That “road” took a lot longer than expected. In the late morning we left Baveno by bus and got to Malpensa airport in time for our 2.30pm departure. In 1970 airport security was much more relaxed and arriving at an airport 45 minutes before a scheduled departure was considered reasonable enough time to catch a flight. However our departure was destined to take a lot longer.
At the time of the game lots of Italian workers were on strike and this was the case at the airport. Bars and restaurants closed and few staff were around. And of course there were plenty flight delays. For several hours no planes appeared to be taking off. The airport was crowded with people sitting and lying on the floor. We went for a stroll and came to a part of airport where it was mostly Feyenoord fans.
The two sets of fans were mixing amicably. Scarves and other souvenirs being swopped and drinks shared. Somebody had found a ball from somewhere and an impromptu kick about had started.
The hours went by and we waited. And we starved. No food was available at the airport. I actually had a bar of chocolate and was working out how long I might be able to make it last. After about 4 hours hopes were raised when a flight to Glasgow was announced. Not ours but surely a sign that things were improving.
Next announcement was a flight to Dublin. Then after that another flight to Dublin. When the 3rd flight to Dublin was announced I said to Brian maybe we should just get the next flight out no matter where it was going. If it was Dublin we could stay the night with friends there and make our to Glasgow the following day.
We were not the only ones thinking like that. It had now reached the stage where virtually everybody would surge forward to the departure door when any flight was announced. Airport staff and police would do their best to try and check who was getting through but it was impossible to check everyone. At one point a policeman pulled his pistol out of its holster and waved it in the air to try and calm down those trying to get through the narrow door. And yet there was no trouble.
We all just wanted to get away from this place which had become a nightmare. About 9.30pm our flight was actually announced. Brian, myself and 4 people we had become particularly friendly with at the hotel hurriedly raced for the gate. We were not going to miss this flight. We pushed our way through as best we could. At one point a policeman who had been standing watching smiled and came into the group.
I thought he was trying to help but then heard one of the girls who was with us squeal. The policeman had come behind her and had groped her in pretending to help. She yelled at him and when he saw our faces he went back to his watching position. A few moments later we were through the gate and on the tarmac. It was then a dash to the stairs and boarding the plane. We grabbed seats wherever we could.
A few minutes later the doors were closed although there still appeared to be people trying to board the plane. The stewardesses did a head count and seat check while some people were complaining that friends who were meant to be on this flight were not aboard and that people who were not meant to be on this flight were. The stewardesses and captain did their best to calm everyone down and advised that due to the delays and chaos at the airport other flights would follow. (I later found out that in the confusion some Dutch fans ended up in Glasgow and that some Celtic fans found themselves touching down in Rotterdam! – Celtic themselves chartered a plane and sent it from Glasgow to Milan to pick up any stragglers).
At last our plane took off – around 8 hours behind schedule. I was glad to be leaving Italy behind. In my schoolboy Latin mind I thought of Malpensa as meaning “bad thought” Didn’t know if that was true but it seemed appropriate.
After we had been in the air a short time we could smell hot food. As we had not eaten since breakfast we were desperate for nourishment. The meal was Cottage Pie. I devoured every bit of it even licking the tinfoil container before trying to settle into my seat for the rest of the journey.
We should have been back in Glasgow in the early evening. Train home, a bite to eat and a couple of pints at the pub before bed and then work the next morning. Now it would be well after midnight before we touched down and no public transport for hours. Fortunately a couple of our newly found friends had cars at the airport and kindly offered us lifts home.
As went along Alexandra Parade in the East End we noticed a broken down vehicle with some guys standing by it. We stopped to see if we could help. Turned out to be some of the Celtic reserve players who had themselves just got back to Glasgow. We squeezed a couple of them into our car and continued on our way. I was dropped off first so managed to get into bed and get at least a few hours sleep before getting up for work in the morning.
A few days earlier I had envisaged a triumphant return to the office. Instead I was very subdued. No sympathy from the Rangers fans of course but the others were more considerate. It was a blow not just for Celtic but Scottish Football and indeed Scotland.
In the next few years Dutch football would become recognised as the best in Europe. I could possibly say I witnessed its real birth but that was no consolation. Until a couple of years ago I had never watched any pictures or footage of the game. If I came across a reference to it in a magazine or book I would skim it quickly and move on. It was something I just did not want to talk about. A sad chapter in Celtic history.
And then one day I saw a request from a Dutch journalist asking for memories of the occasion from a Celtic fans perspective and realised there are always 2 sides to every story. My Lisbon would be an Inter fan’s Milan and my Milan would be a Feyenoord fan’s Lisbon as it were. I had a wonderful time making the 18000 kilometre trip from Auckland to Lisbon to be there on 25 May 2017. No doubt there would have been Feyenoord fans making a pilgrimage to Milan on 6 May 2020 with a different view of that date than me.
Mike Maher
If you were in Milan on 6 May 1970 or can remember watching on television back home we’d love to hear your stories today. Either comment below or email your recollections to editor@thecelticstar.co.uk and we’ll share on the site today.
