On board we met up with more Celtic Supporters and West Ham fans. Some noisy singing from both sets but no trouble. At the ground we discovered out tickets were for the end opposite from where the bulk of the Celtic fans were. In those days the only game that had segregation was the Old Firm encounter so we were not unduly worried about being surrounded by home fans. The police were though.

They insisted we move. Accordingly, they escorted us around the track past the main stand and into the terracing behind the other goal. We opened out a tricolour and displayed it on our walk around the ground, getting a few grunts from the natives and a cheer from the Celtic fans as we clambered into the away section.

Someone started up the Bobby Moore song. The one about his incident with the bracelet in Bogota. This was a popular song in Scotland at the time. Jimmy Higgins, always the diplomat, turned round and said “Cmon lads – no need for that tonight – a bit of respect”.

I thought he had a point. Bobby Moore might be the English captain but there was no doubting his ability and leadership skills – and he had invited us in a sense (although we were paying a handsome price for the tickets). Others must have thought so too, and for the rest of the night the songs were from the more traditional Celtic repertoire.

There was plenty to sing about too. A really great game. Celtic led 3 times but had to settle for a draw. We should have won; we had the chances and I recall wee Bobby missing a great opportunity just before the end. Some felt it was to ensure Bobby Moore didn’t end his testimonial game with a defeat but I was sure it was just one of those things. Both teams had genuinely wanted to win the game.

At the final whistle it was handshakes all round. On the park and off it too as we passed some West Ham fans on the way out. We could not hang about for long. We had a train to catch. The return journey would be different from the one coming down.

We were to leave from Kings Cross and head to Edinburgh from where we would get a connection to Glasgow. We did manage a very quick pint and I grabbed a Kit Kat from a vending machine just in case I got peckish on the way north. The train left right on time and we tried to relax as best we could for what we hoped would be a smooth homeward journey.

However, those hopes were soon dashed. About 15 minutes after the train pulled out of Kings Cross it came to a sudden halt. No explanation as we stayed motionless for about half an hour. We slowly took off and then stuttered to a halt. This carried on for about another half hour or so before we started to crawl along for a spell before at last getting speed up again. We were all weary and uncomfortable.

Unlike the train down this one was a corridor train which had compartments consisting of 2 long bench seats facing each other so there was no room to sprawl out. I went for a walk along the train but every compartment was the same apart from the 1st class compartments which were mostly empty. However, I was warned off that area by a very zealous conductor.

I returned to my own compartment and tried to settle down for the night. It was impossible though to get any sleep. At one point I even climbed up onto the luggage rack to see if I could lie down there! When the train got to Newcastle myself and one of the other lads decided to try our luck in first class.

We reckoned that as the next stop was Edinburgh we would at least be in Scotland if we got thrown off! There was no sign of the conductor when we got to the first-class section so we grabbed an empty compartment, pulled down the blinds and spread ourselves out across the seats.

At last, some sleep, and the next thing I knew, the train had come to a halt at Waverley Station. In case there was a conductor looking to see our first-class tickets we quickly got off the train and onto the platform. I now realised I had left my coat, with my wallet in the pocket, back in the original compartment.

I hurried back along the platform to try and find my original compartment before someone noticed my coat and took out. However, I had only gone a few yards when I got a shout from our group leader. He had my coat and gave me it to me with a telling off to be more careful!

Now we had to get our connection to Glasgow. We were much later than scheduled and the rush hour commute from the capital to the West was underway.

Our coach was full of businessmen heading for offices and meetings in Glasgow. We were starving so when the refreshment trolley came into our coach, we virtually emptied it, to the annoyance of the businessmen in the rest of the carriage.

My intention was to have got at least some decent sleep on the journey back and get to my house in time for a shower and change of clothes before heading into the office as normal. However, it was now going to be at least 10am by the time we got to Queen Street Station. So, after saying goodbye to the rest of the squad I went to my office in West George Street to ask (tell) my boss I would be taking one more day’s leave.

That game was more than 50 years ago, and it was not a competitive match but it still remains in my memory. I never met any of those guys who accompanied me again.

I wonder if they remember it as fondly as me?

Mike Maher

The incredible cost of shaking Jimmy Johnstone’s hand

Jimmy Johnstone, Celtic Glasgow. 13 04 1969 Photo imago WEREK (The Celtic Star)

Earlier in the week Conor Spence reported that a Celtic supporter who ran onto the field of play to shake a Jimmy Johnstone’s hand during the famous European Cup match between Celtic and Red Star Belgrade in 1968 was charged and subsequently fined £120 for his actions by a no-nonsense sheriff in Glasgow. There was a conversation on social media about much that would be today. A quick search establishes that £120 in 1970 would be worth £1938.63 in today’s money.

Press cutting

Bobby Moore actually made £12,000 from the testimonial against Celtic on this Day in 1970 – that’s equivalent of £232,635.23 today. Well deserved for a football legend undoubtedly but it really does put into context that fine on a Celtic supporter who probably had too much to drink and ran onto the pitch. The average wage for a male, over 21 in 1970 was £28 per week so the fine was more than a month’s wages for the boy.

Matt Corr’s wonderful new books, Celtic in the Thirties, Volumes One & Two are both out now on Celtic Star Books and you can order a signed copies by clicking on the links below…