Arrivederci

A Swansong…

So I have now left Liverpool and the UK – the Brentford game being my last game attended – although I watched the Chelsea game in The Harbour Pub in New Brighton with old friends and saw the Spurs game in Ravenna, Italy. Today, I will watch the Man Utd game in my new hometown of Santa Caesarea Terme.

I close my eyes for a moment and think back to all those years of walking the same streets, child, boy and man:

I have often walked
Down the street before,
But the pavement always stayed
Beneath my feet before
All at once am I
Several stories high,
Knowing I'm on the street where you live.

Eyes closed, I am floating above Westminster Road; up ahead the Goodison Glow; behind, all the street full of memories;  underneath, the Dark House… like Scrooge (Alistair Sim of course) guided by the Spirit of Christmas Past.

I am able to see an empty space by the bar and an empty seat underneath the dartboard – that’s where I stood and sat for 40+ years. But now I am bidding arrivederci to Blue friends:

Arrivederci, my first heroes Tommy Ring and Micky Lill… walking up from Smith Street with Brian Brady pretending to be our heroes, “sloppy joe and shorts”... hard-earned pocket money saved to get us into the Boys Pen. Then, at three-quarter time, running around to get behind the goal end. 

Too young to understand Bobby Collins leaving but quickly finding our new stars in The Golden Vision — I ran on the pitch at the famous Spurs game and kissed his boot and told my Mum I was never going to wash my face again!

Saving up to go in the Gwladys Street. Saturday morning, helping mum with the shopping and then stocking the shelves for dad in The Britannia for match money. “A Double Diamond Works Wonders, Works Wonders, So Have One Today!”

Cooler now, wearing “longies”. Big memories of rushing home from school and going straight up to Goodison Park for the Inter Milan game: 0-0. Walking back home in awe at actually seeing “international players” who we had only read about in football books

Starting to go to away games… Wolves  — coach stopping at Newcastle Under Lyme, The Half-Way House. Going to watch The Reserves, then realising that, being Cardinal Godfrey and St Alphonsus Boys and blessed by Father Winder, we were chosen to watch and feel part of The Holy Trinity!

A feeling of pride of camaraderie, invincible with Bally Howard and Colin Harvey. Alan Ball's goal against them in the FA Cup, going to Wembley — I've still got my West Brom ticket, 7s/6d — shows what football is about now! 

Walking past the Dark House never thinking “One day”… Then the tough years but everyone remembers Big Bobs 30th goal, me and Gaff standing on our own in the Dark House on New Year's Eve, Everton 0 Coventry 0, waiting for the next blessing.  God Bless Howard Kendall.

How we loved our Neville Southall… and so on and so on. Matchdays home and away we will never forget races around the block outside the Dark House in our undies,singing together, unbeatable, Europe, Bayern Munich, Rotterdam, Wembley weekends… still going — “No matter what”.

Arrivederci to the Dark House: quizzes under the darts board, waiting for the Pink Echo “no opening” until after the Quiz. Singing together, where we could be ourselves and support each other through thick and thin. Births Deaths and Marriages all measured against the match.

After the Coventry Game, a new mate turned up at the Dark House with a white polo neck and leather jacket. I asked him where he parked his U-Boat? From then on, U-Boat Phil… Ted leaving his teeth around; Ted getting arrested for kissing Villa Fans at Villa Park. 

The Dark House  — a place for love and affection shown in many ways: handshakes and kisses, kids coming for their first game and grandkids, who sits where? A 4-0 bet, doing the coupon (but never winning — experts???), refusing to bet on “them”.

The Dark House  — a cultural centre:  photos from The Dark House Blues shown in a trendy art gallery in Köln (you can see it — Google 'George McKane Everton Cologne',  a French TV Documentary. In the newspapers, visitors from all around the world, best friends in the world. Arrivederci, friends.

Arrivederci, Smith Street: I look back and see mum and Colette and Joan and Margaret and John standing on the corner — without them, I am nothing… part of them, I am somebody. Mum arms folded, Ma Joad, Joan with her sticky-out skirts and plastic waist belt and beehive under her Tate’s Cap, ready to go The Loch on Saturday night. 

Arrivederci, Lambeth Road and Harcourt Street: Mary Walsh, Clare Boggan and Anne Whittle standing waving. I saw my first television in Anne’s House, her mum let us watch it and gave us a chocolate biscuit.

Arrivederci,  St Ollies and Daisy Street, where we all sat in class but, when break-time came, we were separated into top and lower playground — Catholics and Protestants separated... Education, hey!!!  

Arrivederci, Wessy Road Baths, the No 33 Bus (The Magic Bus), top deck full of smoke and coughing dockers, Pat Clarke and Bancy and Pob Mack, Micky Curran, Jimmy Kennedy and Lenny Mc Clusky in our Cardinal Godfrey Uniforms — and it's still there, even though St Ollies has gone and The Britannia is now Thomas Winder Court.

Arrivederci, ToffeeWeb:  wonderful articles, proactive and evocative… friends we have met at various pubs around Everton — too many to thank but best wishes to you all.

Arrivederci — how can I finish this off?  Okay, what about the ending of Concert For George when Joe Brown picks up his Ukulele and sings I’ll See You In My Dreams?

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