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Dear Roker Report,
After reading a number of stories about people’s memories of the 1973 FA Cup final, I thought your readers might find my little story amusing.
Back in 1973, I was an apprentice at the local glassmaker, Pyrex Cornings. As it happens, it was my eighteenth birthday on Friday 4 May — “May the fourth be with you” — and I was at Wearside College when I got a message to go to the reception.
When I got there, someone from Pyrex was waiting with an envelope for me.
Fearing the worst, I opened the envelope and
lo and behold, I’d won a ticket to the final! Needless to say,I was jumping for joy — what a surprise and what a birthday present. This was one of four tickets they’d given out to Pyrex employees.
Now, the only thing was that I had to make my own way down, so I phoned around my mates who already had tickets to see if I could cadge a ride with them — no luck, so I had to drive down by myself. I owned a little 850 Mini Traveler, so I filled the tank up and set off early on Saturday morning.
I got there with no problems, parked in the Wembley car park and strode into Wembley. I found my seat roughly on the halfway line opposite the tunnel — a fantastic view and of course an absolutely fantastic game and result.
Anyway, after waiting for about an hour to get out of the chaotic car park, I was on my way home. I stopped off to fill up — only to find I’d lost £10 and only had a couple of quid left, so I used up what cash I had left and set off again.
I managed to squeeze the last drop of petrol out of the tank and was virtually running on fumes when yes, you’ve guessed it: “cough cough, splutter splutter” — I was at a standstill and I managed to pull onto the grass verge about twenty miles from home.
I climbed into the back seat for a kip and at about 5:00am, a banging on the door woke me up: two motorway cops. Asking me what was wrong, I told them my story and they had a good laugh. I asked if they could give me some of their spare petrol that they carried — needless to say, they said “No”.
They asked for my name and address; they messaged back to Sunderland and PC Plod went to my home and informed my Dad, who then got some spare petrol and drove down to where I was before we topped the tank up and set off back home,
Needless to say, my Dad was a bit annoyed but we all had a good laugh about it.
I still have my ticket stub and program. Seventy years young and a season ticket holder.
Hope you all have a good laugh, because I still do when I think about it.
Yet another strange but definitely true story!
Paul
Ed’s Note [Phil]: Hi, Paul. Thank you for your letter.
When editing Fan Letters over the years, I’ve read plenty of stories from fans about the heady days of the 1973 FA Cup final, and this is one of the more memorable!
Massive kudos to you for your dedication and determination to make it to London and back to see the Lads lift the cup, and that Mini Traveler should have a special place among the iconic Sunderland-related vehicles from down the years — even if it didn’t quite get you home on a tank and a bit’s worth of petrol!
Dear Roker Report,
I was born and grew up in South Shields, and the Gilbert family lived around the corner.
They had a big and very friendly family covering a large age range. I was friendly with the children who were around my age — and I particularly remember David and Kevin Gilbert.
Young Tim (or Timmy, as he was known then), was a few years younger than me, but was a very quietly confident young boy.
He seemed to like nothing better than to be kicking a football around and would always want to be included in our games, even though we were a lot bigger than him at the time. We usually had kickarounds at what was known as the ‘Beach Green’, a large grassy area near to the North Foreshore at South Shields.
I remember that despite his small stature, he was nearly impossible to shove off the ball and was really nimble and quick.
He also never complained about the pushes, shoves, and agricultural barges he used to get. I don’t know if he took it as a backhanded compliment, but he always used to give a cheeky smile and wanted to get on with the game. I also seem to remember that his elbows were quite pointy, and every so often, he wasn’t afraid to give out little digs.
We bigger lads were all genuinely impressed with his skill and attitude, but most of all with his toughness and tenacity, considering both the size and age difference.
I don’t think that any of us could possibly know then that Tim would go on to play professional football, but even then we all agreed that he was a bit special, so I suppose it wasn’t a great surprise that he did so. When Tim made his debut for Sunderland, I remember my Dad remarking that Mr Gilbert must be a very proud man indeed, and I’m sure that he must have been; in fact, I think we all were proud of him as he was one of our own.
I remember watching Tim from the Fulwell End (later from the Main Stand), and it always gave me a lot of pleasure to see his name on the teamsheet and to hear it announced over the tannoy before kick off. I was also saddened that things didn’t seem to last for him at Sunderland, and that his career just seemed to fizzle out a bit, like so many.
Needless to say, I was greatly shocked and deeply saddened when I heard of his passing, even though it was many years since we’d last spoken.
It was a genuine tragedy that he was taken so very early, at such a young age, leaving a young family.
Whenever I see Tim mentioned on Roker Report, I always add a comment about our days growing up in South Shields, as it seems appropriate and respectful to do so.
I hope that you can pass this email on to Tim’s family, and that they’ll find it interesting.
Kindest regards to you, and to the Gilbert family.
Colin Harrison (AKA Skyet-ender)
