As a young lad in a family of five boys and one girl, it wasn’t often that we were taken anywhere other than with our parents or grandparents.
Of course, we “went out to play”, and in many cases we didn’t need anyone else to make up the numbers… because we were the numbers!
When the Wilsons went on holiday, the entire street was at a loss as to what to do because the football numbers, for one, were decimated. We’d leave the house on a Saturday morning and the only instructions were to, “Be careful
and be back for teatime.” Some folk today still can’t get their heads around life before mobile phones!
This particular day was different, as we were going to see Sunderland at Roker Park with our ‘big brother’.
He’d been going to matches for a few seasons already but was back from university, so I guess our parents must’ve thought he was responsible enough to take us all to a match. Of course, I have no actual recollection of the date or game, so ‘big brother’ has been duly quizzed for the sake of this post!
Living in North Shields, we walked to the ferry landing and took the crossing to South Shields. This was my brother’s preferred route to matches and, from South Shields, we took a bus to Roker Park – and this is where flashes of pictures, images and smells are still embedded deeply in my memory.
I now know that it was 4 February 1967, and that I went to see us take on Liverpool.
They were regarded as a big club even then, despite the fact they’d only been promoted to the top flight in 1962. It was also the season after England had won the World Cup, during which Roker Park played host to four matches.
So, interest in football had enjoyed a bit of a boost because of the national team’s success. Certainly, attendances were up that season and this particular game attracted a gate of 45,301 – well above that season’s average of nearly 32,000.
The first thing that struck me as we approached the Main Stand was the number of people milling around and standing in long queues. Yet actually walking into the ground was quite breathtaking. I’d never seen so many people gathered in one place before.
The Fulwell End was still in its huge glory back then, rising up and up, and filled with a sea of heads and flat caps. It was predominantly a male sport in those days, and there were many long overcoats.
The grass, as I remember it, was as green as any I’d ever seen – a real theatrical setting. The red and white latticework of Archibald Leitch and the large clock on the opposite side of the pitch (originally known as the Clock Stand) stood out from my vantage point in the Main Stand.
I also recall being in awe of some young lads I saw right down at the front, who’d hooked what looked like the bottom part of a swing over the railings and were standing on the wooden seat to get a good view of the players. Ingenious – and they were obviously regular matchday visitors, the lucky so-and-sos!
There were also men walking around the perimeter of the pitch in white coats, selling programmes and peanuts.
Sometimes a sixpence was thrown down to them and they would throw the bag of peanuts into the crowd. If the aim was off, the nuts would always find their way to the rightful owner. Wafts of tobacco smoke drifted across my face at regular intervals, and it’s true that the smell of beer and Bovril filled the air.
The game itself has been lost on me, but apparently it ended 2 – 2, with goals from Kerr and O’Hare.
The noise and mayhem after each goal was quite frightening to a small eight-year-old, but also strangely exhilarating, and I certainly wasn’t standing beside my brothers after either goal!
The crowd surge and excitement meant I had to walk back a few steps on the terrace to retake my place. The Sunderland team that day featured Montgomery, Ashurst, Baxter, Martin, Irwin, Herd, O’Hare, Herd, Kinnell, Kerr and Hughes.
Leaving the ground after the final whistle is my most vivid memory.
Everyone headed for the exit and it was impossible for us all to stick together, especially as my feet weren’t even touching the ground!
I was caught by my ears between two grown-up men in overcoats and was powerless to go in any direction other than the way they were going. I could see my ‘big brother’ ahead of me and just hoped I was going in the same direction. Of course I was – everyone was heading for the exit!
So that was my first Sunderland experience, nearly 60 years ago. Strangely, many things have stayed with me, except the match itself!
We went to a few more games together after that, but when my big brother finished university and didn’t come back to live at home, the baton had been firmly passed on. All five Wilson brothers from North Shields are Sunderland supporters who can’t stand the ‘Visitors’!
We’ve proudly clubbed together to buy a flagstone on Legends’ Way to commemorate our support through the years, from North Shields to Roker and the Stadium of Light. It’ll forever be. Haway, me bonnie lads!
