My Liverpool Home (41 page)

‘I’m the same as everybody else. If I’m getting results, I’ve got a better chance of keeping my job.’

Roy knows I’ll help him in any way I can. Liverpool Football Club are much more important than I am, or Roy Hodgson, Christian Purslow or Martin Broughton. I’ve put aside any resentment I felt about not being considered for the manager’s job. I’m focusing on the bigger picture, which is Liverpool Football Club. Roy has no problem with me being here. I have never undermined a manager. When I was given the Liverpool manager’s job in 1985, I had the best guy ever as my ally, the most successful manager ever in British football history to consult. Bob Paisley wasn’t a threat. He was 100 per cent on my side, and I knew that. I’ll be the same for Roy if he wants it. What matters is Liverpool fighting their way back up to where they belong.

Liverpool will always be special in my eyes but they must take care. They are in danger of missing out on the support of a young generation, who’ve been brought up watching the Premier League on Sky. They want success. Unless Liverpool are winning trophies and keeping hold of quality players, such as Steven Gerrard and Fernando Torres, the club will struggle to pull in that generation of support. At the moment, the kids go to Anfield because of their dads and the players. That’s the attraction. But that can’t last forever. Liverpool have to win some silverware or lose a generation. Whatever happens, the club can always count on my support.

20

OUR LIVERPOOL HOME

Marina’s Story

w
HEN
we left Glasgow for Liverpool in 1977, I was a 23 year old with two babies – Kelly was 20 months and Paul was just five months. I had no idea what to expect. Moving from Scotland to England in those days was a very big deal.

We stayed in the Holiday Inn in Paradise Street in Liverpool where we were welcomed by the innkeeper Jack Ferguson and his wife Meg, which was lovely because they were good friends of my parents. I cannot thank them and their staff enough for making our move to England so easy. Kelly used to help wee Cathy, the chambermaid, clean the bedrooms and Cathy eventually became their babysitter. In fact, when Kenny wasn’t around, the kids and I would eat in the staff canteen!

I remember feeling immediately welcome at my first game at Anfield. Everyone was so friendly. There was a lounge where friends and family would gather after the game to wait while the players changed. I thought this was great because at Celtic the wives would have to stand outside or sit in the car park waiting for their husbands to emerge. Mind you, I think Terry, who looked after the players’ lounge at Anfield, would have been glad if I’d left Paul outside – especially when he got a bit older!

It was there I met the other players’ wives. One night we decided to go to aerobics together. The occasion sticks in my mind because we failed, and it turned into a girls’ night out. We had all agreed to meet at the aerobics studio at 7 p.m., having fed and bathed the children and husbands and left them looking after each other. Running late as usual, the girls decided to wear just leotards and tights to save time changing when we got there. However, when we arrived at the class, it was cancelled. At this point we made the unanimous decision to check out the new wine bar. So, in tights, leotards and coats off we went.

One glass of wine became two, at which point we felt the need to call home and tell the husbands why we were late. All the men were fine about it, apart from Kenny. He was manager at the time, and his response was: ‘What are you doing taking those girls out? They’re going to go home and wake up the lads. We have a quarter-final tomorrow.’ He put the phone down. I relayed this to the girls who found it hilarious and we decided to phone him back. I think it was Julie McMahon who said, ‘Don’t worry, Kenneth, I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight.’ I think he put the phone down again. Thank goodness they won the next day.

Whenever I meet up with the girls now, we all agree that we would not swap the good times and lifelong friendships that we have made to be a footballer’s wife today. In an industry where people move about a lot it’s amazing that so many of us still keep in touch.

I clearly remember the day that Kenny resigned from Liverpool. We were all in tears watching the news conference. A great part of our life had gone. However, Kenny made the right decision for both himself and our family. His health was suffering and he was not an easy person to live with. He was given very little help to cope with the stress that he was under, although I doubt he would have taken it if it had been offered.

He could have chosen a better time to resign – I was in the middle of arranging a surprise 40
^th
birthday party for him less than two weeks later and suddenly he was at home while I was trying to make secret telephone calls. I thought of cancelling but decided to go ahead, which was for the best as it was great for Kenny to have his friends around him.

Hillsborough is still very fresh in my memory and I will never forget the event or the 96 people who lost their lives in the tragedy. It was a great privilege for Kenny and I to be allowed to share such a private and tragic time in the lives of many. I would like to thank all of the families who allowed Kenny and I to be a part of this. I hope that one day soon the families of those who died will receive the justice that they are owed.

The Kids’ Story

As we’ve grown older, we’ve really enjoyed visiting Anfield, especially because each time we go to a match we bump into the same friendly faces, many of whom have been there for as long as we can remember. They have stories to tell about each of us. Lauren was the baby whose nappy they remember changing, Lynsey was the one with Barbies, Paul was, and still is, the one causing mischief and Kelly was, and still is, the perfect child! This is why Anfield is such a special place for all of us – it’s like a second home. Thank you for making us all feel so welcome.

My memories of Anfield during Dad’s time as player-manager are a mixture of the sickly sweet and the deeply sad, from the bars of chocolate that were a highlight of our trips as kids to the dreadful poignancy of the aftermath of Hillsborough.

I was nine when Dad became player-manager in 1985. Our seats were at the back of the directors’ box, just in front of an older lady called Mrs Prince, who had white, set hair and was an avid Liverpool supporter. To every home game she would bring a Wispa bar each for Paul and me, which she gave us at half-time. It taught us never to be late taking our seats!

Amazingly, it wasn’t until 1989 that I first stood on the Kop. It wasn’t full of swinging and swaying fans that day but a sea of flowers, scarves, messages and tributes to those who had died or been injured days earlier at Hillsborough. I was with Dad and Paul, who tied his old teddy to a goalpost before looking up at Dad and asking, ‘Why us?’

Another vivid memory, and a far happier one, was Dad’s last game as a player. It was against Derby in the final home fixture of 1989–90, when he was two months past his 39th birthday. He’d picked himself to be a substitute, although the Kop knew better than to call for him too soon because they knew the full 90 minutes would be too much for him!

They waited until well into the second half. Then all the old songs and chants started up, urging him to make his entrance. With less than 20 minutes to go, when it was still 0–0, he sent himself on for Jan Molby. Ten minutes later, Gary Gillespie got the winner and the celebrations started for what, amazingly, is still Liverpool’s last League title.

It was wonderful to watch Dad play in front of almost 40,000 people, at an age when I could properly appreciate their support rather than seeing it as a child with confectionery on her mind.

Liverpool Football Club and my family are the most important things in my life. They always have been and always will be. They are the two things that I truly love. A lot of people say supporting Liverpool is a religion. Well, to me it genuinely is. The club taught me many of the values by which I lead my life. Anfield was my Mecca, Jan Molby was my Buddha, and I was a disciple of what the great Bill Shankly created and what my dad taught and passed on to me, the Liverpool way. When my dad was at Liverpool, the team were the greatest team in the world and my dad was the King of the Kop. It would have been easy for him to have become carried away with his success, but he actually tried to stay away from the limelight and still doesn’t feel comfortable taking praise. Humility, the thing that my dad always preached, was an important part of the Liverpool way. The people at Liverpool Football Club understood and embraced the responsibility that comes with living out the dreams of the fans, the people who chose to spend their hard-earned cash supporting the team. That’s why the bond between Liverpool players and supporters is the closest in the world.

Despite Liverpool being the greatest team in the world, individuals never bragged. They never spoke about how good they were. They didn’t need to because everybody else did that for them. The message was clear – Liverpool Football Club is the most important thing, no individual was or ever will be bigger than the club and everybody here must strive to bring silverwear to Anfield every season. Players must have the humility to find ways to improve every season, no matter what they had won the past season, in order to keep Liverpool in their rightful place, perched at the very top of world football. I remember a story my dad told me, about when Liverpool had won the League and the players had reported back for pre-season training. Ronnie Moran walked into the changing rooms with all the players’ medals in a box, put them on the treatment table and said, ‘Take one if you think you deserve one, but just remember you haven’t won anything yet this season.’

There is one dream that I have been able to achieve, a dream that my dad has never been able to fulfil, and the greatest thing any Liverpool fan could ever do. I got to stand on the Kop every week and learn why the Liverpool way was so special. I would stand alongside my fellow reds, always with my friends and Jim, a great man from Scotland, who would stand behind me and sit me on the barrier so I could see – same place every week, by the right-hand pillar, right in the middle of the Kop.

That was where I went after Hillsborough with Dad and Kelly. I don’t know why but it was where I wanted to go after witnessing the horrific events of that tragic day unfold in front of my young eyes. I remember standing speechless with Stephen Evans and Brownie, who used to take Stephen and I to the away games. We watched as people tried to climb over the railings at the front, and saw people being lifted from the terracing to the seats above. We had no idea what was happening but we soon realised. I saw dead people for the first time, being carried on advertising boards instead of stretchers, and people taking off their tops to cover the faces of their loved ones. I remember Forest fans singing abusive songs at Liverpool fans, obviously unaware of the seriousness of the situation. I vividly remember one Liverpool fan running the length of the field to confront the whole Forest end only to be stopped by police. It was just after this that I heard my dad’s voice come over the speakers in the stadium, asking people to stay calm. I was scared. I wished he could come and get me, and fortunately he did. There were no mobile phones then so I couldn’t call him or my mum. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I looked on to the pitch and saw my dad. He had come to find me. As soon as I saw him I ran down and hugged him. He took me and Stephen back to our families who were in the main stand. It sounds strange but we were the lucky ones. Some sons never got to hug their dads again. I never cried on the day of the Hillsborough tragedy. It was on the Kop, in my special place, and in the arms of my father that I felt safe enough to let my emotions out and start the grieving process for my fellow reds. I have never spoken of this before, not even to family, but I suppose I needed to get it off my chest.

I grew up in the corridors of Anfield, I travelled all over the world to watch Liverpool win trophies and spent every day I had off school going to Melwood to watch Liverpool train. I have some great memories and some tragic ones, too, but my greatest memory of my dad’s time at Liverpool is being taught how to live the Liverpool way. Bill Shankly created it, Bob Paisley, Ronnie Moran, Joe Fagan, Roy Evans, Tom Saunders and my dad preached the sermon. I was very fortunate to be given the opportunity to learn these values from the great men themselves. I have always tried, and always will try, to live my life the Liverpool way.

Dad isn’t the only one who has raised the roof at Anfield by scoring a goal – and I achieved something he never did by bringing a huge cheer from the away fans packed into the Anfield Road end.

It happened like this. After every home match, us kids used to go out to play on the pitch while our dads got changed and went through the whole post-match routine. I remember we used to get into trouble for getting covered in the red dust from the track that surrounded the pitch. On this particular afternoon, Roy Evans’s son Stephen had bet me 50p I couldn’t score against him. I managed to put the ball past him into the net, to a great ‘hurray’ from the opposing fans who were being held behind while the Liverpool crowd cleared.

We even made the hallowed Boot Room part of our playground. Paul showed me where they kept the chewing gum for the players and coaches, and taught me how to pinch it. Well, it was Doublemint!

In the late eighties, when Dad was player-manager, I became aware that all the other kids were going round the players’ lounge collecting autographs. I decided I had to have my programme signed, which bemused the team somewhat, especially Dad, who inscribed it, ‘To my blue-eyed girl’. When I saw the message I was devastated. ‘That’s not what you write,’ I told him. ‘You’re supposed to say “Best Wishes”.’

Dad left Liverpool Football Club when I was just three years old, so my memories of the good old days are very sparse. I’m actually a little bit jealous of Kelly, Paul and Lynsey because they tell me that they had a great time. Apparently, I attended my first match when I was only weeks old – arriving five minutes after kick-off, wrapped up inside Mum’s coat. She tells me that I slept through the whole match, only to be woken up for food at half-time.