Earlier in that year Celtic had won their 5th League title in a row. We had reached the European Cup Final and although we had lost to Feyenoord, we had beaten Leeds Utd in both legs of the semi-final so even the sceptical English were aware of our strengths. It was considered a great honour to be selected to play in such a game and I really fancied making the occasion as I could not imagine there would be many chances to see Celtic play in London.
There was the financial concern though. The previous month I had gone to the European Cup tie against Waterford. My regular travelling companion, Brian McHenery and I had decided to make a bit of an event of that game. Rather than just going for a couple of days we had made a week of it and accommodation and beer had taken a good deal of our cash resources.
And holidays too. Less than a month after the Dublin trip I would need more time off to get to London. Brian decided he would not go – part of his reasoning was the fact that he would need to keep some savings so he could get to the European Cup Final (in those days that was a genuinely realistic consideration). None of the rest of my usual match day crew were interested so I thought I might just give it a miss.
Then one morning I saw an ad in the paper that a trip to the Booby Moore game was being organised by the Straw House Pub at Parkhead. I had never been in that bar, and whether deserved or not the feeling among my mates was that it was not the most salubrious of establishments. Nevertheless, I decided to give it a go and the next Saturday before heading to the game at Celtic Park I called in to the pub, paid my money and got my travel plans.
The game was to take place on Monday 16 November. On the previous Saturday we beat Kilmarnock 3-0 at home. We played well and should have scored more but it put me in a good mood for the relatively early rise the next day.
Being a Sunday I went to an early Mass and after a quick breakfast headed to Bellshill Cross to get a bus that would get me to Glasgow Central. It was there I was to meet the rest of the party before getting the train to London.
After waiting at the bus stop for a considerable time I was getting concerned that no bus had turned up. Indeed I hadn’t seen a bus going in any direction.
Even on a Sunday there were generally buses going through the Cross in one direction or another. A passer-by mentioned that he had heard something about industrial action limiting the services. I now had visions of being stuck in Bellshill while the train was on its way south.
I started to walk back towards the direction of my house. I’d maybe need to see if someone would give me lift. Then hopes were raised as I caught a glimpse of a bus turning the corner. Then dashed again as I realised it was a private coach. MacPhails. Then as it got nearer hopes were on the up again. In the front window was a notice “On hire to Central SMT” I happily climbed aboard and as there was not much traffic about i got to the Station just in time.
The Straw House made me laugh, I was once offered an upright hoover before a match for a £5er which the guy brought out of a long trench coat like it was contraband….good deal you may think….but I was 16 years old and not really in the market for a vacuum cleaner. 🙂
Some brilliant memories there, Mike. Thanks for sharing.
Hail Hail.