TomClare
01 Jun 2007, 10:27 AM
Easter 1957 – The “Babes” Last Title
Good Friday fell on April 19th in 1957. I have some very vivid, strong, and fond memories of that day and the weekend that followed. Being brought up in a strong Catholic environment, Good Friday was a “Holy Day” and in our family, it was normally observed in just such a way. I can recall that Good Friday began very early for me because I was an altar boy at the Holy Family Church situated in All Saints, Manchester. My roster had showed that I was down to serve the 7a.m. Mass, and so it was that I had risen at 6a.m., completed my ablutions in the cold water sink in the downstairs living room of our old terraced house, dressed, and then quietly slipped out the front door and into Royle Street. It was just begining to get light as I made my way up Grosvenor Street, then up past Upper Brook Street and Oxford Road, and into All Saints, where the Church (which is still there today) was situated facing All Saints Park. Every step of my journey from my home could be heard as I clattered along the streets because I was wearing clogs! My parents had gotten so fed up with me kicking the toes out of my shoes by playing football in them, that now, they had realized a threat which they had made to me several months earlier, that they would put me in clogs! And so it happened. When I look back now, it’s strange how I remember those clogs with such reverence because it turned out that I loved them, and nurtured and cared for them ,just as I did for any pair of football boots, despite having to endure a lot of piss taking from my young friends of that time! As I walked along those quiet streets, my mind wasn’t on the task that immediately lay ahead of me at church. As usual it was solely focused on my one and only true love - Manchester United. My head, as was usual back in those days, was racing ahead of time because I would be traveling to Turf Moor, Burnley for a First Division Championship football game later that day. The mystique of away travel was a wonderment to me back in those days. Today, for most kids, I suppose traveling to a place like Burnley would not seem to be too much of an adventure; but back then, it was like going to a foreign country for us inner city kids. It was such an exciting time for me, and certainly as I recall it - a tremendous weekend ahead to dream and fantasize about! Turf Moor on the Friday, Old Trafford on the Saturday, Old Trafford again on the Monday, and then the “big one” against Real Madrid at Old Trafford the following Thursday. For a starry eyed kid like me, it was the “Roy of the Rovers” stuff that I read about every week in the Tiger comic magazine, which I bought religiously, every week.
As I walked up Grosvenor Street, my young imagination ran wild. It was me that was going to be leading the United team out at Turf Moor that afternoon! As I skipped along I also became Raymond Glendenning (he used to do the radio match commentaries on the BCC’s Light Programme at that time) and I talked to myself, relating the match commentary out loud. Anybody passing me by in the street that morning must have thought that there was something wrong with me – that I was challenged in some way! But it didn’t matter to me – I didn’t see or hear anything – I was oblivious to it all and in a little world of my own.
Upon arrival at the Holy Family, my entry into the Church couldn’t have been more spectacular because as I went through the open doorway, and then across the carpeted entrance, I stepped into the Church proper with its highly polished wooden floors. The minute that I stepped onto the wooden surface with my clogs, my legs came from underneath me and I went sliding feet first into a marble baptismal font that had a large array of flowers standing above it, and both font and flowers came crashing down around me. The font and flower vase crashing to the floor made a real old crescendo of noise in the quietness of such a holy place! Of course the parishoners already seated there in the congregation as they waited for Mass to begin, came to my aid, and almost immediately there was an appearance from the Parish Priest, Father McClernon. The result was that after the mess was cleaned up, I actually served the Mass in my stocking feet! Even as I knelt there on the altar, supposedly following the events of the Mass, my mind was wandering away towards Turf Moor - what would it be like? What were their supporters like? Most important of all, would United win? As United approached that Easter, they needed just four points to ensure retaining the First Division Championship title that they had won in the season before. Several times throughout that Mass, Father McClernon had to turn around and politely cough in order to bring my attention back to what I was supposed to be doing!
Time could not pass quickly enough for me, and after what seemed like an age, Father McClernon finally turned around and faced the congregation, saying; “Ite Missa Est” – and I waited for him to descend the altar steps and then followed him into the sanctuary. Once inside, I received my usual bollocking from him for being inattentive and not providing the correct responses at various times throughout the Mass. Of course, I also got a warning from him to not forget to remember his tickets for the Real Madrid game the following Thursday! It had become a ritual that as well as queueing at ungodly hours for my own tickets for matches, I had to bring his back as well! Discarding my black cassock and white cotta, and donning my clogs once more, I left the Church via the housekeeper’s entrance, and down the side alleyway besides the Church. I was off back home as quickly as my legs could take me mind as usual on the events about to unfold before me that weekend! My parents were off to Mass themselves just after I arrived home, accompanied by my younger sister, but before leaving, my Mum asked me whether I was doing the Stations of the Cross later that day at 3p.m. My face reddened as I told her a white lie saying that I had to go to St. Joseph’s at Victoria Park to do a retreat there and that I wouldn’t be home until 7p.m. I’d certainly be gone by the time that they returned home later that morning from church!
During the past few years, I’d been to a few away games at Preston, Blackpool, Bolton and Maine Road, but Burnley was a new experience for me. I’d arranged to meet my partner in crime, Brian Walsh in Piccadilly. We wandered around Piccadilly for a while, but being Good Friday, nothing was open, and next to nobody was about. We meandered our way down Market Street, and Corporation Street, and then finally, into Victoria Station. I can recall that it was a beautiful sunny day, and after we had bought our tickets for the “football special to Burnley” we sat and waited. Back in 1957, the Victoria Station buildings were blackened with grime and soot, but it was still a fascinating place. The trains were of the old steam type, and there was lots of activity in the Station as people caught their trains for the Lancashire coast, and a long weekend away. Families with pasty faced kids, and Dads carrying the suitcases, sweethearts getting away from the prying eyes of vigilant parents – remember, this was 1957! As time passed by, more and more United fans began to arrive in the old station, and before too long, there was a long, chattering line by the platform gate, and when finally the old steam train pulled in alongside the platform, there was a huge big cheer from the waiting throng. The gate opened, the Ticket Collector clipped our tickets and we were allowed onto the platform to board the train. It was the usual motley band of supporters that made the journey to Burnley and the banter and camaraderie was terrific. Ladies with flasks of oxo and packets of sandwiches, fella’s smoking Capstan Full Strength cigarettes, others drinking bottles of Jubilee Stout, but it was most of all, a feeling of excitement, expectation, and most of all, togetherness – we all belonged to Manchester United.
The urban Manchester scenery began to disappear as the train steamed its way out of Manchester, and into the pleasant East Lancashire countryside. It was hilly and green, and we passed through Bury and Ramsbottom , Haslingden and then finally arrived into Burnley, the journey taking just over an hour and 20 minutes. The train doors opened and the supporters flooded off the train and onto the platform, and then just like a snake sliding through the undergrowth,, began to move slowly out of the station and into the streets. Brian and I had no idea where Turf Moor actually was, so as usual, we just “followed the crowd”. It was a happy throng that made its way through the cobbled and sometimes hilly Burnley streets, towards the ground. Burnley was still very much a mill town back then and you could see the huge mill chimneys towering above their buildings as we walked along. I can recall that we passed by lots of little “corner shops” that because of it being Good Friday – were all closed! A far cry from today’s world. The crowd began to got denser as we neared the stadium. Burnley fans and United fans exchanged banter, but for Brian and I, the Burnley people seemed to speak a foreign language! They had a very pronounced dialect and initially we had trouble understanding them! It took no more than 15 minutes to reach Turf Moor and upon arrival, we paid our ninepence entrance and took our places behind the goal at the “open end” which was where the majority of United supporters were congregated. People chatted amiably, even with the Burnley fans – there was no pre-match chanting back in those days. The normal brass band paraded around the pitch for the pre-match entertainment and the fans whistled along in the April sunshineto the various marches that the band played. The excitement began to increase as kick off time grew nearer, and then finally, the Burnley team appeared from the tunnel in their claret and blue shirts. Some fairly big name players in their team back then; Colin McDonald, Jimmy Adamson, Tommy Cummings, Brian Miller, John Connelly, Jimmy McIlroy, Ray Pointer, Brian Pilkington – all internationals and they had a very canny manager in the Geordie, Harry Potts. United came out and made their way to the “open” end in their blue shirts, and lined up; Wood, Foulkes, Byrne;Goodwin, Blanchflower, Edwards; Berry, Whelan, Taylor, Charlton and Pegg. United won comfortably that afternoon with a terrific display of attacking football that really entertained the more than 41,000 fans. Billy Whelan was at his best and scored all three United goals, but it was a display of team power and flowing, attacking football. When the final whistle went, United were just two points away from retaining their title with Sunderland to play at home the following day.
It was a happy band of United fans that left Turf Moor after the final whistle, and then made the short walk back to the train station that afternoon. The talk on the journey back to Manchester was more about the forthcoming tie with real Madrid in just under a week’s time, and could United “do a Bilbao”? I crept back into our house just around 7:30p.m. that evening. Nobody I suspected, was the wiser as to where I’d been, and me full of myself because “I’d heard that United won 3-1”. Dad then filled me in with all the details about Billy Whelan’s hat-trick with never an inkling that I’d witnessed it all personally! Later that evening as I got ready for bed, Mum took me to one side in the bedroom and aksed me; “Did you go to Burnley today?” I sheepishly dropped my head and could not lie to her, very sheepishly saying; “yes.” She had talked to somebody at Mass that morning who had told her that there was no retreat at St. Joseph’s that day! I’d been rumbled! Fortunately for me, she never let on to my Dad.
Saturday, April 20th 1957, saw Sunderland arrive in Manchester and there was a tremendous excitement and expectancy within the city that United would clinch their second title in successive seasons that afternoon. The city was abuzz with the imminent arrival of Real Madrid in town the following week for the second leg of the European Cup Semi-Final, in which United were trailing by 3-1. Having to play 3 games in 4 days just three days prior to this semi-final, seemed no kind of preparation for a game of such importance. The Football League would never countenance a postponement of a League fixture to help the cause, so United just had to get on with it. I recall that the Saturday was again a nice sunny day and I made my way as usual to Old Trafford early, and then watched as the throngs began to arrive. It was a typical match day, but it did seem that this was larger than normal crowd. I did all my pre-match rituals – walking around the ground; read all the posters on the walls; watched as players began to arrive; chased the “big fella” down to the Ticket office; saw the Sunderland team arrive in what we used to call the old “Charra”. Sunderland were also a team with many experienced internationals in their team; Len Shackleton, Ray Daniel, Charlie Fleming ,Don Revie, Billy Elliott, Billy Bingham, Stan Anderson and Colin Grainger to name just a few. United made just one change from the team that had played Burnley the day before, and that was Eddie Colman returning at right half in place of Freddie Goodwin. Almost 59,000 fans packed into a warm and sunny Old Trafford that afternoon. Sunderland were no real match for a rampant United team that day, and Whelan quickly added to his three goals from the day before by opening the scoring very early on. Sunderland’s cause wasn’t helped much by an injury to their goalkeeper Johnny Bollands who was injured in a collision with Tommy Taylor as he dived at the big centre forward’s feet to get the ball. The injury sadly meant that he took no further part in the game, and Sunderland were down to 10 men then for the duration. Big Charlie “Legs” Fleming, their Jockinese centre forward, took over in goal. Charlie was a real football character and a real old traditional centre forward. Arms and legs everywhere, that propelled him like a windmill, and courage that would take him through a barn door if necessary. He was a handful for any centre half and had bagged a lot of goals for Sunderland since he’d traveled south from Scotland some two seasons before. I was stood at the back of the goal at the Stretford End during this game, and it was the end at which the injury had taken place. The game was pretty much one sided from then on and it came as no surprise that United increased their lead when Tommy Taylor scored. Just before half time, I witnessed one of those defining moments in football….. something that stays with you and is immersed in your memory bank forever! The “Big Fella’” won the ball in midfield just inside the Sunderland half, and as was his want, he began to drive forward. From fully 30 yards out, he hit a tremendous venomous thunderbolt with his left foot. Charlie Fleming seemed to duck underneath the flight of the ball and it hit the back of the net with a wallop. Nothing will ever convince me that Charlie feared for his safety when that shot came at him, and took the safe way out by getting out of the way of it. It was game over and the second half was a stroll for United. A fourth goal from Billy Whelan gave the likeable Dubliner a tally of 5 goals from two games, and when the final whistle went, it was smiles and cheers all around as United retained their First Division title. Thousands of fans jumped over the picket fence surrounding the stands, and ran onto the pitch to congratulate their heroes once more – the Championship Flag would be flying again at Old Trafford the following season.
Busby now had a the luxury of being able to maybe rest a few players for the Easter Monday game against Burnley at Old Trafford. There was a real anticipation and excitement fermenting in Manchester that Sunday. The Championship secured, Real Madrid was now the big target. As I have written in another story, the tickets for the Real Madrid game went on sale on Easter Sunday morning and thousands of people queued throughout the night to make sure that they got their ticket. Brian and I got to Old Trafford around 5a.m., and already the line was way down Trafford Road going down towards Ashburton Road. Standing in line for tickets back then really was an experience and in this modern day, I often wonder how the modern fan would take to having to do this? We eventually got our tickets later that morning, plus those for the Priests, and we looked forward to the coming week immensely.
Everybody knew that Busby would make changes for the visit of Burnley on that Easter Monday afternoon. The title now secured, he could at least rest a few players. Nobody though, could ever have expected, the extent to what he would take this ploy. When the team was actually announced that morning, there was uproar. He made 9 changes! Only Wood and Foulkes played that afternoon from the team that had defeated Sunderland two days previously. Bob Lord the autocratic Burnley Chairman, made scathing comments about United, and considered it an insult to Burnley that United could put out a “Boy’s Own” team against them as he put it. The Football League was also incensed and there was immediate talk of punishing United for fielding a weakened team in a Football League game. Busby was unperturbed and undaunted, and went ahead as planned. Just over 41,000 fans turned out that day to watch Dennis Viollet lead out “the Champions” and United lined up; Wood; Foulkes, Greaves; Goodwin, Cope, McGuinness; Webster, Doherty, Dawson, Viollett, and Scanlon. Most Manchester folk at that time knew just how good United’s strength in depth was. The Reserve team was strong, the junior teams were strong, and the Youth team was unbeatable. But for a lot of us, it remained to be seen that collectively, just how good the youngsters would be against top notch opposition – and make no mistake about it – Burnley were a very, very, good team. Roared on by a very partisan crowd, United’s reserves took the game to Burnley. They displayed the same attacking ethos of their first team mentors. That they scored first through young Alex Dawson, came as no surprise and the scoreline stayed the same until midway through the second half, when the Welshman, Colin Webster, steamed in to power in a second goal. The game ended 2-0 to United and the happiness in the young United player’s faces as they left the field, told the story.
Bob Lord went back to Burnley with his tail between his legs, and his Burnley team had been demolished by the young United reserves. It was a result that made him bitter towards United forever after, and he was never slow in coming forward with that bitterness in later years. The Football League could hardly charge United with “fielding a weakened team” after that result, and so consequently, the matter died a death and wasn’t spoken about again. For us as United fans, it had been a tremendous week-end. Champions again, already into the Final of the F.A. Cup, and with Real Madrid to come just three days later - what a wonderful time to be around in the history of our great Club. The word “treble” had been muted sometime before the F.A. Cup semi-final against Birmingham City in late March, and once that tie had been won, it became a more prominent word in the football vocabulary and it was very much “on”..
That United failed in their quest has always been a big disappointment to me personally, and I suppose to the many people of my generation – but it was never without the greatest of efforts. They failed in the European Cup against an absolutely superb Real Madrid team, by 5-3 on aggregate. I have always maintained that United were on the receiving end of some poor refereeing decisions in the first leg in Madrid, especially as Di Stefano should have been sent off in the first half of that game for a shocking foul on Eddie Colman. My late Grandfather attended that first leg in Madrid and I can always recall that upon his return to Manchester, he gushed about their wonderful stadium, the people, but most of all, about just how good a team that real were – especially their centre forward Di Stefano and his inside partner, Hector Rial. In the F.A. Cup Final of 1957, United were on the receiving end of probably the most despicable, pre-meditated act of violence and thuggery, that I have ever seen perpetrated upon a football pitch. The Wood – McParland incident in that Final was more than instrumental in denying United even doing the famous “double” that season.. It’s also amazing to look back at the run in at the end of that season. In the space of just 23 days, United had to play 9 games - 6 of them inside a 10 day period! So they finished the season as only First Division champions. We were still so happy, and looked forward so much to the coming season. The “Busby Babes” were buoyant, and we were certain that the “treble” was not unachievable. Sadly, as history proved, it wasn’t to be. But we were not to know at that particular time just what heartbreak lay ahead for us all. We had a wonderful young team, a great manager, and a Club to be so truly proud of. They were all so embedded in the local community and bonded so much with the fans that followed them. No prima donnas, no players with big egos. Lads of whom I am sure, never gave any real thoughts to money, but were just so proud to play in the shirt of Manchester United and the shirt of their country. I have the dvd of that 1957 FA Cup Final, and whilst not one of the “Babe’s” greatest performances, even though they were down to 10 men, I play it a lot when I am alone, and the memories and tears come flooding back. The summer of 1957 was a real happy time. The players went off, some on tour with their international teams, but they were all back in late July, and for a lot of them, their Sunday afternoons were spent at the Galleon Open Air Swimming Pool in Didsbury in the Balmy summer afternoon sunshine. The exhuberance of youth; so much for them to look forward to; so much excitement and anticipation in there young lives; so many happy, young, smiling faces. They were definitely “our boys”. I recall that Easter period of 1957 so vividly and it is a time that I’ll never forget – the happiness, the joy, and the sheer elation of just being……………….Manchester United!
Good Friday fell on April 19th in 1957. I have some very vivid, strong, and fond memories of that day and the weekend that followed. Being brought up in a strong Catholic environment, Good Friday was a “Holy Day” and in our family, it was normally observed in just such a way. I can recall that Good Friday began very early for me because I was an altar boy at the Holy Family Church situated in All Saints, Manchester. My roster had showed that I was down to serve the 7a.m. Mass, and so it was that I had risen at 6a.m., completed my ablutions in the cold water sink in the downstairs living room of our old terraced house, dressed, and then quietly slipped out the front door and into Royle Street. It was just begining to get light as I made my way up Grosvenor Street, then up past Upper Brook Street and Oxford Road, and into All Saints, where the Church (which is still there today) was situated facing All Saints Park. Every step of my journey from my home could be heard as I clattered along the streets because I was wearing clogs! My parents had gotten so fed up with me kicking the toes out of my shoes by playing football in them, that now, they had realized a threat which they had made to me several months earlier, that they would put me in clogs! And so it happened. When I look back now, it’s strange how I remember those clogs with such reverence because it turned out that I loved them, and nurtured and cared for them ,just as I did for any pair of football boots, despite having to endure a lot of piss taking from my young friends of that time! As I walked along those quiet streets, my mind wasn’t on the task that immediately lay ahead of me at church. As usual it was solely focused on my one and only true love - Manchester United. My head, as was usual back in those days, was racing ahead of time because I would be traveling to Turf Moor, Burnley for a First Division Championship football game later that day. The mystique of away travel was a wonderment to me back in those days. Today, for most kids, I suppose traveling to a place like Burnley would not seem to be too much of an adventure; but back then, it was like going to a foreign country for us inner city kids. It was such an exciting time for me, and certainly as I recall it - a tremendous weekend ahead to dream and fantasize about! Turf Moor on the Friday, Old Trafford on the Saturday, Old Trafford again on the Monday, and then the “big one” against Real Madrid at Old Trafford the following Thursday. For a starry eyed kid like me, it was the “Roy of the Rovers” stuff that I read about every week in the Tiger comic magazine, which I bought religiously, every week.
As I walked up Grosvenor Street, my young imagination ran wild. It was me that was going to be leading the United team out at Turf Moor that afternoon! As I skipped along I also became Raymond Glendenning (he used to do the radio match commentaries on the BCC’s Light Programme at that time) and I talked to myself, relating the match commentary out loud. Anybody passing me by in the street that morning must have thought that there was something wrong with me – that I was challenged in some way! But it didn’t matter to me – I didn’t see or hear anything – I was oblivious to it all and in a little world of my own.
Upon arrival at the Holy Family, my entry into the Church couldn’t have been more spectacular because as I went through the open doorway, and then across the carpeted entrance, I stepped into the Church proper with its highly polished wooden floors. The minute that I stepped onto the wooden surface with my clogs, my legs came from underneath me and I went sliding feet first into a marble baptismal font that had a large array of flowers standing above it, and both font and flowers came crashing down around me. The font and flower vase crashing to the floor made a real old crescendo of noise in the quietness of such a holy place! Of course the parishoners already seated there in the congregation as they waited for Mass to begin, came to my aid, and almost immediately there was an appearance from the Parish Priest, Father McClernon. The result was that after the mess was cleaned up, I actually served the Mass in my stocking feet! Even as I knelt there on the altar, supposedly following the events of the Mass, my mind was wandering away towards Turf Moor - what would it be like? What were their supporters like? Most important of all, would United win? As United approached that Easter, they needed just four points to ensure retaining the First Division Championship title that they had won in the season before. Several times throughout that Mass, Father McClernon had to turn around and politely cough in order to bring my attention back to what I was supposed to be doing!
Time could not pass quickly enough for me, and after what seemed like an age, Father McClernon finally turned around and faced the congregation, saying; “Ite Missa Est” – and I waited for him to descend the altar steps and then followed him into the sanctuary. Once inside, I received my usual bollocking from him for being inattentive and not providing the correct responses at various times throughout the Mass. Of course, I also got a warning from him to not forget to remember his tickets for the Real Madrid game the following Thursday! It had become a ritual that as well as queueing at ungodly hours for my own tickets for matches, I had to bring his back as well! Discarding my black cassock and white cotta, and donning my clogs once more, I left the Church via the housekeeper’s entrance, and down the side alleyway besides the Church. I was off back home as quickly as my legs could take me mind as usual on the events about to unfold before me that weekend! My parents were off to Mass themselves just after I arrived home, accompanied by my younger sister, but before leaving, my Mum asked me whether I was doing the Stations of the Cross later that day at 3p.m. My face reddened as I told her a white lie saying that I had to go to St. Joseph’s at Victoria Park to do a retreat there and that I wouldn’t be home until 7p.m. I’d certainly be gone by the time that they returned home later that morning from church!
During the past few years, I’d been to a few away games at Preston, Blackpool, Bolton and Maine Road, but Burnley was a new experience for me. I’d arranged to meet my partner in crime, Brian Walsh in Piccadilly. We wandered around Piccadilly for a while, but being Good Friday, nothing was open, and next to nobody was about. We meandered our way down Market Street, and Corporation Street, and then finally, into Victoria Station. I can recall that it was a beautiful sunny day, and after we had bought our tickets for the “football special to Burnley” we sat and waited. Back in 1957, the Victoria Station buildings were blackened with grime and soot, but it was still a fascinating place. The trains were of the old steam type, and there was lots of activity in the Station as people caught their trains for the Lancashire coast, and a long weekend away. Families with pasty faced kids, and Dads carrying the suitcases, sweethearts getting away from the prying eyes of vigilant parents – remember, this was 1957! As time passed by, more and more United fans began to arrive in the old station, and before too long, there was a long, chattering line by the platform gate, and when finally the old steam train pulled in alongside the platform, there was a huge big cheer from the waiting throng. The gate opened, the Ticket Collector clipped our tickets and we were allowed onto the platform to board the train. It was the usual motley band of supporters that made the journey to Burnley and the banter and camaraderie was terrific. Ladies with flasks of oxo and packets of sandwiches, fella’s smoking Capstan Full Strength cigarettes, others drinking bottles of Jubilee Stout, but it was most of all, a feeling of excitement, expectation, and most of all, togetherness – we all belonged to Manchester United.
The urban Manchester scenery began to disappear as the train steamed its way out of Manchester, and into the pleasant East Lancashire countryside. It was hilly and green, and we passed through Bury and Ramsbottom , Haslingden and then finally arrived into Burnley, the journey taking just over an hour and 20 minutes. The train doors opened and the supporters flooded off the train and onto the platform, and then just like a snake sliding through the undergrowth,, began to move slowly out of the station and into the streets. Brian and I had no idea where Turf Moor actually was, so as usual, we just “followed the crowd”. It was a happy throng that made its way through the cobbled and sometimes hilly Burnley streets, towards the ground. Burnley was still very much a mill town back then and you could see the huge mill chimneys towering above their buildings as we walked along. I can recall that we passed by lots of little “corner shops” that because of it being Good Friday – were all closed! A far cry from today’s world. The crowd began to got denser as we neared the stadium. Burnley fans and United fans exchanged banter, but for Brian and I, the Burnley people seemed to speak a foreign language! They had a very pronounced dialect and initially we had trouble understanding them! It took no more than 15 minutes to reach Turf Moor and upon arrival, we paid our ninepence entrance and took our places behind the goal at the “open end” which was where the majority of United supporters were congregated. People chatted amiably, even with the Burnley fans – there was no pre-match chanting back in those days. The normal brass band paraded around the pitch for the pre-match entertainment and the fans whistled along in the April sunshineto the various marches that the band played. The excitement began to increase as kick off time grew nearer, and then finally, the Burnley team appeared from the tunnel in their claret and blue shirts. Some fairly big name players in their team back then; Colin McDonald, Jimmy Adamson, Tommy Cummings, Brian Miller, John Connelly, Jimmy McIlroy, Ray Pointer, Brian Pilkington – all internationals and they had a very canny manager in the Geordie, Harry Potts. United came out and made their way to the “open” end in their blue shirts, and lined up; Wood, Foulkes, Byrne;Goodwin, Blanchflower, Edwards; Berry, Whelan, Taylor, Charlton and Pegg. United won comfortably that afternoon with a terrific display of attacking football that really entertained the more than 41,000 fans. Billy Whelan was at his best and scored all three United goals, but it was a display of team power and flowing, attacking football. When the final whistle went, United were just two points away from retaining their title with Sunderland to play at home the following day.
It was a happy band of United fans that left Turf Moor after the final whistle, and then made the short walk back to the train station that afternoon. The talk on the journey back to Manchester was more about the forthcoming tie with real Madrid in just under a week’s time, and could United “do a Bilbao”? I crept back into our house just around 7:30p.m. that evening. Nobody I suspected, was the wiser as to where I’d been, and me full of myself because “I’d heard that United won 3-1”. Dad then filled me in with all the details about Billy Whelan’s hat-trick with never an inkling that I’d witnessed it all personally! Later that evening as I got ready for bed, Mum took me to one side in the bedroom and aksed me; “Did you go to Burnley today?” I sheepishly dropped my head and could not lie to her, very sheepishly saying; “yes.” She had talked to somebody at Mass that morning who had told her that there was no retreat at St. Joseph’s that day! I’d been rumbled! Fortunately for me, she never let on to my Dad.
Saturday, April 20th 1957, saw Sunderland arrive in Manchester and there was a tremendous excitement and expectancy within the city that United would clinch their second title in successive seasons that afternoon. The city was abuzz with the imminent arrival of Real Madrid in town the following week for the second leg of the European Cup Semi-Final, in which United were trailing by 3-1. Having to play 3 games in 4 days just three days prior to this semi-final, seemed no kind of preparation for a game of such importance. The Football League would never countenance a postponement of a League fixture to help the cause, so United just had to get on with it. I recall that the Saturday was again a nice sunny day and I made my way as usual to Old Trafford early, and then watched as the throngs began to arrive. It was a typical match day, but it did seem that this was larger than normal crowd. I did all my pre-match rituals – walking around the ground; read all the posters on the walls; watched as players began to arrive; chased the “big fella” down to the Ticket office; saw the Sunderland team arrive in what we used to call the old “Charra”. Sunderland were also a team with many experienced internationals in their team; Len Shackleton, Ray Daniel, Charlie Fleming ,Don Revie, Billy Elliott, Billy Bingham, Stan Anderson and Colin Grainger to name just a few. United made just one change from the team that had played Burnley the day before, and that was Eddie Colman returning at right half in place of Freddie Goodwin. Almost 59,000 fans packed into a warm and sunny Old Trafford that afternoon. Sunderland were no real match for a rampant United team that day, and Whelan quickly added to his three goals from the day before by opening the scoring very early on. Sunderland’s cause wasn’t helped much by an injury to their goalkeeper Johnny Bollands who was injured in a collision with Tommy Taylor as he dived at the big centre forward’s feet to get the ball. The injury sadly meant that he took no further part in the game, and Sunderland were down to 10 men then for the duration. Big Charlie “Legs” Fleming, their Jockinese centre forward, took over in goal. Charlie was a real football character and a real old traditional centre forward. Arms and legs everywhere, that propelled him like a windmill, and courage that would take him through a barn door if necessary. He was a handful for any centre half and had bagged a lot of goals for Sunderland since he’d traveled south from Scotland some two seasons before. I was stood at the back of the goal at the Stretford End during this game, and it was the end at which the injury had taken place. The game was pretty much one sided from then on and it came as no surprise that United increased their lead when Tommy Taylor scored. Just before half time, I witnessed one of those defining moments in football….. something that stays with you and is immersed in your memory bank forever! The “Big Fella’” won the ball in midfield just inside the Sunderland half, and as was his want, he began to drive forward. From fully 30 yards out, he hit a tremendous venomous thunderbolt with his left foot. Charlie Fleming seemed to duck underneath the flight of the ball and it hit the back of the net with a wallop. Nothing will ever convince me that Charlie feared for his safety when that shot came at him, and took the safe way out by getting out of the way of it. It was game over and the second half was a stroll for United. A fourth goal from Billy Whelan gave the likeable Dubliner a tally of 5 goals from two games, and when the final whistle went, it was smiles and cheers all around as United retained their First Division title. Thousands of fans jumped over the picket fence surrounding the stands, and ran onto the pitch to congratulate their heroes once more – the Championship Flag would be flying again at Old Trafford the following season.
Busby now had a the luxury of being able to maybe rest a few players for the Easter Monday game against Burnley at Old Trafford. There was a real anticipation and excitement fermenting in Manchester that Sunday. The Championship secured, Real Madrid was now the big target. As I have written in another story, the tickets for the Real Madrid game went on sale on Easter Sunday morning and thousands of people queued throughout the night to make sure that they got their ticket. Brian and I got to Old Trafford around 5a.m., and already the line was way down Trafford Road going down towards Ashburton Road. Standing in line for tickets back then really was an experience and in this modern day, I often wonder how the modern fan would take to having to do this? We eventually got our tickets later that morning, plus those for the Priests, and we looked forward to the coming week immensely.
Everybody knew that Busby would make changes for the visit of Burnley on that Easter Monday afternoon. The title now secured, he could at least rest a few players. Nobody though, could ever have expected, the extent to what he would take this ploy. When the team was actually announced that morning, there was uproar. He made 9 changes! Only Wood and Foulkes played that afternoon from the team that had defeated Sunderland two days previously. Bob Lord the autocratic Burnley Chairman, made scathing comments about United, and considered it an insult to Burnley that United could put out a “Boy’s Own” team against them as he put it. The Football League was also incensed and there was immediate talk of punishing United for fielding a weakened team in a Football League game. Busby was unperturbed and undaunted, and went ahead as planned. Just over 41,000 fans turned out that day to watch Dennis Viollet lead out “the Champions” and United lined up; Wood; Foulkes, Greaves; Goodwin, Cope, McGuinness; Webster, Doherty, Dawson, Viollett, and Scanlon. Most Manchester folk at that time knew just how good United’s strength in depth was. The Reserve team was strong, the junior teams were strong, and the Youth team was unbeatable. But for a lot of us, it remained to be seen that collectively, just how good the youngsters would be against top notch opposition – and make no mistake about it – Burnley were a very, very, good team. Roared on by a very partisan crowd, United’s reserves took the game to Burnley. They displayed the same attacking ethos of their first team mentors. That they scored first through young Alex Dawson, came as no surprise and the scoreline stayed the same until midway through the second half, when the Welshman, Colin Webster, steamed in to power in a second goal. The game ended 2-0 to United and the happiness in the young United player’s faces as they left the field, told the story.
Bob Lord went back to Burnley with his tail between his legs, and his Burnley team had been demolished by the young United reserves. It was a result that made him bitter towards United forever after, and he was never slow in coming forward with that bitterness in later years. The Football League could hardly charge United with “fielding a weakened team” after that result, and so consequently, the matter died a death and wasn’t spoken about again. For us as United fans, it had been a tremendous week-end. Champions again, already into the Final of the F.A. Cup, and with Real Madrid to come just three days later - what a wonderful time to be around in the history of our great Club. The word “treble” had been muted sometime before the F.A. Cup semi-final against Birmingham City in late March, and once that tie had been won, it became a more prominent word in the football vocabulary and it was very much “on”..
That United failed in their quest has always been a big disappointment to me personally, and I suppose to the many people of my generation – but it was never without the greatest of efforts. They failed in the European Cup against an absolutely superb Real Madrid team, by 5-3 on aggregate. I have always maintained that United were on the receiving end of some poor refereeing decisions in the first leg in Madrid, especially as Di Stefano should have been sent off in the first half of that game for a shocking foul on Eddie Colman. My late Grandfather attended that first leg in Madrid and I can always recall that upon his return to Manchester, he gushed about their wonderful stadium, the people, but most of all, about just how good a team that real were – especially their centre forward Di Stefano and his inside partner, Hector Rial. In the F.A. Cup Final of 1957, United were on the receiving end of probably the most despicable, pre-meditated act of violence and thuggery, that I have ever seen perpetrated upon a football pitch. The Wood – McParland incident in that Final was more than instrumental in denying United even doing the famous “double” that season.. It’s also amazing to look back at the run in at the end of that season. In the space of just 23 days, United had to play 9 games - 6 of them inside a 10 day period! So they finished the season as only First Division champions. We were still so happy, and looked forward so much to the coming season. The “Busby Babes” were buoyant, and we were certain that the “treble” was not unachievable. Sadly, as history proved, it wasn’t to be. But we were not to know at that particular time just what heartbreak lay ahead for us all. We had a wonderful young team, a great manager, and a Club to be so truly proud of. They were all so embedded in the local community and bonded so much with the fans that followed them. No prima donnas, no players with big egos. Lads of whom I am sure, never gave any real thoughts to money, but were just so proud to play in the shirt of Manchester United and the shirt of their country. I have the dvd of that 1957 FA Cup Final, and whilst not one of the “Babe’s” greatest performances, even though they were down to 10 men, I play it a lot when I am alone, and the memories and tears come flooding back. The summer of 1957 was a real happy time. The players went off, some on tour with their international teams, but they were all back in late July, and for a lot of them, their Sunday afternoons were spent at the Galleon Open Air Swimming Pool in Didsbury in the Balmy summer afternoon sunshine. The exhuberance of youth; so much for them to look forward to; so much excitement and anticipation in there young lives; so many happy, young, smiling faces. They were definitely “our boys”. I recall that Easter period of 1957 so vividly and it is a time that I’ll never forget – the happiness, the joy, and the sheer elation of just being……………….Manchester United!