A Hooligan way of life

A Hooligan a way of life

I started attending football matches at White Hart lane in 1978 as a 12 year old with a mate (Les) from school.

He was the same age as me but looked a fair bit older at the time and could get away with a bit more. His parents ran a pub and he was a bit more street wise than me.

He had made a good few friends at Tottenham and seemed to know where everything was and how it all worked. Back then I was a little naïve and shy and so I just kind of followed him around.

But from the moment that game kicked off I was hooked. We were in the cage in the shelf. Back in those days it was where all the mad people went. It was where the singing and chanting was led from.

As a small boy I remember being slightly concerned when the surging from the back came, as this pushed everyone down the terraces towards the barriers. I would literally be lifted off of my feet with no control.

But somehow even though I was concerned I couldn’t get enough of it. The thrill of the signing and jumping about I had never seen anything like it before.

The game itself was against Chelsea which ended in a 2-2 draw. Even then the passion against them was evident and their hatred of us was just as clear.

I wrote an article for the fighting cock website a few months ago which relates to me meeting another school friend at this game. (Ricky) http://www.thefightingcock.co.uk/2012/11/yids-bringing-people-together/ 

Les my friend who introduced me to Spurs as I said got away with being a bit older than me so it was not long before he had moved on with his group of friends. It was not an issue for me I felt a bit out of the loop anyway. So I started to go to football with Ricky instead.

We carried on going into the cage but at the time there was still a bit of the old National Front (right wing political party) skinhead people about. So we decided although not through any kind of  conscious discussion to start going into the park lane.

The singing and chanting was still good plus you were close to the away supporters so you could have some good banter.

In those days the atmosphere was excellent I have to say. Everyone would sing it was normal, you were more out of place if you just stood there!

As we got a bit older and moving into the 1980s we began to go to away games as well as home games. Getting into games was cheap school boys only paid £1 and travel by train was easy to get away with without paying.

The more we went to games the more people we got to know. The emergence of the casual fashion also aided our notoriety amongst likeminded lads at the time.

If you look back to newspaper articles of the time football hooliganism was front page news as well as back page news. Every team had their own firm and Tottenham were no different.

There was a guy at that time who everyone knew as the “top boy” he had a large following and they travelled to away games via his organised coaches. The trouble for us was that you tended to have to be in your 20’s to qualify for inclusion on these away days. Just anybody was not invited, you had to be in the know and or be known.

My friend Les as he looked older had managed to get in with the right boys to know but for me and Ricky there was no option for inclusion.

As it turned out this was the same situation for plenty of other guys in their early to late teens, and so we became our own element within the Tottenham set up. Around this time the trend of travelling by train had started to kick in.

As it turned out for us, looking younger actually aided the situation. Trains were easier to bunk on (jib as we used to say) there was hardly ever any inspectors at the gate and on the train itself they just dodged through the football fans to avoid the inevitable abuse and confrontation they would have encountered.

For lads just ending school with no job (they was scarce then as well) this made football travel affordable.

There was no need for ticket allocations at these games you just turned up and paid on the turnstile. Again looking younger meant that there was little argument when you said school boy. Some of the guys on the gates were on the take anyway!

On many occasions we were pushed through two at a time meaning they could take every other persons £1 and not affect the attendance figure.

It was a helpful trick to learn to be fair because we employed it ourselves when money was tight. The turnstile guys had no time to chase you in those days.

Back then football became the centre of my life. I stopped hanging around with the kids on the estate where I lived and spent all my time with my football friends.

Saturday was the focal point of my life. A 3pm kick off was the norm but for Ricky and I and the majority of my friends the football day started at around 9am!

I would meet up with Ricky and we would get the overground train from Hackney Downs to White Hart lane. I bought the sun and he bought the mirror then it was off to the café next to the park lane!

Full English breakfast mug of tea and read the papers, who was playing who what the scores would be, who we hated the most!

The pub of the time was called the Bull down near Seven Sisters station. So after breakfast the long walk down there commenced.

Even though we were young because we knew everyone we were OK to spend our time there. The main bulk of our friends met there for a few pints bit of banter and also a bit of wheeler dealing.

Back then because the fashion was for highly expensive sports and designer wear, the average person could not just go out and buy it legit.

So there was a keen market for clothing accumulated in other ways. Shop lifting back then was far less of a problem. Security tags were rare, security guards even rarer.

The main trick was to take an item wrapped inside another item to the changing room. You would then put the item on under your clothes and give back the decoy item. Simple but effective.

On away trips the process was far less subtle, take one group of young lads rush into the nearest spots shop grab and run!

2 young shop girls with one old fella as the manager are not going to stray too far in those circumstances.

It was then on to the game, once inside a pint could be purchased in the concourse and taken up to the terraces. Whilst there were loads of police they were very rarely in the terraces they patrolled the edge of the pitch watching us through the cages erected to keep us off the pitch!

When I first started going to the lane the cage as it was known was the place to go. By the early 80s if you were known and part of the casual culture you stood in the area below the cage next to the park lane. This small triangle was nick named “casual corner”.

It was here that we all stood for the first live televised football match. Tottenham Vs Nottingham Forest 2^nd of October 1983. Unthinkable as it may be now we all turned up wearing bright red mainly Benetton clothing the idea being to stand out on television!

Being on television was a bit of a novelty at the time! It didn’t work needless to say.

I managed to attend a lot of different grounds during that time of my life and had some great memories from it.

I recall one time we went to Goddison Park it was dubbed the year of the cock as we won the FA Cup. During this year someone had brought a Cockerel to away games and thrown it on the pitch each time.

On this occasion we were all in the away end watching the police chase a cockerel around. It was comical this guy was following it about and as he got to it the cock would jump away. Inevitably we were all pissing ourselves laughing and taking the piss.

Even Scouse police didn’t like Cockney’s very much and the piss taking didn’t go down too well.

After about 10 minutes or so, the coppers frustration and embarrassment got the better of him. So they decided to grab one of my friends (Chris the chef) out of the stands and told him to catch it. Clearly their expectation was to make him look as foolish as the Cock had made them. However this totally back fired on them as Chris walked straight up to the Cock and picked it up, raising it above his head like a trophy!

Cheers erupted across the whole of the away end as we had not anticipated this result.

On another occasion we were on our way to play Watford. As usual the plan was to go via train, normally we would leave fairly early and make our way to the local city/town centre pubs, shops. As I recall it Watford had their own local station that football fans were pushed to by the police.

The idea was to keep football fans away from the centres and herd them directly in and out of the grounds. This would avoid trouble.

For this to happen the police would need to move us from one train across a platform to another waiting train.

On the platform the police were in force so trying to move through the station exit was not an option so we were pretty much funnelled to where we were supposed to go.

As we all boarded the next train one of the guys in my carriage (Scotty) tried the door on the opposite side.

These were old trains so there was no automatic openings these trains had normal handles. To everyone’s amazement the door was not locked off! Scotty threw the door wide open. There was no platform on this side of the train, this door opened to reveal fencing which was at the back of the local residents back gardens.

Without hesitation Scotty jumped over the back fence and into the garden of a Watford resident. He was swiftly followed by approximately 30 other Tottenham fans! As I ran along the garden path chuckling to myself I could see the lady of the house standing at the sink doing her washing up.

It will never leave me the sight of this poor woman mouth wide open in shock; she could not believe her eyes as this huge group ran through her garden. Scotty kicked the back gate open and there we were in this residential street.

The reality then hits as we all looked at each other not knowing where the fuck we needed to go to actually get to the game.

We did find our way to be fair via the town centre, I recall the entrance to the ground for away supporters was away from the front entrance we had to walk through a covered caged walk way. When we got inside the terraces the away supporters were in the same end as home supporters with the only separation between us was a piece of yellow tape!

There wasn’t any trouble that day, and we came away with a very good memory which I am still talking about today!

My Anfield experience was not very nice memory. It was a snowy day in 1984 when I was there and my overriding memory of that day was when we were leaving.

We were kept behind the Liverpool fans and funnelled into the space in front of the main exit gates. We were rammed in as was the way at the time. As we were stood there unable to move snooker balls came over the wall! One after another, you could not move and just had to stand there and hope that your head was not the next target!

The police just stood at the back of the crowd not allowing anybody to move out of the way!

I was lucky I came out unscathed, but have hated Liverpool supporters ever since.

There are loads of other games I attended all around the country from Brighton at an Easter weekend (dubbed the long good Friday after the film) where the Spurs fans took over the whole area, to Birmingham where the pitch was invaded to Manchester City (Maine road) where we were thrown out for “politely” reminding them that we beat then in the FA cup final!

As I was attending games in the 1980s I was fortunate to be able to attend both of the FA cup finals at the old Wembley. These were fantastic days out and coming away as part of the winning side is something I will never forget. Walking up Wembley way and seeing the colour the flags the scarfs and the unity of your fans makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up!

After both games the focal point of celebrations was Trafalgar Square the fountains to be precise!

The police were as good as gold to be fair as crowds of Spurs fans jumped about in the water celebrating.

Football hooliganism was a massive thing back at that time; every team had their own element. The thing is though everyone knew who was who and most of the time trouble amounted to a face off and some abuse being thrown at each other.

Nobody actually targeted people not on the same wavelength not on purpose.

This time was no different in reality from our dad’s days of Mods and Rockers on Brighton beach.

Fashion and territory played as much a part as the football itself. We are all looking for an identity and for something to belong to. At this point of time football culture was the place to be and the people to know.

Some people found themselves in real trouble through this culture; I had a few scrapes of my own. But this is all part of growing up and finding out who you are.

Attempted murder! wrong place wrong time

Attempted murder! Wrong place wrong time

If you have read any of my other stories you will be aware that I moved out of London at 19 to a village in the Hertfordshire Bedfordshire border. You may also be aware that I had some problems settling in initially.

But in my time there (which was only about 2 years) I did manage to make a few friends even amongst a few of the local lads.

My main friend was a Rasta named Pat; I was also friendly with a guy named Paul (lovingly referred to as silly Paul) who was actually from Southampton.

We tended to hang around together because we wasn’t from the village and we used to wash cars or windows and general labouring work where we could get it.

As time went on though, we did get to know a fair few of the local lads. There was a guy named Bert (who lived in the brickyard) Charlie who’s mum owned the kennels Chris who was a mechanic Sergio and his brother (whose name escapes me). There was a fair few others but the guys named are the ones who are part of this story.

The village I lived in had a fair few pubs but this was at a time when the pubs closed in the afternoon and last orders was 11pm.

If you wanted a late night drink the place to go was Hitchin which to be fair was quite a happening town, especially for a small town.

The other way to get a later drink was to go to many of the local clubs which had events going on.

On this particular night Pat silly Paul and me was all in my dad’s pub having a few beers. Pat also had his mate with him who had come up from London (I will call him Keith for reasons that will be obvious later).

Time was getting on and last orders was close when in walked Charlie Bert and Chris.

As we got on they joined us Chris had his girlfriend with him and she went over and sat with Caroline who had also come up for the weekend from Essex.

I didn’t need to go anywhere else for a late drink to be honest as my dad always let a select few stay behind for a private drink.

On this occasion though Charlie, was making a bit of a case for going to one of the other villages, to their football club night.

There was a bit of talk about a guy being there who Charlie wanted to intimidate but to be honest I really didn’t take a lot of notice of that.

We must have got a couple of taxis as there was about six of us, and within 10 minutes there we were outside the club.

(These football clubs are actually village non-league teams but they do have very good club houses attached to them and there was always open all day)

We walked inside the club and it was a bit like a western with everyone looking. Nobody said anything as we ordered our drinks, and nobody said anything as we played on the pool table which had been pushed into a corner.

The guy that Charlie had an issue with was not actually there so everything seemed fine.

I don’t think we were even there for very long before we decided to make a move off home.

The layout of the club was very simple there was a large hall with a stage at the far end. In front of the stage was a dance floor. On the right hand side of the hall was a large bar area.

At the opposite end from the stage was the only entrance/exit. This opened out into a lobby area which housed the toilets.

As I walked into the lobby area I was in the middle of the group I was with, however blocking our way at one end was several people and then behind us came several other people!

I actually have no idea why these guys were there or what they thought was going to happen as far as I was concerned we were on our way home.

So to me for no reason it kicked off. This was a fairly limited space to have a tear up in but a tear up commenced.

It was mayhem arms flying everywhere. Somehow I found myself having my jumper pulled over my head by someone which had the effect of making me bend over towards the floor.

In my mind I could see myself getting a kicking (been there done that) and so with all my strength I pulled myself back and in an upward motion. Without looking I lashed out punching my attacker on the nose. As they stumbled back Pat came crashing back through the double doors grabbing them by the hair dragging them outside.

As I followed them out it was at this point that I realised that this was a woman! A big tough woman, but a woman all the same.

The altercation lasted all but a few minutes in truth and we all managed to get away unscathed. I did lose an earring that night (don’t judge me it was the fashion of the time) Pulled out of my ear by that big fucking bitch.

So when I got back home Caroline instantly saw the blood down my very nice Pringle jumper! She was not impressed.

“You went out looking for trouble, you and that Charlie and his mates”.

“No no I just went for a few beers I have no idea why it kicked off” I assured her

“Yeah alright I believe ya thousands wouldn’t” she turned her back on me.

My mum was a prude and Caroline and I had separate rooms so off I skulked to mine.

Nothing was mentioned the next day we went about our routine, this included going off to local car boot sales. Caroline and I were saving up to try and get a place of our own and so in those days selling your crap at a booty was a good option.

(there was no eBay then and nobody knew the real value of stuff they were selling)

On our way walking along the road was my mate Pat and his mate Keith who was dragging his bag along with him. I gave them a toot and Pat waved. Keith looked a bit sheepish kept his head down and kept walking. I though it odd but not too out of the ordinary.

Keith had been staying with Pat for a while and I was unaware that he was leaving.

The rest of the day went to plan. We did our boot sale had a roast at home few beers in the afternoon kip and then a few more in the evening.

I don’t recall why but Caroline was not going back to Essex that night as she normally would, so would be there in the morning.

0700 my bedroom door flew open as did my eyes with shock “what the fuck” I uttered those immortal words much to the distaste of my poor mum who was stood there accompanied by a lanky great cooper.

 “Get up and get dressed young man, we need a word with you” the copper said in his most condescending voice.

“Why what’s going on”? I replied as innocently as I could.

You hear it said on TV all the time but for me it’s still an all-time classic “You will be helping us with our enquiries” he replied (Classic!)

Even back then I slept in the buff so there was a moment of Mexican standoff, clearly the copper was not going anywhere so I had the embarrassment of trying to put a pair of my pants on under the covers after the embarrassment of my mum going through my cupboard to get me a pair.

Once my pants were on up I got (no morning glory thank fuck) and so Jeans trainers and a jumper were grabbed and thrown on. Lead by the arm down the hall passing my dad (not impressed), my girlfriend (also not impressed and knowing) and my mum who asked if she could come with me.

“No madam he is an adult, don’t worry we will take care of him” (piss taking fucker).

The waiting car was a mini metro, which if you don’t know is a very small car of the 80s. Here I am sat in the back of this little vehicle with the lanky copper sat in the front with the seat right back. I am not a tall person by any stretch but during that journey my knees were in my chest.

I am positive this was done on purpose!

I was driven to Bedford police station which was about 45 minutes away from where I lived. I had never been there before so had no idea where I was.

Taken directly to the cells shoe laces and belt removed. This was the first time I had ever been in a cell proper, it is what you see on TV. A bed, bog, graffiti, steel door and hatch. It is not a pleasant place to be I promise you that.

As I sat there wondering what was actually going to happen I heard a shout from the other cell.

“Who else is here” was the cry. One by one it became clear that the police on mass had come to the village and picked all of us up who were there on the Saturday night.

There was one notable exception, Keith!

“Why are we all here? It was just a fight” was the common view. But it was at this point that it became clear something had happened.

“I was told someone was stabbed” Charlie informed us.

I went and sat down on the bed. Oh shit this could be bad was the only thought running through my mind at that point.

It wasn’t too long before I was taken to interview; I had been interviewed by the police before many years previously so I was aware of how this was going to play out.

They tell you very little that is true, they make you think everyone is blaming it on you and they cover you in guilt.

So here I am sat across a table facing a plain clothes copper, his tack was to be friendly and understanding.

So he starts off with “Lee you’re here this morning as we are investigating an attempted murder” I couldn’t quite grasp the sentence first off, it kind of took the wind out of my sails. I was not expecting that, not at all.

“As you can see attempted murder is a very serious charge and so I urge you to tell us all you know” he continued.

I explained that we had gone to the club for a few beers (not that Charlie was looking for someone didn’t think that would go down too well.) I also told him that as we left there was a bit of a scuffle as we left and that was that.

“Well, someone stabbed a gentleman in the club that night, he is in hospital fighting for his life” he said.

“He is having to have his spline removed and his wife is having a baby”

There is was the guilt trip and as it turned out the over exaggeration (I won’t say lies).

“So come on who stabbed him”? The others have said you are the one who would know”

There it was the everyone blaming it on me card.

“Why would I know any more than anyone else”? “I don’t know anything there was a fight I didn’t even know there was a stabbing until you said.

“Well Lee it’s like this, if nobody says who it was you will all be charged together and face the court as one”

I had actually had some friends from Slough through my football days, who were involved in a nightclub brawl which ended with someone dying. They were all charged with Murder and were actually convicted. So I knew this part was true.

Even so I did not know about the stabbing until that day so what could I say?

I was busting for a piss by this point, as most of you will know when you get up the first thing you do is go for a piss. As I had been dragged from my pit and driven 45 minutes away and sat in a cell by this point my bladder was bursting.

Now here comes the problem, yes I could go to the loo but a copper was going to be stood beside me. The big problem for me is I can’t go with someone watching!

I have no idea why but I am shy when I piss! Is it just me then? Anyway I digress. But the other issue was that I broke my zip on my jeans as well!

So not only was I facing a potential attempted murder charge but I am busting unable to go with my pants hanging out of my jeans! (Priorities)

“OK then Lee if you don’t know about the stabbing who punched the lady?”

Fuck sake could this get any worse?

“What lady? I didn’t see any ladies in the fight?” not strictly a lie, bending the truth maybe but she weren’t no fucking lady!

“Come on Lee we know you didn’t stab the fella but we need someone to name names. We have you all here, all but one and your all saying the same. It was Keith wasn’t it”? Here was his final play.

“Well if you have all of us here apart from him, and the others are staying it’s him then I don’t see what you need from me? The rest of us haven’t run”.

And so the interview ended there, they knew what they wanted anyway. Clearly they knew who had committed the crime but they had left it a day too late. Keith had known what he did and so that’s why he skipped town. Pat must have also been aware, maybe not at the time but certainly the day after. It was his mate though so I can understand his loyalty.

By mid-afternoon Bert and I were the last to be thrown out of the station. Unfortunately I had no wallet on me so, no money. I asked the question “How do I get home then I aint got any money”.

Guess what the desk sergeant’s answer was? Yeah you’ve got it “That’s your problem son”.

Luckily for me Bert did have money on him he had the foresight to bring cash with him and so after a swift pint in the nearest pub we found her way to the bus garage and eventually our way home.

As it turned out there was a guy who was stabbed, he wasn’t getting married with a baby and he was not near death. He made a full recovery.

He had been in the thick of the fight. Not saying he deserved to be stabbed nobody does but he was not innocent.

None of us were ever charged with anything relating to the fight. Keith disappeared to London, however he was arrested a couple of years after the event and he was prosecuted. He served time in prison for the offence.

You never know what goes on in other people’s minds; you never know what their intentions could be. You also never know what the implications could be for you.

This situation could have played out very differently and my friends and I could have spent a large part of our life locked up.

As on many occasions in my youth wrong place wrong time, and there but for the grace of god go I.

Getting beaten up it's part of growing up (the Piranha's)

Getting beaten up its part of growing up (the Piranhas)

I had started to go to watch Tottenham play in 1978 with a friend from school. Over the course of a few seasons I got to know more and more people. It was in the early 80’s that the causal fashion really started to come into its own. And so what you wore at football became more and more important.

Myself and my friends got caught up in the fashion stakes with Benetton’s crazily loud clothes becoming part of the football uniform.

Because of the increase in fashion and the regularity of my time at matches we got to know anyone who was anyone at football.

Around 1982 I was regularly hanging around with a group of mates, we was from all different ethnic backgrounds but we were all connected through football.

On this particular night half a dozen of us had been out for a drink together, it wasn’t late and we had ended up at the parents’ house of a guy named Pat.

Pat was a massive black guy. He was well over 6 feet tall and fairly well built. He had been doing a bit of boxing and looked like he could handle himself.

The thing was he had a heart of gold! He wasn’t really a fighter he was a bit soft the typical gentle giant.

I don’t want this to read like I am running him down because I am not, Pat was and probably still is a great guy. Pat’s brother on the other hand was a well-known football hooligan of the time part of the West Ham ICF and he was a proper hard fucker.

Pat knew everyone because if it.

Pat’s parents’ house was behind Chapel street market near the Angel in Islington. This is a well know Arsenal area and Pat knew not only the West Ham firm but the guys from Arsenal as well.

At the time if it was outside of match day there were very little problems between fans, despite what the media of the time would have us believe.

Everyone knew everyone or at least knew of them (by name).If there was any rivalry it tended to be more east/north London against South London, or the wrong side of the river as we refered to it as.

After a night on the beer there always becomes a point where one of the group will want to eat, and so on this night Bob said “let’s get something to eat at the Kentucky”

6 guys together pissed up! Of course it sounded like a good idea.

So off we went round to the Angel.

Whilst hanging about eating our food a few skinheads came along all done up in their Crombie’s and doc Martens, as it turned out a couple of us had met these particular guys on the train back from the Everton game the week before. So we got to chatting about the footy as you do.

Everything seemed very amicable and we began to part company, one of us Scotty I believe suggested we go on down to the next available pub.

I turned to start to walk away, I had only managed to walk a few yards when Bob who was facing me shouted “Pat’s been jumped”.

I turned only to find that the group of three skinheads had turned into a group of about twenty.

Where the fuck did they all come from I thought to myself. As I looked on I could see that Pat had a guy on his back and punches had started to be thrown.

Scotty and John ran past me towards the fight followed closely by Bob.

I threw my Kentucky to the floor and followed.

I ran directly towards the guys that were on Pat but out of nowhere I felt the hardest punch hit me right on the side of the face.

I stumbled and fell straight into the window shutters of one of the shops. Wallop next punch that came knocked me spark out!

Apparently on this night when we decided to spend our time in the Angel a National Front (right wing extremist group of the time) rally was taking place in one of the local pubs (the blue coat boy I believe it was called). And we happened to be with the only black guy on the street that night!

I was later told that I was spark out laying on the pavement, my friends were one side of me the skinheads the other. Pat had managed to get away by this point.

Every time my friends tried to approach me on the floor these skinheads would pounce on me again. Kicking me and stamping on me!

Fortunately for me the guy who hit me at the start did me a massive favour, I couldn’t feel a thing!

The next part of the night came to me in bits and pieces. I recall coming around in the ambulance, very briefly mind you. Sat next to me was one of the original skins. He had tried to help me and the main group had turned on him as well and hit him over the head with a bit of wood. He had a massive cut with blood covering his face. He actually lived close to the estate I lived in and because of this night had to change his whole circle of friends and his fashion choice!

I next came to in the corridor of a hospital, my mum and my dad was there by this time.To be honest I didn’t have a clue where I was at that point, I just kept drifting in and out. My mates was there as well they had made their way to the club my parents worked in to let them know what had happened. Mum was in a bit of a state, I must have looked pretty bad especially as I kept drifting off.

The funniest part of the situation came in the middle of the night. I awoke again from my unconsciousness lying flat on my back, it was pitch black and I could not see anything in the room.

Up above me was a bright light whizzing around me it stopped and just shone down directly onto me. So I could see myself but the rest of the room was in complete darkness.

I sat up and swung my legs to the side.

I could feel that I was sitting on something but could not see the floor! The scene reminds me of an alien abduction. The room was pitch black and silent and I was lying on a bed waiting to be anal probed! I think I was a little pissed still.

Luckily someone entered the room and reassured me that I was still in the hospital, I was actually having a brain scan and had come too mid way through it.

The thing is what woke me up was the need to have a big piss.

The nurse was very understanding she went off and got me a bottle which I nearly filled to the top.

Apparently the pee was taken away and sampled as they was concerned about the amount of blood within it. I do recall it being blood red at the time and I remember saying to here "that don't loom right" the nurse was shocked when she took it from me.

I got a right royal kicking that night. There was concern that I would lose my right eye and there was some bladder damage. I was extremely lucky that day the situation could have been a lot worse. Especially when you consider the problems kids of that age face now.

It took me a couple of days to actually come round properly, When I got to look in the mirror I had a proper Doctor  Marten boot print going across my face, you could see the tread marks as clear as day.

During my in and out conscious state the police did come and see me but without any knowledge of who was who there was very little that could be done.

To be fair I wasn’t really bothered about that side of it, you don’t think like that when your sixteen seventeen. I had loads of visitors and attention from my mates at football.

I even got a hero’s welcome on the Saturday when I went to the next game!

I looked a mess but for some reason that increased my notoriety and I ended up knowing more people, in those days “standing” was more important than the outcome.
You think your invincible and your pride makes you do things that your brain would advise against.

I look back now and consider myself fortunate to be able to laugh about it but even now when I hear the song “getting beaten up” by the piranha’s (B side to Tom Hark) it reminds me of that night!

You tube it if you’re not familiar with it and you will see what I mean. 

Liam our personal loss

LIAM

Our personal loss

Coming to terms with losing a child has to be the hardest thing anyone will ever have to do.

It’s not something that life prepares you for; when you’re pregnant it doesn’t cross your mind that something could go wrong.

All you can think about is, is it a boy or is it a girl, what shall we call it, will it look like me?

It’s not wrong, that normal it’s exciting, and so should it be.

On 12^th May 1990 my wife (Caroline) and I lost our second child a son who was due to be called Liam. I was 24 years old and my wife was 23. We had no idea that this would happen to us and we were totally unprepared for it.

It all began with Caroline having stomach problems. To be honest I don’t really recall how long the stomach pains had been occurring but I know that they could not find out the reason. It must have been going on for some weeks as she was back and forth to the doctors and she had various tests.

Then finally we ended up in the hospital and the doctor was prodding and poking her.

He kept pushing her stomach in as if he was feeling for something inside but could not find it.

The problem was the pain was on the left side and so they did not think appendix until he did a push and release test. This is where they push their hand deep deep into your stomach and then release it really quickly.

Well Caroline must have gone three feet off of the bed when he released his hand in the fast upward motion!

And so it was then that we was informed that Appendix was the diagnosis. There was no option due to the pain levels and the risk of rupture the only thing to do was to remove them.

Caroline was approx. 22 weeks pregnant at this point. We already had a son (Bradley) and so with this pregnancy Caroline had become visibly pregnant earlier than before.

Caroline was beside herself with worry so much so that she had to be given something to calm her down. Once the form was signed we were then told that there was a possibility that the baby could abort itself during the operation! This was a risk! Caroline was distraught she fell to pieces so much so that she was refusing to have the operation. In the end they gave her a sedative to calm her down enough.

Obviously this was a massive concern but what could we say at this point? The doctor needed to do the operation and so we had to take the chance. I went home with Brad and sat by the phone waiting for news. I’m a glass is half full sort of person and so I was confident that all would be OK. It was late in the evening when I was finally aloud to talk to the ward and find out the outcome.

“All went well, the operation was a success and the appendix was removed”

“What about the baby?” I enquired

“Baby is fine no complications” those reassuring words rang in my ears.

I have always had a saying and have always lived by it that, it will all be alright in the end.

I was over the moon, Caroline was going to be OK and so was the baby. Caroline was kept in for a week (as I recall it) but seemed to be released very quickly. As she was still very weak and we had a toddler to contend with Caroline went to stay at her parents’ house in Billericay in Essex.

I was working and could not afford to take time off to look after her and Brad. I was gutted to have her go live 200 miles away but we had no choice, so off they went.

During the course of the week Caroline did not seem to get much better, she slept mostly being very tiered and very weak. Her family GP lived in the house next door to Caroline’s parents and so she came in everyday to check on her. She removed her stiches and gave her pain medication. The situation however came to a head on the Friday night into Saturday morning. Caroline felt really ill so much so that she went to her parent’s room. She was freezing cold with a temperature and she noticed that she had some blood. She knocked on the door but nobody answered. Not wanting to wake them and feeling very ill Caroline went back to bed and wrapped herself up in the bedding.

It came out later that Caroline’s dad did hear her faint knocking at the door but as he was dozing it didn’t register that help was required.

By the time the early morning came (around 0700) Caroline was in severe pain in her stomach, she also had chills and sweats and also still bleeding. This time she went into her parent’s room and told them what was happening.

Quickly her dad went to get help next door to the doctor’s house. Unfortunately the GPs mother in law came to the door, she was an elderly Indian lady of fairly limited English, she made it known that the doctor was still in bed with her children and not to be woken. She said she would come later

So the next option was to call Basildon hospital. Caroline’s dad phoned them and  explained that Caroline had undergone surgery in Bedford and was pregnant and staying with them. She was 200 miles from home and appeared to be in early labour.

The response from Basildon hospital (although not said) amounted to “not our problem”. Caroline would need to see her own doctor/midwfe!

“What do you want to do Babe?” her dad asked

“Take me home I need Lee”

It normally took two to two and a half hours to get from Caroline’s parents’ house in Essex to our house in Bedford but to her dads credit they was at the door in about one hour thirty minutes. He floored it the whole way.

I had been given the heads up earlier so I had already contacted the hospital and made arrangements to go straight there.

Caroline fell into my arms when she arrived; she was in floods of tears and in terrible pain.

There was no time to waste we went straight to the hospital.

The hospital in Bedford is not very far from our home so we were there in no time. They knew we were coming and so we were taken directly to a side room.

The room was flooded with nurses and doctors all running around doing what they had to do. As things progressed we was told that Caroline was in full blown labour, the plan was to give some drugs to slow the labour down in the hope that it would stop altogether.

The drip was put up and the drugs started, there seemed to be so many people in the room all doing something but all I could see was Caroline. We held hands the whole time. I could see in her eyes how desperate she was for this to work, even through her pain she could only think about the baby.

The reaction to the drugs came quickly and it wasn’t good. Caroline was on her back on the hospital bed but she began to shake! In the end the shakes were so violent that she was visibly lifting off of the bed, not just by a bit I’m talking 6 to 8 inches off of the bed! It was frightening.

The doctor stopped the drip, the inevitable was about to happen.

“The drugs are not working I’m afraid, there is nothing we can do to stop the labour. Baby is coming today” the doctor said.

“So what happens now? What are the chances for the baby” Caroline asked

“There is no chance for the baby, it is far too early to survive” he replied

Even then though even hearing those words, I didn’t believe him. It will be OK it’s gonna be OK. Doctors can be wrong.

I tried to reassure Caroline “we’ll be OK babe, it’s gonna be fine, we can try again” What a thing to say? Here is my wife going through this and I’m reassuring her that we can do it again like that was going to replace this child who we were going to lose!

The truth is I was falling to pieces, Caroline was being the strong one. I was no use to her to be fair.

Unknown to me at the time outside the room the doctor told Caroline’s parents that they would be lucky to only lose the grandchild, Caroline was “very Poorly”!

Back inside the room it had become less crowded; they believed that Caroline had severe blood poisoning. They also believed that the baby would also have severe blood poisoning as well and this would make his chance of survival even smaller.

Caroline had a monitor attached to her stomach not only did this record on a printout but it also meant we could hear the babies heartbeat the whole time.

For me (glass is half full) I kept thinking that this was good news he was still OK! For Caroline this must have been torture.

The labour lasted for 6 hours with Caroline giving birth naturally even though he was born breach!

Normally as babies are born they are placed straight onto the mothers belly for that first magical cuddle, a beautiful moment. But here given the situation he was taken to the end of the bed by a nurse to be checked over.

“It’s a boy the nurse said to Caroline do you want to hold him?”

Can you imagine?

Caroline was distraught inconsolable she did not know what to do, but bravely said yes, the nurse put him into her arms but Caroline could not cope.

“I can’t” she cried “I can’t” and so the nurse took him away.

I was not given the option of holding him; in fact I did not even see him, just a bundle.

We were never given the option of seeing him ever again. Little did we know at that time that was our only chance of ever holding our baby? He was taken away from us to another hospital building the other side of Bedford to have all the tests performed to enable them to show the cause of death. Even later when he was taken to the funeral directors because of the tests that had been performed we weren’t allowed to visit him in the chapel of rest. We later found out that he was perfect, he had no problems other than being very small due to how early he had been born.

We was later made aware that Caroline’s dad had held him and they took some Polaroid photos of him for us. Nowadays hospitals are far more caring taking hand prints and foot prints and so on, but at this time we had nothing.

As I said earlier I just fell apart I was no use to Caroline at all. She had gone through this difficult labour lost her baby and was extremely ill with blood poisoning but she still was comforting me.

Carline ended up staying in hospital for a couple of weeks she was so ill she had to have 7 pints of blood in blood transfusions. She was having drugs put into her as well as saline and the transfusions. Due to all of these lines being put in, Caroline’s veins kept closing up. The hospital had to keep finding new veins to use each time. The final straw came for Caroline when they wanted to put a line in her neck! She had, had them all over, her arms, hands groins, feet. In the end the nurse squeezed the bag of antibiotics through the vein in her hand even though it had given up! Caroline said it was like having burning liquid pushed in and flowing through your body!

Whilst in hospital Caroline was in a side room, however this was right next to the new baby ward, as she laid in her bed she could hear all the new babies crying! One day one of the nurses had a go at Caroline one morning because she wanted her food in her room.  Fortunately Caroline stood up for herself how could she be expected to sit with new mothers talking about their babies knowing hers had just died?

When you have a baby the registrar or births comes to the ward so you can register your baby even though he had died this still needed to be completed.

I was not with Caroline when this happened but Caroline was given a birth certificate and a death certificate. Caroline questioned this as with still births you only get one certificate.

The registrar informed Caroline that our baby was not sill born, he actually breathed on his own for 2 minutes!

For Caroline this meant that that magical moment when you first hold your baby could have happened! She could have held him and he could have died in her arms. It haunted her for years (I think it still does) the thought that he died on the end of her bed rather than in the comfort of his mother’s arms.

Eventually Caroline was able to leave the hospital to come home. It was a difficult moment as we left the hospital carrying a massive bunch of flowers instead of a baby!

I think we both felt the emotion of that moment.

Caroline’s dad took on board all the funeral arrangements for us; we had no money at all. We were barely covering our own bills and so he offered to sort it all out, and we could pay him back whenever we were able. We was massively grateful to him for that but to be honest I was also embarrassed at the same time.

The funeral was to take place in Essex, Caroline did not want Liam to be on his own so it was decided that he would be put with Caroline’s granddad in Upminster crematorium.

The whole day for me was and still is a blur. I have such little memory of it even now.

I remember that we did not want people to wear black or for there to be anyone other than family. I can remember Caroline having to be helped to the car as her legs just gave way beneath her.

I cannot remember the journey except for the final corner just as you come up to the crematorium, for some reason that bit sticks in my mind.

I don’t recall any of the service just that the vicar who married Caroline and I was the vicar who did Liam’s service.

My biggest regret however was that I did not carry the coffin. I wanted to, but I didn’t know I was allowed to. Nobody said that it was possible.

This sticks with me all the time, it’s a small thing but it is one of the things you cannot shake off. It one of those if only moments.

Liam was carried in by a funeral director in his small grey/white coffin, just cradled in his arms, it should have been me.

The loss of Liam was a massive situation in our lives. It is one of the things that will live with us forever.

We became very angry initially; we did try to find out the reason why what happened, happened. We did go to see the specialist and we was told that the blood poisoning was not due to burst appendix, it could have been due to intercourse however!

I was devastated to hear that! I was being blamed for killing my own baby! The truth is Caroline gets an infection after every operation (she has had several since) and each time she has an infection.

When Caroline was released after having her appendix removed, she was not even given a blood test, nor was she given any antibiotics.

There are lots of things which might have made a difference.

Should Caroline have had a blood test? Or antibiotics?

Should I have taken time off and kept Caroline in Bedford?

Should Caroline have made he parents wake up in the night?

Should Caroline’s dad have insisted that the GP got up and came?

Should Caroline have just been taken to Basildon hospital instead of phoning? (they had a special baby care unit there)

Should Bedford have transferred Caroline to Cambridge hospital? (they had a special baby care unit there)

There are so many should have or could have moments, none of us are to blame. We had never gone through a situation like this, How was we supposed to know how to act? We was young and inexperienced we didn’t argue with doctors, we did what we was told they knew what they was doing, didn’t they?