We had just four days between arriving home from Prague and the cup final so it was home for one night only, then off to Seamill to prepare for the Scottish Cup Final against Aberdeen. I often hear today of teams complaining about too many games at the end of the season but if it’s handled properly, I think it can be good for them as games are the best way of keeping up fitness and there’s no need for the heavy training sessions.
This was one area the Boss excelled in; he seemed to know just how much preparation we needed. With just a few days to prepare for the final, we travelled to Seamill by bus and, as usual, there was plenty of banter and a card school (the game was brag and the stakes were very low).
On the subject of cards, I remember playing with Jim Baxter on a train journey from Kirkcaldy to London to watch the England–Scotland game in 1961, that England infamously won 9–3. Charlie Drummond, our goalkeeper at Raith Rovers at the time, was sitting in the corner of the carriage when Jim said: “U, r ye playing cairds?” Charlie said: “Naw”. Jim replied: “Well, get oot o that seat. It’s fur the caird players”. So Charlie gave in and took a hand. By the time the train reached Dunbar, east of Edinburgh, Charlie was rising out of the seat and twenty pounds the poorer. As he vacated the seat, Jim (also known as “Stanley”, after a well-known Scottish comedian) said: “At least ye hid a twenty pound view oot the winday tae mak it worthwhile”. I digress – but that Saturday proved a disastrous day, having to watch Scotland lose by nine goals to three.
At Seamill, we were allocated our rooms – in pairs – and again I was sharing with big TG. I was becoming used to Seamill; I had now been at Celtic for almost six months and I’d shared with TG most times at the hotel. Over the years, Tommy and I had quite few adventures. One that comes to mind could be put down as a mistake by the Boss – for putting us in a ground-floor room. That meant a ground-floor window which, in turn, meant easy exit and entry. It was always a challenge to beat the curfew and head for the local watering hole to spend an enjoyable extra half-hour or so – but never the night before the game.
Without the need for heavy training after the match with Dukla, everything was done with the ball; short games, shooting and crossing practice, all on the front lawn of the hotel, just a short walk from the beach and the Irish Sea. Most of the squad were fit, except for Joe McBride who was still recovering from his knee operation. There was a quiet air of confidence about the team and every member of the playing pool was up for the cup final at Hampden if selected.
We had been reading in the press about Aberdeen’s training camp at Gleneagles and, of course, their manager Eddie Turnbull was talking up their chances. In their squad was Jim Storrie, a player I had grown up with and played alongside in school and juvenile football. We had also played together at Kilsyth Rangers, Jim at inside-right and me on the wing. Jim went on to play at Airdrie and Leeds United before he joined Aberdeen. He had been playing up front in an attacking role for them but I had always thought Jim’s best position was just behind the strikers. Anyway, I was looking forward to playing against him. Two Kirkintilloch boys in the cup final: Who would have thought?
After training on the Friday, that day before the big game, the Boss read out the team for the final. I was in the side at No.8, to play up front beside Stevie Chalmers. I can’t explain the feeling I had – my first Scottish Cup final. I know it’s an old cliché but I really could have “jumped over the moon”. Before long, though, my mood switched to one of anxiety, nervousness. Would I play well or not? It took me a while to go to sleep that night.
I was up around 7.30am on the Saturday and down for breakfast at 8.00am.
The newspapers were reporting that Eddie Turnbull would not make the trip from Gleneagles to Hampden Park as he had a severe stomach problem. That might have seemed to be something of a blow for Aberdeen but I also thought it just might spur on the Dons’ players to try harder for their unwell manager. So there would be no complacency from us, I thought.
We had a stroll along the beach before a short team meeting to finalise plans. After a light lunch, we set off for Glasgow, meeting the usual police motorcycle escort at the edge of the city. As we approached the ground, we began to realise the size of the crowd. All the roads to Hampden Park were packed and, after the game, I found out that over 127,000 punters had been there that day. I spoke to Jim Storrie before the game and asked about Eddie Turnbull, for whom I had a lot of respect as a manager. Jim told me he had a stomach problem which had recurred so he was confined to bed. I told Jim it was no wonder he was in bed ill after having to watch his lot play every week. Laughingly, Jim replied: “Well, we’ll see out there.”
I started to change for the game just after 2.00pm and, like most players, I had my usual routine. I didn’t like to change in a hurry but didn’t like to be last ready, either. Checking the boots, studs and laces were all in place didn’t soothe my nerves, so it was a welcome relief when Bertie Auld piped up with a few words. I can’t remember now exactly what he said but the gist of it was that if Eddie Turnbull had been feeling sick before, he would be feeling a lot worse by five o’clock. The nerves eased as I felt the confidence in the room.
Team captain Billy McNeill led us out as usual and what a reception it was as we came out of the tunnel. It was deafening. The excitement surged through my body. This was it, the biggest stage on the domestic front, the Scottish Cup final – and I was playing!
This was another important day in my football career as I scored two more goals that turned out to be crucial. At the time, my impression of the game was that we were always in control, passing the ball around confidently, seldom allowing Aberdeen a chance to show their form. In the press the following day, the journalists’ comments were along the same lines.
The goals came either side of half-time. The first was fairly straightforward, when I side-footed the ball into the corner of the net through a crowded goal mouth.
The second was much more memorable. After destroying a couple of defenders, “Jinky” Johnstone raced to the goal-line before brilliantly cutting the ball back. Stationed at the far post, I stepped back slightly to let the ball bounce once before volleying it, at about waist height, high into the roof of the net. It was a goal for a big occasion and both of us were delighted. “Great goal, Wispy”, the Wee Man shouted as we swung each other around. “How could I miss with a cross like that?” I said. It may sounds a bit soppy in print but, believe me, at the time, I could have kissed him!
The crowd that day was a record size for the Scottish Cup. It was also very vocal and it was a tremendous buzz to play in the atmosphere they created. To score in any final is a fabulous feeling but, even more than that, this was my first final as a Celtic player and to score the only two goals of the game was a great lift for me with the club’s supporters. Taking to the field, I was hoping I would play well and that we would win, so putting two good goals in the net for Celtic was a bonus, as I felt I was repaying some of the outlay made by the club in bringing me to Parkhead.
As we all celebrated that evening at a hotel, I took a few moments to reflect on my own position. I had arrived at Celtic after the winning of the first two trophies of that season, the League Cup and the Glasgow Cup, so the victory that day in the Scottish Cup was my first medal in Celtic’s colours. Ordinarily, that would be enough for any player but I was in the fortunate position of being with a side still in contention for the Scottish League title as well as, almost unbelievably, the European Cup, the final of which lay just a few weeks ahead.
Wille Wallace
