This is (part of) the story of a good man who not unlike so many of his generation, class, and background, suffered hardship and extreme personal loss through the war years and afterwards. Having lost his father, mother, sister and elder brother, was left as a seventeen year old to bring up his eleven year old brother alone, save for the support of his brother's widow and a single cousin. He would marry four years after the war end and start a family of his own, only to lose his young daughter in tragic circumstances.
We each of us deal with things in our own way, and the below narrative in no way is intended to trivialise the death of anyone let alone that of an infant but to show that love, despair, happiness, sadness, joy, anger, pride, all manifest themselves in so many different ways. I well remember my own father saying to me that Celtic and the fate of the Celtic seemed to not only bring out those very feelings and emotions but were also intertwined in some way in the daily lives of those of us lucky enough to have been bequeathed the inheritance that is Celtic.
The Return...........Part 1
(By the Barca Mole)
A Saturday like any other in Maryhill, waiting alongside the big brother, the elder by five years, at the foot of the close for my Dad coming back from the match ………" where is he, whit's keeping him?" says the big brother to me …..I wasn't quite three: a five year gap, as the sister between us had died a couple of years previously, it was also a communication gap, and so no real response forthcoming. Plus, at that time, I didn't quite know the second Saturday routine. I did know though, that it was nearly time for Jaconnelli's.
My mother came downstairs carrying the baby brother (who had just turned one as they say) from the same 'two room and kitchen' that my Dad's family had stayed in for over fifty years, since they ended up in Glasgow via Dungannon. As it was getting cold and still no sign of my Dad, she says "Ok boys come on, up the stairs; I've got a roaring fire going"
Looked like there would be no trip to Jaconelli's that Saturday then, thought me and the big brother, exchanging glances. "We can go to Jaconelli's on the way back from St Charles' tomorrow!" says my mother as if reading my mind. At that, three or four of my Dad's pals passed by looking extremely pleased with themselves. One of them whose face I recognised, says " Hello Ellen, how are you, waiting for Jimmy eh? Think he'll be a wee while yet……... Here chocolate button eyes, catch" he shouts at me as he throws me a coin. "A florin, that's way too much" my mother says " Not at all, please, we've had a great day, and regards to Jimmy" says the group to my Mother, who asks…. "Where is he anyway?" ….. "Don't know for sure but probably in Munn's with Taxi Dan"
So back up the stair and I'm told to "share that florin with your brothers…….. Always you eh!" says my mother "that'll be half each between the three of us then pipes up the big brother," he knew about money then and even more so now, some 50 years later.
"Hope Jimmy's alright Ma" says my mother to the Granny, who would sometime stay with us at the weekends. "He'll be fine Ellen. For a father to lose a baby daughter is unimaginable grief, it takes time, and the men are not as strong as us you know, in coping with this kind of thing"…………"Anyway, whit was the score?"asks the Granny. "I forgot to ask, was too busy thinking about Jimmy but some of his pals from the bus were all smiles, so looks like we might have won…….. You know Ma" my mother continued, "I know Jimmy's alright, getting on with life, never off work, never misses a match, and really good with the boys but his smile is full of sorrow, I want to see that glint in his eyes again", the conversation was interrupted by the wheeoo wheeooooo wheeoo ………….that was my Dad's whistle when he was nearby, the only time he ever whistled was on the way to the house. Then the door bursts open and my Dad appears with Tony, my mother's younger brother and Taxi Dan, my Dad's cousin. "We did it, we did it we did it" they cried in unison. "Did what?" says my mother "And where have you been, do you know what time it is?"…….."Aye" says my Dad, "its seven past Niven" and the trio start laughing uproariously, "We've been in Munn's. Charlie's still there waiting on us." Then from his giant coat pocket he pulls bags of allsorts and a double nougat that we were to share, my half was always, the smallest half! "Here boys Jaconelli comes to you, now into the scullery wi yeez and then bath and bed eh, no bedtime stories of Johnny Crum tonight, never forget the past but we have new heroes tonight" ……….."What do you mean Tony was in the pub with you, he's not old enough to be in the pub" interjects my mother, "it's ok" says my Dad, "We're all going out, he only had a couple of pints, come on, it could be ten years before we see the likes of this again. Tony is going to stay here tonight and look after the boys, 7-1, 7-1, 7-1,………… Charlie the Socialist is waiting on us so let's go" says my Dad, unable to contain the sheer delight that this famous Celtic victory had brought cascading down on all of us in the room, like a joyous waterfall…………… "You ok with that Mrs McP, you coming with us? invites my Dad to the Granny……."No thanks Jimmy better get back to see Matt (the Granda), God knows what he'll be like too, and thanks for looking after Tony, he can walk me to the bus stop first though"………..
"No bus, it's a taxi for you Mrs McP" says my Dad to the Granny, "on this night of all nights, 19th October 1957, a day in history!" shouts my Dad. With that the Granny shuffles over to my mother and as she is putting on her coat whispers "I think Ellen that you might just have seen the return of the glint in Jimmy's eyes". "Thank God for the Celtic" says my mother quietly.........................TBM
A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO ESTADIO DAS ANTAS
( A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A CELTIC SUPPORTER )
By Pat the Piping Superintendent
Wednesday the 17th of October started like any other day in Setubal the exception being that I was excited at the prospect of going to see my beloved Celtic take on the Champions of Portugal in the Champions League. Nothing out of the ordinary there you may quip, as the tale unfolds you may see it in a different light.
4 tickets had previously beenprocured by our man in the know, that “ Beast from the East “ Stuart Mill. Arrangements were discussed for the journey, we would leave the Lisnave Mitrena yard at 12 noon and headNorth to the City of Porto. Alas the best laid plans of mice and men and all that were scuppered on the Tuesday evening when George Cross ( of Yorktown fame ) called off. George had been a Time Lord in a previous life and was experiencing disturbing flashbacks recently, Porto is also the name of a small Planet on the fringes of the Zorga Constellation and obviously held bad memories for George so he decided to give it a miss.
That left our small band with a dilemma…who would take George’s place?. There was no point in asking any of our colleagues from England, Wales or America who would sooner have a leg off than a day off, so who would it be?.
We decided on our local barman and sometime mechanical fitter “ Oor Yuri “ of Sports bar fame, yes this was definitely a wise move……someone who knew the territory, someone who spoke fluent English, yes this was the way to go. Yuri actually looks like a scale model of a T100 ( a Terminator made famous by Arnie Swarzenegger) so to anyone who doesn’t know him he is the essence of street credibility
Our designated driver for the trip was Robin Carson ( a sort of cross between Professor Pat Pending of Wacky Races fame and Dillon the hippy rabbit from The Magic Roundabout ) who had obviously learned to drive during his roustabout days on the dodgem cars.
Disaster struck prior to leaving the yard when the Beast from the East’s false tooth snapped off whilst attempting to devour a 100 Escudo sandwich from the machine on the ground floor. This was to prove the first in a series of events that would leave me shell-shocked and forever change my personality!
We decided to return to our abode in Setubal and mend the aforementioned wallys. On leaving the yard we noted that there were dark skies settling over the northern horizon and it might be wise to take additional clothing( sweaters ) for the day. In order to save time I offered Robin a sweater, an offer he declined saying that he really wanted his “ Zippy One “, this was also to prove a significant event.
We were now running approximately 30 minutes late. Hastily driving down to the Sports bar to pick up Oor Yuri , our Navigator and Translator for the day , alas he was nowhere to be seen, the bad vibes were starting to increase. Robin then decided to nip up to the flat and get his zippy sweater whilst we waited in the Sports bar for Oor Yuri.
1 minute later Oor Yuri appeared, we’ll have a beer while we wait on Robin was the cry. Several beers and 30 minutes later we came to the conclusion that Robin had crashed the car.“Phone the yard and get his mobile number “I exclaimed, “Yuri get a pen from behind the bar so we can write his number down “ drawing on all my previous supervisory experience I was trying to take control of the situation, the T100 said he would punch in the phone number into his newly acquired mobile as the Beast from the East read it out, seemed simple enough! After much explaining to the person on the other end of the phone The Beast read the number out to the T100 who punched it into his phone, the call finished the Beast then asked the T100 for the number “ I’ve lost it “ came the reply.My mask was slipping “Get a fuckin pen,” I snapped, another call to the yard was fruitless, no one there now!
Just when I had resigned myself to not being able to support my beloved Celtic that fateful day Robin appeared, 50 minutes after going to fetch Zippy!
Quickly we started to board our transport, the T100 opened the boot to deposit his crash helmet and to my surprise, sitting in the boot was a Golden Labrador complete with carrying handle and a white pool cue.I was sure there was a good reason for this and as we were now running over 1 hour late I decided not to ask any questions.
Onward to Porto was the cry as we headed of for the A2, glancing over Robin’s shoulder I noticed the needle on the fuel indicator was reading “ Fumes “, to the petrol station near the main road was the cry.
The T100 told us he knew an easier way and gave a series of directions, which took us through unknown areas of Setubal , this is where he will prove useful I thought to myself. After ten minutes of this I asked the T100 “ where is the petrol station “?
He replied “ about 10 clicks down the road “ panic set in…we quickly turned round and headed back to Setubal as I tried to explain the workings of petrol driven engines and their limitations.
A full tank and we soon on our way, Robin quickly working through the gears until we reached top speed. Not being well versed in the native tongue of Portugal it took me a while to work out that “Norte “ means North and “SUL“ means south, by the time I had worked out this rather complex translation I realised we were heading Sul and not Norte as planned. The T100 pointed out that we had just passed the exit we should have taken, good information, just given a bit too late, need to have a word with him about his timing.
All this time the Beast from the East was busy polishing the repair on his wally,s, he was now ready to play a significant part as co-pilot. The T100 rightly pointed out that we needed to be travelling in the opposite direction (we were later to find out that he in fact has a honours degree in the fuckin obvious).
As we continued our journey into the metropolis known as Lisboa I was now starting to feel downhearted by the recent run of disastrous events, just then the T100 barked to Robin to turn left which he duly did…. straight into the path of a ¾ ton 4 wheel drive coming in the opposite direction…..I panicked for nothing !!!! it missed us by at least 4 millimetres, the beast was speechless…..Robin didn’t know , it was now confirmed that he had lost the power of sight . We were being driven around Portugal by the white Stevie Wonder, never mind we were at last going in the right direction.
The rest of the journey to Porto proved to be uneventful as I sat in the back and sobbed quietly, when I regained the courage to open my eyes (about 3 hours later) we were actually outside the football stadium.
A parking spot was quickly obtained and we set off towards the stadium. I took charge of the T100 at this stage and instructed him to ask one of the stewards what entrance we would gain entry with our tickets, when he returned with this invaluable info we then proceeded to find a source of nourishment.
I at once noticed a neon sign stating “ MacDonald’s “ , when I brought this to the attention of the T100 he told me that just because the sign says MacDonald’s it doesn’t necessarily mean there will be a well known fast food chain store there ( must be a Portuguese thing ) . His rantings proved to be unfounded and we entered said establishment and proceeded to Wolfdown cheeseburgers and chips.
We soon discovered that lager was available on the premises, which we proceeded to quaff. With kick off time an hour away we asked the T100 about the availability of lager within the stadium, he then informed us that lager was indeed there for purchasing.
As we walked towards the stadium the rain was beginning to fall steadily, at this point I decided to purchase a snazzy waterproof poncho from one of the many street vendors hawking their wares. I instructed the T100 to purchase one of the aforementioned garments on my behalf; he effortlessly slipped into his native tongue and brought me back a scarf.
I was now beginning to seriously doubt that the T100 had been loop checked prior to being released from the factory. I quickly remedied the situation and continued towards the entrance that the T100 had instructed, wrong info again; the T100 was obviously not programmed for translation.
Having gained entry by the proper entrance we then made our way to the bar……myself and the Beast were now gagging fur a swally…….. only to be told that the lager on sale inside the stadium was in fact non-alcoholic.
When chastised for this faux pas the T100 pointed out we were trying to nail him on a technicality and that in fact they did sell lager.
After watching my beloved team being well and truly humped ( which I wont go into detail about ) we trudged dejectedly from the stadium and made our way to our car.
Slumped in the back with my floppy hat over my face I tried to drift off to sleep and escape my nightmare, just as I was drifting off I heard Obe Wan Kanobe saying,“ Let go Robin Use the Force “. PANIC PANIC PANIC PANIC PANIC.
