and then that my four fellow passengers had not done any research or forward planning for this Lisbon journey. I decided then that I would take control of all details for the rest of the trip ahead.

A policewoman had noticed our predicament (and also the flag display) and enquired if she could help. We explained the situation and advised us that our only option was to drive to Dover to try to catch one of the new Townsend car ferries. This new type of ferry had a RORO (roll on roll off) procedure, had a double deck and could accommodate 200 cars and 940 passengers.

This Ferry was called the Free Enterprise 1. It was 8 miles to Dover, and the last sailing for Calais was at 3.00 pm that day. To assist us out of Folkestone quickly, the policewoman (in her car) escorted us back onto the A20 Dover road. We arrived at Dover Port at about 2.00 pm.

While waiting in the Booking and Customs queue, John, at my request, nipped out to the small ferry shop and purchased a large Road Map to cover France, Spain and Portugal and a GB sticker for the rear of the car.

When it was our turn at the Booking/Documentation cabin, the Clerk on noticing the John/Brian flag display and promptly closed his shutter. As time was now short and cars were boarding, we kept knocking on the shutters until the Clerk re-opened. We enquired what was his problem and he explained that there had been an earlier incident with the Celtic Cavalcade, and he thought we were the Rear Back-Up Column!

The documentation required for ferry travel for the car and passengers to Europe was Passport, Full UK Driving Licence, current Car Log Book, International Driving Permit, UK Insurance Certificate, Green Card Insurance, and payment for either Single or Return Journey.

The payment required for the Ferry Crossing to Calais in 1967 was Car £6, Passengers £2 5 shillings. The total required was £17 5 shillings for a Single or £34 10 shillings for a Return. (No special deals in 1967). At my request we purchased Return tickets, although John and Brian would have preferred to purchase Single journey tickets (I expect their mode of thought at the time was with a Single, even if the car broke down, they still had money to get home) but I was ahead of them on this one “No Return, No Lisbon”.

After clearing Customs and Booking Office, I drove straight onto the ship, being the last on board with minutes to spare for the 3.00 pm sailing. The Ferry time to Calais was 1 and a half hours. In 1967, one was only allowed to take 15 shillings sterling from the UK.

On board the Ferry, I had a hand cloth wash in the toilets and changed socks, underpants and T shirt. The food on board was soup, bread, chips and milk. I did not see John or Brian again until we arrived in Calais. By their breath and behaviour, they were both well replenished. It’s a pity I had not got pissed in the bar and spent a restful night in Calais, instead of driving for another 5 hours.

When we arrived in Calais at about 4.30 GMT (5.30 CET), we cleared French Customs and decided that John would be the navigator for the whole journey. He proved an excellent navigator, so good that we only got lost once, near Le Mans.

The old mileage in 1967 from Calais to Lisbon was 1,273 miles, the French speed limit in towns was 50 (36 miles) km per hour, and all cars were required to have yellow headlights for night driving. On our route south, there were no Motorways and all routes through towns and cities were by “Toutes Directions” (By-pass). There were also no roundabouts, just cross roads with junctions and traffic lights, if busy.

The first road junction after the Ferry was controlled by a Gendarme in the middle of the road with a very loud whistle. When it was my turn to cross, I turned onto the wrong side of the road to the sound of a whistle and many hand movements from the irate Gendarme. I soon rectified my mistake, and John and Brian gave him the “flag” treatment. Welcome to France!

We drove south from Calais on the A1, A28 and then A138 towards Le Mans. En route we stopped at a town called Broglie for the third fuel-up. It was now dark but we continued towards Le Mans, and for the first and last time, we got lost for about half an hour. It was now impossible to drive safely without yellow headlights, and oncoming traffic were always flashing in anger due to our right-drive dipped lights. We stopped about midnight north of Le Mans. The distance travelled since leaving Calais was now 250 miles.

We pulled in safely to a lay-by just off the A138 Le Mans road. Martin, John and Brian decided to pitch their small tent in a field near to the car. This was the intended sleeping plan for these three, while I slept in the front and Danny in the rear of the car. While the other three were in the tent, I decided to examine John’s road map and to study the distance still required to reach Lisbon plus the return mileage. Then and only then, did I fully realise the enormity of the task I had undertaken.

It was Monday night, and the mileage just to reach Lisbon was just over 1,000 miles, plus another 1,800 for the return journey to Methil. It was a 10 year old car with no spares or breakdown cover. I only had £5, and here I was in France with four passengers who had not researched or planned this trip, and I was reliant on these four! (God help me!). To say I had tears in my eyes would be an understatement!

About an hour or so into the night, Danny and I were awakened by the other three from the tent who had decided to re-join us in the car. They could not sleep due to the cold. They had no sleeping bags (great forward planning!) The car provided a bed for the night, but there was no breakfast! Danny moved back into the front beside me, and the other three slept in the rear.

Tomorrow was a new day!

Jerry Woods

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Tuesday 23 May – The Longest Day. “Might need a little help from The Man Above”

We awoke before dawn for a very long journey ahead. Today was to be a drive, drive, drive day with me at the wheel. The distance from our Le Mans overnight stopover to Burgos, Spain was to be 550 miles (890 km).

It was turning out to be a very warm day again. After getting some drinking water, Mars Bars and Crisps and having used the nearby field for our morning ablutions, and with the flags and scarves at the ready, we drove south through Le Mans towards Poitiers.

We stopped at Poitiers at a French bank to exchange my Scottish Five Pound Note for French francs. The bank employee had never seen this type of note and searched through sample specimen copies of various nations’ currency. After a brief discussion with his Manager, he refused to exchange my Scottish Five Pound Note. While Danny Martin and I were in the bank, John and Brian disappeared into a nearby café for food and drink (one of many on this trip!).

We departed Poitiers and headed south west towards Bordeaux. This part of the journey was easy. It was a lovely day with flat roads and excellent scenery. We stopped on the outskirts of Bordeaux for fuel (4th fill up of 10 required). We entered Bordeaux via a new suspension bridge over the River Gironde, and the view was spectacular. The River Gironde is the river that the Cockleshell Heroes used for a raid on German ships during the Second World War.

From Bordeaux, we drove to Bayonne and Biarritz, and crossed into Biarritz over the River Adour. This drive from Bordeaux to Biarritz was wonderful for scenery. France really is a beautiful country.

Having been on the road since dawn (other than the Poitiers stop) we decided to stop at a small restaurant for a meal and a drink. Brian with his limited French ordered burger and chips for all five of us. The meal was great, and was the first for Danny and me since the Ferry Crossing.

We departed Biarritz at about 6.00 pm and drove towards the French/Spanish border control crossings. On the drive to the border, we noticed snow on the peaks of the Pyrenees mountain range. The border towns in 1967 were Hendaye (France) and Irun (Spain). The border is separated by the River Bidasoa that flows into the Bay of Biscay.

At the Hendaye French border it was full Passport control, because Spain was a dictatorship under General Francisco Franco (a right b******!). We cleared the French Customs after a slight delay, and drove over to the Spanish border control in Irun.

The Spanish Guardia, the Civil Guards, were very pleasant and spoke about the upcoming European Cup final. We cleared Spanish border control without any problems and the guards wished us good luck and “Buen viaje”. We then departed Irun and drove via San Sebastian south west towards Burgos in Spain.

By this time it was getting very dark, and we had been on the road for about 17 hours and had driven over 550 miles from Le Mans in France. We decided to stop at a campsite in Burgos called “Fuentes Blancas”.

We were unable to find a safe and secure place to park because the campsite attendant, with his limited English, would only allow the car and two passengers into the car park. (Why this was, I can’t remember. Maybe camp rules, or because we did not have enough pesetas to cover the cost.)

After a brief discussion with the other four, it was decided that Danny and I would take the car into the campsite, and the other three would sneak in once we had parked the car. I parked next to the wire mesh fence and when the coast was clear, Martin, John and Brian lifted the mesh at the bottom of the fence and crawled underneath. They then joined Danny and me in the car to plenty of “high fives” and laughter.

It was pitch black outside, very damp and nearly midnight. We settled down for the night. We had a long day tomorrow again.

Jerry Woods

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Wednesday 24 May – The Scottish Five Pound Note and Our Lady of Fatima

We decided to leave our overnight Burgos campsite just before dawn. The distance from Burgos to Lisbon was 750 km (468 miles old mileage). No washing this day. The last part of the journey, Lisbon, was within touching distance.

For the first and only time, the old warhorse refused to start. It had been very damp during the night and we were at the edge of a very large lake “Vitoria Gaztiez”. Anyway with a good push, she sprung into life (What a machine!)

The distance from Burgos to Valladolid was about 80 miles or about 126 km – a drive of about 2 hours. On arrival at Valladolid the car required fuel (5th tank filling). We noticed a garage that doubled as a Bureau de Change, and the owner or employee was sitting outside next to the gasoline pumps. Before filling up, I decided to try my luck and exchange my Scottish Five Pound Note for pesetas.

While I was considering this option, John and Martin were giving him the Celtic Song and flag display and he joined in the entertainment, because he already knew about the Final in Lisbon.

I presented the owner (?) with my Scottish Five Pound Note and he said “El Scotia” and while I was still in shock, he exchanged my Scottish Five Pound Note for 800 pesetas. I then paid him back about 500 pesetas for a tank of fuel.

Before we departed, we had a short football discussion with the owner (?) about the Celtic game. I shook his hand (gratefully) and waved goodbye. Now it really was “Lisbon or Bust”.

Years later, I found out that Valladolid was the largest Roman Catholic Teaching College in Europe with many Scots students training for the priesthood, and maybe the owner of the garage had exchanged money for Scots in the past?

Valladolid to Lisbon was now 390 miles, 625 km and the driving time was over 8 hours. Our next stop was on the Spanish/Portuguese border via the lovely city of Salamanca. I couple of miles before the border is the 12th century Spanish town called Ciudad Rodrigo in the River Agueda, and this old town is absolutely spectacular.

We arrived at the Spanish border town called Fuentes de Onoro after 11 am and we waited in a small queue, where the flag display was on again and a full Passport check was required. While waiting for clearance, the three younger lads had a kick about with a small ball that they had brought with them, and two of the Spanish Guardia Civil joined in the kick about. There was no problem clearing Spanish border control with the guards shouting Good Luck “Buena Suerte” and Good Trip “Buen Viaje”.

We drove over to Vilar Formoso, the Portuguese Border Control town. In 1967 Portugal was still governed by the dictator Antonio de Olviera Salazar. We had no problem entering Portugal at this border. The guards were very friendly, shouting Good Luck “Boa Sorte.” We replied with cheers and a flag display. The time now changed back to GMT and the distance from Vilar Formoso to Lisbon was just under 230 miles, 400 km, a drive of about 5 hours.

The route in 1967 from here to Lisbon was over the highest mountain range in Portugal (the Sierra da Estrela) via Gaurda to Coimbra. Gaurda is the highest town in Portugal. Thank God, it was daylight, for this part of the journey was very slow and dangerous and the distance from Gaurda to Coimbra was about 80 miles over this mountain range.

Many old women dressed in black (to indicate that they were widows) were selling fruit, vegetables, eggs and unpasteurised goats milk. We stopped and bought goats’ milk, oranges and apples for a few escudos. For reference this route over the mountains was Gaurda, Seia, Manteigas, Goveia, Govilha, Coimbra. There is now a new motorway to Lisbon on the east side of the mountains that is 60 km shorter.

Just after Coimbra, the roads were much better, straighter and flatter. A couple of miles outside Coimbra, we stopped to assist a Celtic fan with a broken down Hillman Imp (a Big End problem). He told us that he had broken down during the night and his three mates had taken separate lifts to Lisbon. They had deserted him with his car with the promise to phone a Recovery Company in the UK to rescue him. Poor bugger, I expect he managed to get home OK, but his car could still be lying there.

On the drive to Lisbon on the A1, we passed the holy religious town called Fatima where the Virgin Mary was supposed to have appeared in a vision to some Portuguese children. I would have loved to have stopped. It was about 18 miles to Fatima, but with Lisbon in sight and with just enough petrol to reach the city, we decided to push on.

About 20 km north of Lisbon we stopped to use the spare gallon of petrol from the jerrycan. Just after this, we joined the newly built Autostrada into Lisbon. We drove into the city with the River Tagus on our left and noticed the spectacular new “25 de Abril” suspension bridge which was opened in August 1966.

This bridge connects Lisbon city to Almada on the other side of the River Tagus. In Almada is the massive “Christ The King” statue (built in May 1959) with small ferries from Lisbon to the statue in Almada. There is now a new 2nd suspension bridge across the Tagus called the “Vasco de Gama”. It was opened in 1995.

We stopped and parked the car in the port area of the city “Porto de Lisboa” in a square called “Praca de Sao Paulo” 15-1200-429. The Praca (square) has an RC Church at one end called “Igreja de Sao Paolo”.

On one side of the square is a tram route and at the corner of the opposite side (where the car was parked) was a building called Pensao Sul Americana (In English this means “guest or boarding house south”). We had arrived here about 4.30 pm GMT and with the car now requiring fuel (just made it!) the square looked a safe place to park the car. With everything looking good, we decided to check out the Pensao Sul Americana for vacancies.

They had rooms to let (we found out why later) and the charge was 10 escudos (2/6p) per room per night. The normal price in 1967 for a 3 or 4 star would have been about £1 5 shillings per night (10 times that price). We checked in at the grubby reception, and had to surrender our Passports (this was Portuguese visitor regulations). Danny and I booked in one room and the other three lads shared another. Our room was on the second floor with a window overlooking a side road leading onto the square.

The room consisted of a blocked up fireplace, one large double bed with a horsehair mattress, manky pillows and bed covers. Underneath the bed, there was a large chipped piss pot, and in the rest of the room there was a small, no-drawer cabinet, a large basin and hand jug for washing but no towels.

The floor was just bare, with uneven floorboards, but the door did have a lock with a very large key. The bed and the bedcovers looked horrible, as if they had never been washed in years. The only air in the room was via the open window (no air conditioning in 1967!) and the heat in the room was unbearable.

I think the toilets were somewhere on the landing, but we never checked them out. When we required a piss, the open window was good. When we returned to the room that night, we slept with our clothes on, but what did we expect for 10 escudos? It was a pension house, doss house or brothel.

That evening, maybe about 7 pm after a rest on the benches in the square, rather than the room, we decided to check out the area around the square. This was the dock area of the city and was used by sailors from ships form many countries all around the world.

Outside our pension house, we met a pimp called Da Silva who said he was Irish. Danny told him that the only Irish in him was when his father from a merchant ship met his mother in a brothel. We told Da Silva get lost. He more than likely had more money that we did. We ended up in a small pub café called the “Bar Arizona”. It was a great Portuguese name to go with the Pensao Sul Americana with its pimps, pubs, beds and prostitutes. It was a great area to stop!

At the Bar Arizona we bought some food and drink, and stayed there for a couple of hours. By this time the square was getting really busy with locals, Celtic fans and sailors. They must have heard about the Bar Arizona and the Pensao Sul Americana! John, Martin and Brian decided to move on with their flags and songs, and to join the other fans for the night’s entertainment.

Danny and I sat in the square to enjoy the Celtic show and we discussed what to do about the shortage of money. Danny mentioned a story he had read in The Sunday Post regarding a local Church of Scotland minister called the Reverend Kenneth Tyson who had offered to help any Celtic fans in need. I retrieved the newspaper from the car and after reading the story in full, we decided we would visit the Reverend Kenneth Tyson at the St Andrews Church of Scotland, Lisbon.

We retired to our five star accommodation for the night. The time was about midnight. It was very hard to get to sleep due to the noise in the square and the heat in the room. For entertainment we decided to find out how far we could pee out the window, and maybe shower some drunks! Anyway, sleep did get the better of us and we forgot about the state of the bed. Big day tomorrow, and the purpose of our visit!

Jerry Woods

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To Lisbon and back on a fiver – Thursday 25 May, Champions of Europe

Thursday 25 May – The Lisbon Lions and the Kings of Europe, The Feast of Corpus Christi

Today the reason why I am here. Would Celtic become the Champions of Europe or runners up?

We awakened early (about 5 am) because of the heat within the room and was worried about fleas in the bed which required de-lousing. It was also very noisy outside our window because of the city refuse collectors and the city street cleaners who were washing down the streets from around the square (all the litter from the previous night). Though it was still early and slightly dark outside, there were many residents up and about.

We washed all over with a clean hanky. My body dried quickly with the heat in the room, and when the coast was clear, I had a quick pee out of the window. I dressed and went outside to the square. I checked if the car was still OK in case it had been damaged from the previous night’s entertaining. We found a small snack booth, had a large coffee, bread and cheese, then returned to the benches in the square to eat and watch the residents go about their business.

Today was the feast of Corpus Christi. It was a Day of Obligation and a Portuguese public holiday. I decided to go to Mass in the RC Church situated at the end of the square (Igreja de Sao Paulo) to pray for a safe journey home, and for Celtic. The Church was full with youngsters and loads of women, their heads covered with a mantilla veil. The inside of the Church to St Paul was magnificent.

After Mass, the time was about 9 am. We returned to the Pensao Sul Americana to check out and for the return of our passports. During check out, we were informed that the Portuguese Police (Gendarmerie) had visited our Pension house during the night because of a large disturbance outside which started with a fight and ended with a stabbing.

Danny and I had heard shouting, banging and whistles but thought it was from the square outside. We were far too tired to be interested.

After the return of our passports, we returned to the square and discussed our thoughts from the previous night about the shortage of money. Without any hesitation, Danny and I decided to visit St Andrew’s Church of Scotland and the Rev. Kenneth Tyson to take him up on his promise written in The Sunday Post of 20 May. In that newspaper the Rev. Tyson stated that any Celtic fans who required help should get in touch with him and he would try and assist in any way he could.

We now had a Saviour (or so we thought) and received directions from – guess who? – our old friend Da Silva. I think he was the owner of the Pensao Sul Americana? We took a city tram for the first part of the journey and walked the last half mile.

On arrival at St Andrew’s Church of Scotland (R – Arriaga 13 – 1200 – 608), the scene outside the Church was chaotic. Celtic fans were everywhere, inside the Church, on pews and the vestry, on the pavement outside. Fans were in tents, vans and cars. Flags, posters and beach balls decorated the railings and the Church sign, and empty bottles and cans lay at the side of the road.

After much searching we eventually found the much distressed and worn out Rev. Kenneth Tyson and explained to him our monetary problems, but to no avail. He could not help.

He advised us to visit the UK Embassy with our passports and to apply for an Emergency Repatriation Loan. If the loan was granted, they would suspend our passports until the loan was repaid. We thanked the Rev. Tyson for his advice and received a bowl of watery soup and dry bread for our troubles. The soup kitchen was like the Jesus miracle with the two loaves of bread and the five fish (the feeding of the 5,000 – Matthew 14: 13-21). Later in life, the Rev. Tyson received the OBE from the Honours List. He definitely deserved it.

Feeling very distressed, we decided to walk back to the Sao Paulo square to kill time and save money. We arrived back in the square after 1 pm and eventually found the other three lads, who looked as if they were still recovering from the previous night’s exploits, and it also looked as if they had enjoyed a good meal somewhere (lucky them!). We rested at the square while Martin, John and Brian gave the locals their free flag and scarf display (now honed to perfection).

After 2.00 pm we found out from Da Silva the quickest route to the stadium, the Estadio Nacional and the nearest petrol station. On route we filled the car plus the can with the now sixth tank of petrol. Before departing for the stadium, we sat in the car for a short while discussing the money situation. Danny and I explained our failed Church of Scotland visit, and asked if we should contact the British Embassy and request their help.

We still required another four tanks of fuel to complete the return journey home at the cost of at least £12 plus. The other four – Danny, Martin, John and Brian – all agreed that they had enough funds to cover the cost (food not included). The only problem with this agreement was that not one of the four was in charge of the money (kitty), each being left to their own devices. At this point I should have stepped in and taken enough money from them to cover the fuel costs.

On the journey to the Estadio Nacional (Stadium of Light) we were joined by loads of buses and taxis with Celtic fans on route from the airport to the stadium. Flags, scarves, banners, drums, bagpipes and whistles were on display everywhere with music and songs filling the afternoon air. We decided to join in and follow this Celtic cavalcade to the designated car park with all horns blazing.

Inside the car park (no charge) the noise and colour was fantastic. What a truly wonderful experience! Now I realised why I took on the epic journey and why I was so proud to be a Celtic supporter – “A club with no equal”.

The time was just after 3.00 pm, entrance gates did not open until 4.00 pm and the kick-off was not until 5.30 pm GMT. The heat this day was immense, beautiful blue sky, no clouds or wind, just a perfect day for Celtic to perform.

We sat and lay outside entrance to stadium on long concrete benches and purchased match programmes and locally made Chinese hats to avoid the heat from the sun.

The gates opened at 4.00 pm (we were nearly the first group to enter the stadium) with the ground filling up very quickly. John and Brian, on noticing that the majority of the Celtic fans were congregating at the opposite end from where we had decided to sit, moved to that end (the goal end) and we agreed to meet them in the car park after the game. Even though the two of them were at the other end of the stadium, we noticed that they had joined their tricolour flags into one large banner, clearly visible from our end.
The Italian supporters were all well dressed, tanned and looked the part. What they thought of thousands of hairy Scots and Irish is beyond thinking about, but the Italian flags, scarves and banners were spectacular (no home-made bed sheets there!)

About 4.45 pm both teams appeared in their suits and ties to inspect the park and soak up the joyful atmosphere. (Apparently, no warm-up was allowed for this game.) The Italians all looked very tall compared with the Celtic lads. This Celtic team was unique – eleven home grown Scots of mixed religions, and all born within a 30 mile radius of Glasgow.

The game is well documented and recorded, but here is a brief summary of the teams and the game. Inter Milan were known as Internazionale and played the catenaccio style of defensive football. Their Manager was Helenio Herrera, and Inter had won this competition in 1964 and 1965 and were odds-on favourites to win the 1967 final.

Celtic were formed in 1888 in Glasgow by Brother Walfrid, an Irish Marist Brother to help feed the poor on the East side of the city. This was their first time in this competition and the first Scottish or British team to reach the final. Their Manager was Jock Stein, they had eleven Scots and they were renowned for their attacking style of play.

First half – Jim Craig (7 minutes) conceded a penalty, converted by Sandro Mazzola – 1-0 for Inter.

Second half – Celtic equalised via Tommy Gemmell (63rd minute). Score now 1-1. In the 83rd minute with 7 minutes left, Stevie Chalmers scored the winner to make the final score Celtic 2 Inter Milan 1.

Celtic were now crowned, and they were the first Scottish or British team to win this competition – this famous team is now known as the Lisbon Lions. If the game had finished in a draw, there would have been no extra time. The stadium had no floodlights and substitutes were not allowed. If a replay was required, it was to be played the next day.

After the final whistle at 7.20 pm the stadium erupted with Celtic fans invading the park to congratulate their heroes. With so many fans on the park, the only Celtic player able to receive his winner’s medal and the European Cup was the team captain Billy McNeill. The other ten players were in their dressing room unable to collect their medals, and they missed the Cup presentation due to the amount of fans on the park and the area designated for the Presentation Ceremony.

To get onto the park, you had to leap over a deep moat about four feet deep and five feet wide with the police manning this area. This was no problem for fit young Celtic fans, even though we had just travelled 1,800 miles. After negotiating the moat, we joined up with the massive hordes of Celtic fans on the pitch and were locked in a large group, unable to move other than side to side. The atmosphere and excitement were electric. “Yes, I was there” with my Scottish Five Pound note.

While I was on the park, I noticed the TV cameras, and worried in case I was recognised at home on TV and reported to my employer. After the celebrations had died down (a bit) Danny and I met up with the other three lads in the car park. It was hard to miss them with an eight foot tricolour!

Once all five of us were in the car (my car) I informed the other four that we were going to return home immediately due to the shortage of money and the 1,800 mile journey required. I received no objection from anyone, although I suspect John and Brian would have loved to have spent a celebration night in Lisbon.

We departed the stadium car park after 9.00 pm and drove for about one hour to the outskirts of the city. We stopped in a residential area as it was now dark for our overnight sleep.

Note: In February 2018, John Allan told me that he had bought eight match programmes to keep for the future. He also told me that Brian Whyte had cut up the white area of the penalty spot with a pen knife and had kept it in a sealed jar in his home in Leven for many years. No reason to disbelieve him, but neither he nor Brian mentioned this on the way home.

Jerry Woods

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To Lisbon and back on a fiver – Friday 26 May, ETA and Rasputin, the Basque Monk

We awoke as soon as daylight appeared after our overnight sleep in the car on the outskirts of Lisbon.

I intended to use exactly the same route for the journey home. The return distance from Lisbon to Calais was 1273 miles and I also decided to try to drive that distance with just two stopovers to catch the noon ferry at Calais on the Sunday. I just wanted home. This was now becoming an endurance test. Lack of sleep, food, money and with me being the only driver, my body was in meltdown.

We said goodbye to the beautiful city of Lisbon about 7am with the intention of reaching San Sebastian or further in one drive, nearly 600 miles. During this part of the journey, every town was to get the flag, scarf and horn treatment.

At the Portugal/Spain border towns (Vilar Formoso and Fuentes de Onoro) the guards on both sides of the respective borders checked only our passports and the car registration from the documents. Both sets of guards waved us through with greetings “Bem feito” and “Bien hecho” – well done!

When we reached the outskirts of Valladolid, we stopped for the 7th fuel tank fill up. On the north side of this city of Valladolid, when approaching the garage where I had exchanged by now famous Scottish Five Pound Note, I noticed the same man (the owner?) sitting in his same chair next to his gasolina petrol pumps.

I started honking my horn and the lads in the rear started their flag waving display to gain his attention. He rushed to the side of the road waving his arms, frankly like a demented animal. I did not know if he wanted us to stop (regarding the Five Pound Note) or if he was just happy to see us (the former I think). We did not stop to find out.

On the road to San Sebastian we got lost at a very large lake near Burgos for about half an hour. We arrived at San Sebastian about dusk – 7.30 pm. This was about the same time as Celtic were parading the European Cup to the fans at Celtic Park.

The route home was through the city centre of San Sebastian, and the boys in the back were giving the residents the full flag and scarf treatment, only this time the response from these city locals was much different from what we had received previously.

The local pedestrians and car owners had clenched fists, were shouting obscenities and some even pointed imaginary guns at us! They were creating so much noise that it was frightening, never more so than when one car drove alongside of us trying to pull the flags from John and Brian’s hands. We could not understand why we had created so much annoyance in this city. We were very glad to get out of there.

Later than night we discovered from a monk why the residents of San Sebastian were so upset about our horn and flag display through their city. San Sebastian is in the Spanish Basque area of Northern Spain and our flags were similar to the flag of the dictator Franco who was hated by the Basques.

They wanted a breakaway region for this area of Spain. Because of their treatment by the dictator Franco, this group of people had started a resistance group called ETA to gain their independence from Spain and to make this Basque area the autonomous community of Spain.

The Basque flag has a red background, white cross and green saltire and is called the Ikurrina flag. (History lesson over).

That night maybe just after 10.00 pm on the Spanish side of the Pyrenees, it became very foggy. The fog was so dense that to drive in these conditions with yellow headlights was impossible and downright dangerous. We were desperate to find a safe place to stop and suddenly like a miracle (and I mean a miracle) a light appeared in the distance like a vision from God. The lights were from a very large building with many windows and a good few lights still on. They also had a large secluded forecourt. We discovered later that the building was a Monastery and an Orphanage for young boys. The Monastery looked like an old castle or a fortress.

We pulled into the forecourt and approached the entrance door. It had a large pull cord bell. We rang the bell, and even though it was late, a very tall monk appeared dressed in a brown habit. We started to explain our situation regarding the fog and the car. At the start he was very friendly, and spoke and understood some English. John in his French/English lingo explained about the Celtic/Inter game in Lisboa and showed him the match programme.

Everything was good and OK until the monk saw the tricolour flags on the rear passenger shelf of the car. Suddenly he was not so friendly, so much so that he started punching the roof of the car with his fists. This is when we discovered the San Sebastian Basque flag problem.

John came to the rescue again. He calmed him down and told him that the flags were symbols of the Irish Republic and were honoured by the Celtic fans because of their heritage and struggle against the English for Irish independence. During our discussions with the monk, three young boys appeared and John gave the boys and the monk four of the eight match programmes that he had purchased at the game (now, in good condition, worth about £1,000 each). We showed the monk the car and offered him tins of Irish stew, soup, beans and a large tin of John West salmon. The monk accepted our gifts, went inside and returned with sticks of bread, cold meat, cheese and drinking water.

The monk allowed us to park up in the forecourt, and blessed us and the car for a safe journey home. He then rushed inside to devour his large tin of John West salmon. The time was now after midnight, and we settled down for our night’s sleep in the car, safe within the walls of the Monastery.

Jerry Woods

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Lisbon and back on a fiver – 27 May, Goodness, Gracious Great Balls of Fire

Before dawn, the fog had lifted and it looked as if it was going to be a very warm day. I decided to try to drive as far as possible this day (the same as yesterday – about 600 miles). To achieve this we would require another two fuel stops in France (Bordeaux and Broglie). Before departure we shared what was left of the food given by the Blessed Monk.

We departed the Monastery as soon as daylight appeared. We were still on the Spanish side of the Pyrenees and on the descent to the Spanish/French border. On the way, we stopped at a very large concrete trough (about the size of a double bath) that was filled continuously from a small waterfall from the mountains. We had not bathed since leaving Scotland on Sunday 21 May. Everyone in the group was stinking of body odour, and we all decided to bathe in this water trough.

We all addressed down to our underpants and climbed into the trough (Martin had a small bar of soap) for a very cold but refreshing bath. This was one of the best mornings of the whole trip, and it refreshed me for the long drive ahead. While we were in the trough, passing vehicles (locals maybe) would peep their horns, and shout curses with raised fists.

We discovered shortly after that these type of troughs were for the local mountain animals. Now washed and refreshed, we discarded our underpants into nearby bushes and dried our bodies with used T shirts. Before leaving the trough, we filled up our water container with the fresh mountain water.

This was flag day again and every village town and city was to get the Celtic flag display. We reached the Spanish/French border controls at Irun in Spain and Hendaye in France. First were the Spanish Guardia Civil who just checked passports and car registration and waved us through. On the French side, it was full passport and car inspection. The reason for the full check was that this part of France was also in so called Basque separatist territory, and ETA had been active recently.

The weather was getting really warm now, the hottest day yet and all the car windows were open. With the push now on to reach our next stopover, this part of the journey, although very scenic, was very uneventful.

Just south of Bordeaux, we had to stop the car because four very large flies had entered the car via the open windows and the three guys in the back were going mental. We stopped at a garage in Bordeaux for the 8th fuel fill-up, bought some concentrated juice to mix with our water and bread loaf. All the food I can remember from this part of the journey was the water, carrots and small apples and plumbs we removed from an orchard.

We stopped for fuel again at Broglie in France (same garage) for the 9th tank fill-up. On the drive through this northern area of France, we passed a good few war graves. Many tanks and remnants of World War II were on display in many towns and villages.

During this epic 600 mile journey, we did not pass or see any other Celtic fans.

It was now past 11.00pm and getting very dark. The sky was a terrible colour. It looked like a storm was brewing, and I was knackered after such a long drive. We stopped in a very safe lay-by just south of Abbeyville and from here it was about 65 miles to Calais.

During the night at about 1.00 am we were hit by a dangerous thunder storm with high winds and rain due to the continual heat for the last 10 days. I had never experienced or even seen a storm like this before. The sky was fully lit up with balls of lightning which would strike and roll along the road. The car would fully light up as though daylight had returned. They were like large space ships. Everyone was very frightened in case one of the lightning balls would strike the car. I have since learned that ball lightning is an unexplained, dangerous electrical phenomenon, and the lightning balls can vary from pea size to meters in diameter.

After the lightning finished, very heavy rains and winds started and we wondered what it was going to be like in the morning. (We were soon to find out). The only good thing about the whole experience was that I had parked the car in a safe area outside Abbeyville with no trees near us. I think the monk’s earlier blessing of the car and ourselves kept us safe. I still believe it to this day.

I fell asleep about 4.00 am after the storm had stopped.

Jerry Woods

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Sunday 28 May – Home, James and don’t spare the horses!

This was the last full day of driving required to reach home (thank God). It was now 60 miles to Calais and 520 from Dover to Methil.

The two day drive from Lisbon was so energy sapping that my mind was numb and my body was in meltdown due to lack of sleep and food to maintain my stamina. I was totally exhausted. My arms were almost hanging off due to my car not having power steering, but with the thought of one more day’s drive to reach home, the adrenaline kicked in (No Red Bull).

Because of the previous night’s storm I decided to wait until it was fully daylight before attempting the 60 mile journey from Abbeyville onto Calais to catch the 12.00 noon Townsend ferry. The roads in Abbeyville were littered with storm debris. Some trees had been blown down, and although the roads were not blocked, we had to drive slowly to avoid the debris, and the large amount of water from the overnight rain.

Since leaving Lisbon on the Friday morning, no Celtic fans had passed us in either cars or buses. Then a couple of miles south of Boulogne, we stopped to help a group of four Celtic fans in a new yellow Ford Anglia who required assistance. The car had broken down during the previous night’s storm and we were the first from the UK to pass them. We decided to help them as it was now only 22km to the ferry at Calais. The owner of the Anglia had a tow rope and I towed him and his three passengers to Calais.

The Morris Oxford was a great car and with the help of the Spanish monk’s blessing, I towed the five adults in the Oxford and the four in the Anglia to the Calais ferry. We arrived at Calais about 9.30 am for the noon ferry to Dover with much shouting and flag waving by everyone.

In the Ferry queue, there were some other cars in front of us, but no Celtic supporters. We were the first. We were the last going out, and the first to return!

During our wait in the queue, Martin, John and Brian went onto the beach at Calais for a game of football. Others in the queue decided to join them and they used the tricolour flags as goalposts. After our three returned to the car, it was discussed as a group that to complete our journey home, we still required one more tank of fuel (the 10th) at a cost of £3 plus. Nobody voiced any objections.

After clearing French customs and ticket booths, the ferry started loading about 11.15 am. Prior to boarding, it was agreed by everyone in the queue to allow the Ford Anglia to be hand pushed onto the ferry first. This was successful, to loud cheers from everyone. It was now our turn to board and it was such a joy and relief to be on board the ship!

John and Brian buggered off with their flags to bars to join in the celebrations with the other Celtic fans. On the ferry, I washed, shaved and changed into a shirt and tie, and exchanged the 90 pesetas I had left for 10 shillings sterling.

In the ship’s café, I devoured soup, pie, chips and milk, and from the Duty Free shop I bought a bendy toy for Pauline which cost about 4 shillings. Danny bought a Titi-Gogo toy for his niece.

The noise and singing from the ferry bars was horrendous, and any neutral would have steered well clear of the on board bars. During a visit to the toilet, I met Brian who informed me that John and he had met up with the guy from Kilmarnock whom they had met in the bars in Lisbon.

We arrived in Dover at 12.30 GMT and joined the queue for Arrival and Customs Clearance with John and Brian lying p*ssed in the rear of the car. We cleared Customs OK. The time was about 1.15 pm and we were soon on the A20 (via Dartford tunnel, 2/6d toll required) to London.

On A1 North of London, it was discovered that the other four between them did not have enough money for the final tank of petrol. All that was required to return home safely was £3 for 12 gallons of fuel, yet the other four guys could not deliver.

The main two culprits John and Brian knew the money situation at Calais, yet they were prepared to spend all their money in the bars on board the ship, and now they were lying drunk in the rear of the car without a care in the world!

Between the five of us, we had 10 shillings 9 pence left and I decided to stop at the next garage on the A1 for 2 gallons of petrol. With these two gallons, we now had enough fuel to reach the garage in Doncaster where he had filled up on the way down.

On arrival at the Doncaster garage, Danny and I asked to speak to the owner who recognised us from our previous visit due to the flag display the previous Sunday. We introduced ourselves to the garage owner and explained the situation regarding shortage of money.

As a security deposit for 12 gallons of petrol, we offered him my wedding ring and Timex watch, and Danny gave him his watch and surrendered his passport (I don’t remember or care if the other three offered anything).

Danny also promised the owner that on arrival home he would send him a five pound postal order to cover the postage for the return of our property and a bit extra for his troubles. The garage owner accepted, took our security items, Danny’s passport, address, names and car registration. (The monk’s blessing was still working!)

With regards to the items left at the garage, Danny, true to his word, posted his Five Pound Postal Order and received the return of all out belongings about ten days later. Danny returned my wedding ring and my watch to my parents in Methil.

My wedding ring was the only thing of value and was purchased in Dublin in 1964 by Helen my wife. Although this all happened over 50 years ago, it still annoys me. My wedding ring! My car!

We were on our way again with enough petrol to get home. The distance between Doncaster and Methil was about 300 miles. We left the A1 at Darlington and took the A68 via Northumberland to Carter Bar and Musselburgh.

During this part of the journey on the A68 north of Tow Law and near the England/Scotland border at Carter Bar, we hit a very large fog bank that stayed with us until we reached Musselburgh. The time was 11pm and the distance from Carter Bar to Musselburgh was about 60 miles.

The journey was worse that the Pyrenees, speed was reduced to 30 mph, and it would take over 2 hours because of the fog and the hills on this part of the A68 to reach Musselburgh. The yellow headlights did not help. Even though I was knackered, I just wanted home so no matter how slow, I just kept driving.

On arrival in Musselburgh, Martin Sullivan told me that during this part of the 2 hour journey, he had kept his hand on the handbrake in case I fell asleep.

On route from Musselburgh to the Forth Bridge, we realised that we required 2/6 pence for the Forth Road Bridge tolls and we had only 9 pence left. We arrived at the Forth Bridge at about 2.00 am. We stopped at the Toll Booth and explained our predicament to the attendant about money and that we only had enough fuel to reach Methil, so we could not go via the Kincardine Bridge.

He made a phone call, gave us the thumbs up and opened the barrier to allow us to cross the Bridge free of charge to great cheers and many handshakes. Rasputin the monk’s blessing had worked again!

Although nearly home, I was on the point of exhaustion. First stop Buckhaven about 3.00 am, dropped off John and Brian, next stop Methil for Danny and Martin and then I drove home to Glenrothes. The time was now about 3.45 am. I set the alarm for 9.00 am because I still had to pick up Helen and Pauline from Tullibody later that same day.

Any time I met Aggie (Danny and Martin’s mother) in the future, she would always thank me for taking her two sons to Lisbon and bringing them back home safely. Danny, Martin, John and Brian might tell their friends they “were there”. But they were only there because of me, my car, my resolve, my determination and the 3,600 miles I drove. Yes, I “was there”!

I never met Brian White again. I met up with John Allan in February 2018 after a newspaper advert to find him and I have kept in touch since. Danny and Martin Sullivan I met occasionally until their early deaths as young men.

Jerry Woods

TO LISBON AND BACK ON A FIVER CONTINUES ON NEXT PAGE

To Lisbon and back on a fiver – exactly how it was done

Monday 29 May – Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea and the Hunter Home from the Hill

I left Glenrothes just after 10.00 am, and arrived at Tullibody about 11.00 am. In 1967, very few families had a house phone, and Helen did not know on what day (if any) I would return to pick her up. It was so good to see them again. Helen remarked and was concerned about my weight loss. I gave Pauline her bendy toy,that she kept for years.

Helen’s mother (Nelly) made one of her famous breakfasts that I devoured instantly. Helen during her visit had received (for Pauline) over £3 from all of Nelly and Tam McGregor’s friends plus another £2 from her father Tam. Therefore with this amount (£5) there was now enough for another Lisbon trip?

We stopped on the way home to Glenrothes for petrol, arriving home after 3.00 pm. At 5.00pm I went up to my doctor, Dr Rothnie (the Butcher!) for a post-dated sick line. In 1967 visiting a doctor did not require an appointment. You either attended a morning or an evening surgery, registered with the receptionist, sat in a queue with the rest of the so-called sick patients until it was your turn, and I would have to remember to cover up my sunburnt right arm.

When it was my turn, I told Dr Rothnie that I had been in bed and off work for all of the previous week with the flu and that I required a post-dated sick note for my employer to cover my 6 days absence. I knew I had lost weight, maybe about 12 lbs, and I must have looked terrible, because Dr Rothnie was not known for giving out sick lines.

In 1967, if you were off work, you did not receive sick pay from your employer. The only benefit was to claim a sickness payment via your National Insurance office – about 40% of your wages.

I returned home to Helen and Pauline, as happy as Larry, had a meal and a bath and then off to bed. I slept the sleep of angels until Helen wakened me about 7.00 am for my work the following day (Tuesday).

Tuesday 30 May – Deo Gratias

I returned to work – Cessna Hydraulics Glenrothes. I reported to the Personnel Department and handed over my sick note. I explained the situation regarding my absence and apologised for not informing them earlier because I did not have a telephone (true) and that my wife and daughter were staying over at her parents in Tullibody (true).

They accepted my explanation and I stayed employed with that company until 1979 (12 years later).

Jerry Woods

Petrol Costs – Details of Mileage/ Route and the cost involved to Lisbon and back

Methil to London (return) 3,600 miles – 1,800 miles a single journey
Methil to Dover – 520 miles
Calais to Lisbon – 1273 miles (1967 mileage)

Ferry time – 1 hour 30 minutes
Calais to Le Mans 264 miles. 424 km = 6 hours driving – Monday
Le Mans to Burgos (Spain) 540 miles – 900 km = 12 hours driving – Tuesday
Burgos to Lisbon – 470 miles – 760 km = 11 hours driving – Wednesday

From 5 pm Calais on Monday 22 until Wednesday 24 = 48 hours ie 7+24+17 = 48 hours
Sleep required Monday and Tuesday = 16 hours minimum
Therefore at least 32 hours for Driving/Stopovers/Fuel/Toilets/Food would have been required to make Lisbon at 5 pm GMT on the Wednesday

Total Return Mileage = 3,600 miles. The fuel tank held 12 gallons of fuel. MPG was 30 miles per gallon.
Therefore 12 gallons x 30 mpg = 360 miles per tank of fuel.
Therefore for 3,600 mile distance, 10 gallon of fuel required 10 x 360 = 3,600
10 tanks of fuel is 120 gallons (12 gallons x 10 tanks = 120 gallons)
The cost of 1 gallon of petrol in 1967 was 5 shillings (now 25p in 2019)
Therefore 4 gallons in 1967 cost £1
The fuel tank held 12 gallons and the cost would have been £3
Therefore it would have taken 120 gallons for a 3,600 mile journey (12 gallons x 360 per tank)
Total cost for 120 gallon at 5 shillings per gallon = £30 total
In today’s money at £5 per gallon, this is £600

SPEEDS – Car top speed was 78 mph. Driving time required for 3,600 mile journey
40 mph = 30 hours
45 mph = 27 hours
50 mph = 24 hours
60 mph = 20 hours
It would have taken either 45 or 50 mph to make Lisbon at 5 pm on the Wednesday

In 1967, all French roads, via cities and towns were sign posted TOUTES or AUTRES DIRECTIONS (TOUTES all routes) (AUTRES local or nearby)
TOUTES is similar to UK by-pass roads. Also in 1967, there were no roundabouts in France or Spain

Petrol Stops required for 3600 mile journey

Tank held 12 gallons at 30 mpg = 360 mile per 1 tank of petrol. Therefore it required 10 fuel stops to complete 3,600 mile Lisbon journey

1. East Wemyss – zero miles Sunday 21/5/67
2. Doncaster – 290 miles Sunday 21/5/67, Doncaster – Dover 240 miles, Car Ferry Dover to Calais Monday 22/5/67, Calais to Broglie 200 miles
3. Broglie – Tuesday 23/5/67, Broglie – Bordeaux 360 miles
4. Bordeaux – Tuesday 23/5/67. Bordeaux – Valladolid 350 miles
5. Valladolid – Wednesday morning 24/5/67. Valladolid to Lisbon now 360 miles + extra jerrycan = 1,800 miles

TOTAL JOURNEY – Methil – Lisbon 1,800 miles

Same route was used on the return journey. Sixth fill-up was in Lisbon on Thursday 25/5/67 +jerrycan. Tenth and final stop for fuel was at Doncaster on Sunday 28/5/67 where we had to pawn items for petrol.

This was an 8 day trip – 7 complete days of driving, the only exception being Thursday 25 May 67, the day of the game. The 3,600 mile epic journey required 7 days of driving, at least 515 miles per day with me as the only driver!

Route through France, Spain and Portugal

France – Calais, Rouen, Le Mans, Tours, Poitiers, Bordeaux, Bayonne, Biarritz, Hendaye (border)
Spain – Irun (border), San Sebastian, Vitoria/Gasteiz, Burgos, Valladolid, Salamanca, Fuentes de Onoro (border)
Portugal – Vilar Formoso (border), Gaurda, Coimbra, Pompal, Fatima (near), Alcomaca, Alenquer, Vila Franca de Xira, Lisbon

25 May 1967 – European Cup Final

Celtic 2 Inter Milan

Team – Simpson, Craig, Gemmell, Murdoch, McNeill, Clark, Johnstone, Wallace, Chalmers, Lennox, Auld

Scorers – Gemmell and Chalmers

Anyone wishing to get in touch with Jerry Woods about To Lisbon and Back on a Fiver, please email editor@thecelticstar.co.uk and we’ll pass on your note.