On the half hour we got a free kick about 22 yard from the Feyenoord goal. Murdoch rolled the ball to Gemmell and big Tam thundered it into the net.
Surely, I thought, we would now settle down and get into our rythm. Instead we were mentally slack and not much more than a minute later the teams were level. I was behind the goal Celtic were defending and watched in horror as a hesitant Celtic defence let Rinus Israel loop a header into the back of the net. Silence all round at first and then the explosion of noise in the stand to my left as the Feyernoord fans celebrated.
After that Feyenoord took complete control on the park and in the stands those klaxons blared out against our songs. Somehow we got to 90 minutes with no further score. The possibility of a replay arose. That was scheduled for the Friday although our flight was returning to Scotland on the Thursday.
Brian and I had thought about what we would do in that event before we left Glasgow. The decision was that we would find a cheap place to stay in Milan for a few more days. We would then hitchhike through Switzerland and head for Besancon in France. My uncle Eddie Ryan lived there. He would put us up for a night and from there we would continue hitching our way home. To assist us with the journey I had torn out a map of North Italy and Switzerland from an old school atlas.
However the atlas page would not be needed. With only about 4 minutes of extra time left Ove Kindvall scored the winning goal.
With the klaxons blaring in the background we trooped dejectedly back to the buses. The journey back to Baveno was made in a dark sombre silence. Brian headed for bed as did most other people. I knew I would not be able to sleep so headed for the bar.
Compared to the previous night’s raucous party there were only a few others there sitting silently drinking beer or tea. One lady tried to cheer us up by starting to sing but no one had the appetite for it. It was difficult to even have a post mortem. The possibilty of defeat had seemed so remote that we could not think of how to now come to terms with it. Eventually I headed for bed. Sleep was difficult. The noise of the klaxons still reverberating in my head.
The following day was Ascension Thursday. The little church in Baveno had a packed congregation for Mass that morning. Standing room only with so many Celtic Supporters in their teams colours filling the pews and the aisles. I can still remember the looks on the faces of the men passing round the collection plates when they saw the large amounts of lire going in from fans who were ready to head back home. And the wide eyes of the young altar boys in the leaving procession as they watched and listened to all these foreigners trying to join in the final hymn.
Outside the church I bumped into my uncle John and cousin Michael. They had been seated at the opposite end of the stadium and had a clearer view of the winning goal. They also had a much better view of the chance Celtic had missed at the start of extra time. “Yogi should have scored” said Michael “ and if he had we would have gone on to win”. I was not so sure but even if we had held out for a replay surely we would not have been so poor again, and also we would have known how good Feyenoord were.
However no point in considering that- we had lost and now it was the long road home.
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