Keep Fighting (3 page)

‘To be fair I knew I was in the wrong and that it would not be right for me to inflame the situation, and in all likelihood get us both into trouble, so I held my hands up and said sorry to him. It worked and he let me go. He had quite a temper on him and, rightly so that day, as I had been giving him a lot of stick. Dave Mackay is someone I highly respect; he looks hard, he is hard, but underneath all of that he is a really nice guy – apparently.’

Mackay's version is not too dissimilar:

‘In general Billy was a good honest professional. He could be a real wind-up though and I had just about taken enough of him that day. He says it was an accident, but he went to hurt me on an injured leg. It was a stupid thing to do and I wanted to let him know that he can't do that to me. Looking back on it now it was just one of those things. Too much has been made of it since and if that photograph [see picture section, page 1] didn't exist then it would have probably gone away without any fuss or further mention.’

The ‘win at all costs’ image of Billy Bremner has reached almost mythical proportions in some parts of the media and in the terrace legend, as has the ‘dirty Leeds’ tag. There can be no denying that Bremner and his Leeds colleagues liked to win. A collective and competitive mindset to achieve first place permeated throughout the football club. To be second best or to suffer defeat in any form was unacceptable.

The ‘dirty Leeds’ tag could never be associated with such exquisite and skilful footballers like Eddie Gray or South African, Albert Johanneson. In fact no Leeds players of the era could ever be described as a ‘clogger’. All possessed great levels of skill and one need only review some of the games of the era to see how they destroyed teams with their pure footballing ability.

As team captain, Bremner was the focal point of the side; football supporters often quite incorrectly regarded him as tough, reckless and unsympathetic, a destroyer. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

In what may have been his last ever interview, shortly before his sad death in 1995, Albert Johanneson described to me Bremner's influence on him as a person:

‘Even when staring directly into the face of adversity I can rely on Billy Bremner to put matters into perspective. I may not always like what he says but he never hides his feelings, he has always been straight with me. He helped me overcome many of the battles facing what was a rare commodity in the 1960s, a black footballer. In many games the players we faced would call me offensive names and some even asked me to clean and polish their
boots. It hurts me to think that they did not see me as an equal; after all we were all footballers. Billy would always come to my defence and tell me I was better than such people and to ignore all the comments. He would tell me that the best way to hurt them was with my skill and pace and goals. Many times I cried and it was Billy Bremner who would lift my spirits, even after we finished with the game; I sometimes feel ashamed that I am not as strong a person as him. He is a fine man and he has helped and supported me through some difficult times in my life.’

Kind words indeed. I can only hope that this work appropriately conveys the love of football, life and sincerity Billy Bremner possessed. His passion in particular for Leeds United and later Doncaster Rovers is unquestionable. This book is a unique tribute to the greatest ever footballer to don the club shirt of Leeds United, Hull City, Doncaster Rovers and, arguably Scotland. His passing in 1997 was not only a huge loss to his family and friends but to the world of football too. Long may the legend of William John Bremner live on.

1

IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WAS … BILLY BREMNER

On Saturday, 16 March 1968, as a mere eight-year-old, I realised my first life ambition. On that particular day Leeds United were playing a game in the old First Division at Newcastle United and I attended my first Division One football match. Arriving at Newcastle station with my uncle, we made the walk through some narrow and hilly cobblestone streets on a grey drizzly day. The route to St James' Park felt claustrophobic and intimidating, raising my anxiety and trepidation at seeing two of football's biggest clubs. After what seemed dozens of miles, we eventually emerged into open space and I caught my first glimpse of St James' Park, home of Newcastle United AFC. It looked spectacular and resplendent and just a little run down, altogether bigger and somehow more complete than the only other football ground I had visited, Brunton Park, Carlisle.

The first thing to grab my attention were the giant floodlight pylons that stood aloft at the corners of the ground – the lighting frame on each pylon giving the appearance that they were looking down on the stadium below, literally standing guard. Elsewhere there was a garish-looking black and white grandstand that ran the entire length of one side of the ground. As we neared the stadium, the sight of seemingly never-ending rows of steps that led up to the roofless Gallowgate End sent the butterflies in my stomach into lunar orbit. I had seen dozens of pictures of St James' Park in magazines and books, yet none could deliver the thrill of seeing it in real life. I was hooked, and in my nervous excitement, began to shake. Walking into the main
car park, I suddenly became aware that we were not alone. Hundreds of other people, mainly Newcastle supporters, were milling around and waiting for something. Quite what, I had no idea.

By now all I wanted to do was get inside and to see the ground, the luscious green pitch and to savour the smell of the freshly mown grass and the build-up to the match itself. I wanted to see my idol, Billy Bremner, and his fellow Leeds United team mates in real life.

Suddenly, a man shouted, ‘Here they come', sparking a flurry of activity in the car park. A less than state-of-the-art, sandy-coloured charabanc pulled into the car park and stopped close to the concrete steps leading into the rear of the main stand. There was a mad dash as everyone ran towards the bus. I had no idea what was happening but ran alongside my uncle, as fast as my skinny little legs would carry me. We stopped by the front of the bus where he turned to me and said in an excited tone, ‘It's Leeds United, they're here, it's the Leeds players.' Being small, I was able to work my way through the crowd and pushed through to the front to stand as close to the bus door as possible.

Moments later, the door jerked open and they emerged, one by one, the management and playing staff of Leeds United Football Club: a stern-looking Don Revie, a grinning Paul Reaney, a thoughtful Paul Madeley, a laughing Mick Jones, a serious Mike O'Grady, a smiling Johnny Giles, a curious Terry Cooper, a loud Jack Charlton (how tall he looked, a giant of a man), and a friendly Jimmy Greenhoff. It was thrilling, I stood motionless and speechless, my eyes like saucers as others clamoured for, and got, the autographs they so desperately wanted. Gary Sprake, one of my great heroes from the Leeds team, climbed down from the bus. Seizing my chance, I plucked up the courage to speak and offered him my programme, politely asking him to sign it. The Welsh keeper wasn't interested, he sneered down at me (I will never forget the look) before pushing me to one side adding ‘Get out of my way,' as he did so. Sprake rudely pushed through the crowd and made his way towards the main stand. He was
obviously not in a great mood that day and I was absolutely mortified and close to tears. For a brief time, Gary Sprake had been someone I admired. Not any more.

I did manage to get my own back on him some years later when I was in a Leeds restaurant with a couple of fellow Leeds supporters. One of them recognised him and asked for his autograph. Begrudgingly, he obliged before turning to me, ‘I expect you want one as well?' My reply was brief and concise, it was meant to be dismissive: ‘No thanks, not for me.' He was clearly unhappy with that response and moved away without reply.

Back at St James' Park, Terry Cooper had witnessed the downright arrogance of his colleague, took my programme from me and signed it, giving me a knowing wink as he handed it back. Don Revie was there and he gladly signed it, as did Jack Charlton. Then it happened – suddenly I was face to face with Billy Bremner. By now, I was shaking uncontrollably. There before me was the greatest footballer ever. Worse still, I was suddenly competing with dozens of adults who had arrived and wanted his autograph. I lunged forward, was able to get his attention and handed him my programme. He took, it, smiled graciously and asked me, ‘What is your name, son?' He was speaking to me; Billy Bremner was actually speaking to me. My throat went dry as my vocal chords seized, I tried to speak my name, but all that came out was a frog like croaking noise. I blurted out ‘Paul, sir,' at which he laughed and said, ‘Pleased to meet you, Paul,' signed my programme and handed it back to me.

I couldn't contain myself and without any thought made the most inane comment imaginable: ‘Billy, I have posters of you on my bedroom wall.' I don't know why, but the comment seemed to take him by surprise, and he talked (whilst signing dozens of other autographs) to me for what seemed an eternity. I explained that it was the first time I had seen Leeds United in real life, and that my uncle had brought me. He asked me to point out my uncle and I then heard Billy say to him, ‘Follow me over here.' We pushed our way through the throng and made our way
towards the stadium. Climbing the steps, Billy turned round to my uncle and told him that he would be back in a moment then disappeared inside the stand. My uncle was grinning from ear to ear. ‘I can't believe you,' he kept repeating. Moments later Billy reappeared, clutching several programmes that had been signed by both Leeds and Newcastle players. ‘Here you are son, come back after the game and tell me what you thought.' I agreed that I would do just that and he returned to the inner confines of the stadium.

We moved off and entered the ground taking our place in a paddock-style terraced area that sat below the main stand; we were close to where it met with the Gallowgate End. To be honest I can remember little of the game, it was over in a flash. The final score was 1-1 and the records show Norman Hunter had scored for Leeds before a crowd of 49,190, of which proudly, I was one. As we exited the ground my uncle told me that we had to be quick in order to catch the train home. My mind wasn't fixed on any train or going home – my thoughts were on Billy Bremner. Wouldn't Billy be waiting for us? My tiny world collapsed as it dawned on me that we weren't going to meet the Leeds captain again, at least not that day.

Whether it was through feelings of guilt or a simple desire to make me happy, unbeknown to me, my uncle and my mother carefully crafted and posted a letter to Billy Bremner at Leeds United, apologising for our failure to meet with him after the game at Newcastle. Within a week, a reply was received. I was then told of the communications. I can't remember the precise wording of the response, but it was signed by Billy Bremner and it was on Leeds United headed notepaper. Essentially, it said that they were to let him know when I was next coming to Leeds and to Elland Road to watch a game. My mum, proud as punch at getting such a response, refused to allow me to take it to school to show it off to my mates, instead she took it to her work and let everyone see it. Parental logic!

The belief a child places in a hero should never be underestimated; many children select fictional superheroes, or film
or popstars as their role model. I was truly fortunate. For me, my hero was the best of them all, he was the ultimate role model.

My next encounter with the superstar was on 4 May 1968, before a 2-1 defeat at Elland Road, by Liverpool. Somehow we (I was escorted by my mother) had arranged to meet Billy prior to the match, in the main reception of the ground. I expected others to be there doing the same thing but I was wrong. Billy came out smiling and greeted us, and without waiting a moment, whisked me off on a whirlwind tour of the stadium, leaving my mother sat in reception. It was surreal, I met player after player before finally being paraded before team manager Don Revie, nervously answering his questions.

Let me tell you, no matter what anyone may say about him, Don Revie had an immense presence. It was like meeting God himself. He held out his hand to shake mine, he was courteous and polite yet clearly much focused on the game. He told me how he loved Leeds United and in turn, he expected his players to be as passionate about the club, as much as each of its supporters. I explained to him how one day I wanted to play for his team. Smiling he said he would look forward to signing me on. I was thrilled, it was a truly unforgettable experience and, sublimely, all the time Billy Bremner was there with me, guiding and supporting me through my obviously excited yet nervous state.

The one thing I learned from the Elland Road experience was that Billy Bremner always made time for the important things in his career and life. The supporters of Leeds United meant everything to him, and he was tireless in going out of his way to achieve success for those same people. There are few who are naturally blessed with an aura that causes those around them to feel in awe, yet at the same time can make people relaxed, comfortable and very much their equals. Billy was one such individual. Throughout the entire time I knew him, he never changed his manner or attitude, maintaining the same respect for others, whether he was with the Queen of England, with a football supporter in a pub or to fellow locals in the tap room
of the Woodman at Halton. He had the uncanny knack of making others feel important and crucial to the team's success.

Over the years that followed I kept in touch with Billy, meeting up with him on countless occasions and always talking football and his love of Leeds United. Throughout this time he remained honourable, honest and open, taking time to talk to and often meet with his critics head on. Rarely did he walk away from any encounter, both on and off the field, without a smile and a shake of the hand. A genuine person indeed.

2

THE EARLY DAYS

William John Bremner was born in Stirling, Scotland on Wednesday, 9 December 1942 and raised in the district of Raploch. Raploch's history dates back to the 1100s and is on the site of the Battle of Stirling Bridge. According to Bremner himself: