Standing on the shoulders of giants

Tom Murray

1967

Wedged between my Dad and my Uncle John I couldnt see a thing. In front of us swayed a huge mass of folk all the way down to the edge of the pitch. Either side and behind it was the same. We swayed with the crowd my Dad and my Uncle keeping a tight grip on me. I could only listen, and feel the noise, the expectation, and stare up at the clearest of skies.

The day before, May 25th 1967, the three of us could barely look but we had finally danced our own crazy celebration dance as we watched, on the tiniest Black and White TV, Celtic beat Inter Milan and become the first British club to lift the European Cup. Twenty fours hours later the heroes were returning and Celtic Park was packed in the sunshine.

May 26th 1967 was my birthday. I was eight. This was the best birthday present Id ever had. Id never been to Celtic Park before. Id never been to an actual game. But I was a lifelong supporter like my Dad and my Uncle John.

The heroes were on an open top bus that had travelled all the way from the airport. The heroes were all Scottish and had been born in a thirty mile radius of Glasgow. Like being eight, and singing along with my Dad and my Uncle, thatll never happen again.

I never saw the players arrive. I heard them. Or heard the crowd. Felt the sway and crush of folk. I wasnt scared. I felt protected by the people around me. Even in their eagerness to catch a glimpse of the players hands reached out and pulled me up if I ever slipped, or looked like slipping under all those feet.

I bounced up and down and every now and then through the smallest of gaps in the crowd I would glimpse the bus. Once I was sure I saw the sun bounce of the European Cup itself. They were getting closer. My Uncle was giving me a running commentary but I wanted to see them. ... (continues)