How long must we sing this song?

 

How long must we sing this song?

This weekend’s football match at Ibrox was full blooded affair in which two evenly matched teams were separated by the width of a cigarette paper. As is always the case in such matches, you take your chances when they come along or you pay the price. No doubt Odsonne Edouard will receive some criticism for missing a complete sitter but Kyoto had a couple of great opportunities and choose to shoot when he should have passed and then pass when he should have had a shot. In the heat of the moment, it’s hard to get it right every time. They are after all, only human.

Ibrox was akin to an away game in Europe for Celtic with no away fans to cheer them but they performed reasonably well and played with no fear. In the light of that fact and the fact that Rangers are over three years into the Gerrard rebuild while Postecoglou is ten weeks into his resuscitation of Celtic, there were genuine signs that Celtic can match the Ibrox side over 90 minutes and that there is much to look forward to in the season ahead. Postecoglou was honest enough to admit he should have played Kyogo through the middle as it was clear his pace and movement was not as effective out wide. In those dying minutes, he cut through the Rangers defence on two or three occasions and one was left wondering why he wasn’t played in that position from the start. We live and learn and I’m sure Anje does too.

There were positives for Celtic today; Jovanović looks a player, Kyogo will bag a lot of goals this season and the defence generally held it together. Celtic supporters were obviously annoyed at the error which cost the team the game’s only goal but saw a side prepared to attack their opponents in probably the most hostile atmosphere they’ll face this season. There was much to be positive about despite the loss of the three points. I’m sure more reinforcements will arrive before the window closes as Celtic gear up for a real challenge this year.

Footage emerged after the game of Rangers ‘ultras’ matching through Glasgow city centre singing the ‘Famine Song.’ This lamentable and frankly, moronic song has already been declared racist in the Scottish courts. Yet Police officers escorted the people singing it with barely a second look at them. It is worth considering the lyric of this odious song as it encapsulates the anti-Irish, anti-Catholic and anti-Celtic spirit which animates it. As a rational human being, you may find it difficult to comprehend that an adult wrote this drivel….

 

‘I often wonder where they would have been
If we hadn't have taken them in
Fed them and washed them
Thousands in Glasgow alone
From Ireland they came
Brought us nothing but trouble and shame
Well the famine is over
Why don't they go home?

Now Athenry Mike was a thief
And Large John he was fully briefed
And that wee traitor from Castlemilk
Turned his back on his own
They've all their Papists in Rome
They have U2 and Bono
Well the famine is over
Why don't they go home?

Now they raped and fondled their kids
That's what those perverts from the dark side did
And they swept it under the carpet
And Large John he hid
Their evils seeds have been sown
Cause they're not of our own
Well the famine is over
Why don't you go home?

Now Timmy don't take it from me
Cause if you know your history
You've persecuted thousands of people
In Ireland alone
You turned on the lights
Fuelled U-boats by night
That's how you repay us
It's time to go home.’

 

Where does one even begin with this trash? It’s the sort of twisted and hateful nonsense you’d expect from red-neck racists in 1940s Alabama. Filled with all the lies, ignorance and bigotry which only the truly morally vacuous and uneducated could swallow, it is not, as some say, banter or irony; It is poisonous racism of the worst kind and it’s time the police, civic and footballing authorities did something about it.

Glasgow is set for 34 Orange Parades in one day on 18^th September and the taxpayers of the city, of all faiths and none, will pay for the policing costs as well as facing disruption on the roads and streets. Businesses will suffer as folk stay home to avoid the hassle of bumping into these time travellers from the 17^th century and their camp followers.

A friend of mine who is neither a Catholic nor a Celtic fan told me his solution: ‘Why not insist such processions take place in places where there will be no disruption to the daily life of ordinary folk? Rural Ayrshire, for instance? Why not tell the organisers that they can expect to pay the policing costs for all of their parades? That should cut the numbers down as 34 in a day in one city is just ridiculous.’ He does have a point although all controversial or extremist groups shelter behind the liberal, democratic idea that allows for free expression and the right to demonstrate. The old adage; I hate what you say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it,’ comes to mind.

Scotland seems to be waking up from its dreamlike state that it isn’t afflicted by the same racist fringe which exists in all countries to a greater or lesser extent. The blindness exhibited here regarding anti-Irish Catholic racism is receding but what will be done about it beyond the usual hand wringing and a false equivalence narrative which has allowed this poison to be swept under the carpet for too long?

I once had a conversation with a Rangers fan in a bar in the days before they started signing Catholic players and he told me, ‘I don’t think they should sign Catholics. I mean look at Celtic, they sign anybody and they’re still the same? It won’t change anything.’ I asked what he meant by ‘still the same,’ and he replied, ‘still Tims.’ I had to stop and try and process the logic behind what he was saying. I think he meant that despite having a mixed team and an increasingly mixed support, the rivalry wouldn’t change in his eyes because they would still be perceived as different, as the enemy. Yet surely there is a moral element to not discriminating against a group based on religion, race or any other false division the less cerebral bring into creation in their febrile brains?

Already we can see the ‘squirrels’ being pointed at by those who have yet to admit that Scotland has a problem with anti-Irish racism; It’s Catholic schools, (most of which are mixed) It’s a west of Scotland thing, it’s the Old Firm, both as bad as each other, etc. The debate usually stalls around these tropes and nothing is done.

This is a societal problem and as such is one we much tackle as a society. That means the law, education and politicians must all work together to eradicate, where possible, the racism in our midst. People are free to hold whatever opinions they choose to but they are not free to chant racist filth on our streets. Enough is enough.

We seemed to have have had this debate over and over in recent years, yet little is done. Will this time be any different?

As U2 once wrote…. How long, how long must we sing this song?

 

Talk to me

 

Talk to me

This week I saw the Poem ‘Saint Anthony’ by Mike Garry. It’s ostensibly a tribute to the late Tony Wilson, journalist, TV presenter, co-founder of Factory Records, founder-owner of the legendary Hacienda night club and all-round promotor of music and other culture in Manchester. The poem is also a homage to Manchester and through its lyrical approach, is something of a love letter to that fine city.

As I listened to the poem being performed and lip-synced by a good few northern actors and musicians who knew Tony Wilson, I got to thinking that the form and rhythm of the poem would be a perfect vehicle for exploring what Celtic football club has meant to so many down the years. My humble effort is below but should you wish to get a feel for the rhythm of the poem you can watch the original poem here…

 

Talk to me

Talk to me about the coffin ships taking people far and wide

Of a Sligo man from the Kerins clan, who landed on the Clyde

Of slums and drums and hungry kids and the cold unwelcome stare

From those who chose to thumb their nose and wish we weren’t there

 

Talk to me of trying to give those people hope and pride

From far and near they came to cheer, Brother Walfrid’s Celtic side

Of Maley, Kelly, Neil McCallum, who scored that first great goal

Of the men in green who were it seems custodians of our soul

 

Talk to me of Patsy Gallagher, Barney Battles and the mighty Quinn

Of men who thought, who played and fought and gave their all to win

Of James McGrory, what a story when he made old Hampden roar

The quiet lad from the Garngad who was simply born to score

 

Talk to me of a blustery and raw September day

When a lad from Fife gave up his life to keep ball at bay

Of the jeers and the cheers and many tears when Johnny said goodbye

Of lives he touched, those who cared too much and weren’t afraid to cry

 

Talk to me of Tully, Fernie and Bobby Collins on the ball

Of Peacock, Stein who wore the green, the greatest of them all

Of October days when we sang their praise at Hampden in the sun

When the lads in green played like a dream, smashed Rangers seven-one

Talk to me of rainy days when victory seemed so far

Of dirty streets and sore defeats, and sorrows drowned in a bar

Of second prizes, hope that rises then falls back in the mud

Of fans who dreamed, forlorn it seemed, with Celtic in their blood

 

Talk to me Cesar rising high amid the crowd

Of a ball that sped from his head, that roar so fierce and loud

Of Lennox, Auld and Bobby Murdoch, pulling all the strings

Of the glory years and the happy tears when Billy was our King

 

Talk to me of thousands sailing but no coffin ships this time

To Lisbon’s sun, went Walfrid’s sons, to see hope and history rhyme

of football played, that sunny day that was beautiful and pure

The beguiling flare the answered prayer when victory was secure

 

Talk to me of magic times with Jimmy on the wing

Of swerves and jinks and late-night drinks, of dreams and songs to sing

Of Johnny Doyle, big Roy Aitken, Danny and McStay

Of reports I read and tears I shed when Kenny went away

 

Talk to me of the generations who took this club to heart

The amazing story of the tears and glory and how they played their part

Of the twists and the turns of Tommy Burns, of how ‘they’re always there’

Of Jorge Cadette, and the effort and sweat, Andy Thom and big Pierre

 

Talk to me of Lubo, Sutton, Hartson and the King of Kings

Of Naka scoring against Man United when the noise made my ears ring

A  quadruple treble, until the last rebel and the bhoys of the Green Brigade

Of Seville and the Bill and the utter thrill of this love that will never fade

 

Talk to me as we share a drink of the players and the goals you’ve seen

Of Larsson’s chip, a defenders slip as we roared on the bhoys in green

Of Janefield street, of the friends we’d meet as we walked to Paradise

Of the moans, the groans and you’ll never walk alones as we back our side

 

Talk to me of all you see at a game underneath the lights

Of songs and goals as Celtic souls drive their team on to greater heights

Of games you’ve watched with those you love some gone and some still here

You think of them every now and then as you give the bhoys a cheer

 

Talk to me about this club we all hold in our heart

Of a Saturday on the Gallowgate as it has been from the start

Talk to me of the charity, of the good things we have done

It’s not the man or the creed but a friend in need that we will never shun

 

Talk to me about Celtic.

Talk to me.

Talk.

The Price of Coal

 

The Price of Coal

In the years between the wars, it wasn’t unusual for working class lads of 14 to join their fathers and uncles in the coal mines of Scotland. The work was dirty, dangerous and demanding and as the price of coal fell, mine owners sought to continue profitability by cutting miners’ wages. In the space of a few years in the 1920s, miners in Scotland would see their pay drop from £6 to £3.90 per week. The ongoing industrial slump of the 1920s saw wages and conditions suffer. For Britain’s 1.2 million miners it was particularly difficult. They joined in the General Strike of 1926 hoping to protect wages and conditions but it was to no avail. The government of the day hired thousands of ‘special constables’ to combat the strikers and one of these ‘specials’ said…

'It was not difficult to understand the Strikers attitude towards us. After a few days I found myself sympathising with them rather than the employers. For one thing, I never realised the appalling poverty which existed. If I had been aware of all the facts I should not have joined up..’

The strike ended after just nine days, although the coal miners held out longer before being ‘starved’ back to work. They found their wages cut and their hours increased. It was a bitter time to be involved in heavy industry in Britain as employers were backed up by a government prepared to use the police and even the military to break the strike.

In that same year as the General Strike and with the miners still resisting the demands of the pit owners, Willie Maley, Manager of Celtic FC sent his chief Scout, Steve Callaghan to watch a young goalkeeper in Fife. The scout reported that the goalkeeper he was sent to appraise was mediocre but that the opposition keeper, though still a lad, looked an excellent prospect. He was short for a keeper at 5 feet 9, but he possessed a vice like grip and a graceful agility which saw him reach shots of all kind with ease. The youngster was a miner at Bowhill Colliery where the physical demands of the job strengthened and toughened his slender frame. His mother was fearful that the rough world of professional football could be dangerous and that playing for one of Glasgow’s two big clubs might bring other problems. However, the youngster saw a way to escape the hardship and uncertainty of the mine and be paid for doing something he loved. He joined Celtic and was paid £10 as a signing on fee. His name was John Thomson.

Much has been written about John Thomson’s ability as a goalkeeper as well as his bravery. James Hanley, wrote in the ‘The Story of the Celtic’: 1888-1938 (1960) that:

"It is hard for those who did not know him to appreciate the power of the spell he cast on all who watched him regularly in action. In like manner, a generation that did not see John Thomson has missed a touch of greatness in sport, for which he was a brilliant virtuoso, as Gigli was and Menuhin is. One artiste employs the voice as his instrument, another the violin or cello. For Thomson it was a handful of leather."

Desmond White, the chairman of Celtic, claimed Thomson was the best goalkeeper he had ever seen. He added:

"Johnny had the ability to rise in the air high above the opposition. It was this almost ballet-like ability and agility which, in his tremendous displays, endeared him to the hearts of all Celtic supporters."

Dr. James Hadley remarked: "The generation that saw John Thomson in action will agree it would be hard to exaggerate his magical skill and will acknowledge that neither before nor since have they seen a goalkeeper so swift, so elegant, so superbly safe in operation. He had the spring of a jaguar and the effortless grace of a skimming swallow."

Thomson’s bravery saw him dive at the feet of an Airdrie player and fracture his jaw, several ribs and collar bone. He also lost several teeth. Goalkeeper were fair game in those days and forwards set out to intimidate or ‘rough up’ goalkeepers. We may smile at grainy footage of goalkeepers of the era clutch the ball and then rush to clear it downfield. It was in fact the safest thing to do as forwards could barge or even attempt to kick the ball from the keeper’s hands without a foul being awarded. It was a dangerous time to be a goalkeeper.

Indeed just a few years earlier in 1921, 24-year-old Joshua Wilkinson was playing in goal for Dumbarton against Rangers. As a result of a very physical challenge he suffered early in the game, he suffered a ruptured intestine which he unwittingly made worse by playing for the rest of the game. Tragically, peritonitis set in and despite undergoing emergency medical surgery in Glasgow, he died on the Monday following the game.

We all know the price John Thomson was to pay on that fateful September day in 1931 at Ibrox. Brave as ever he had rushed to defend his goal from Rangers’ excellent striker Sam English. The resultant collision, totally accidental, proved fatal to John Thomson who died that night aged just 22. Scottish football and indeed the nation was stunned at Thomson’s death. The young star who had defied the great Dixie Dean of Everton as Scotland defeated England at Hampden was gone. Thousands walked from Glasgow to Fife to attend his funeral and six of his distraught team mates carried his coffin the one mile from his home to the cemetery. Willie Maley, a tough and hard-bitten old stager, admitted that he had cried at John’s passing.

Six weeks after John Thomson’s funeral there was an explosion at his old pit at Bowhill in Fife. It was fortunate that it was a Saturday afternoon and the 1200 miners who worked there were not at work. As it was 10 of the maintenance crew who worked at the pit were killed. Two of them were still teenagers. The price of coal was still high.

Next month marks 90 years since the tragic death of John Thomson. He is still recalled in the history and in the mythology of Celtic football club as one of their greatest sons. He is remembered in children’s football tournaments charity events in his honour, and pilgrimages to his graveside. There will now be very few, if any, people alive who saw John Thomson play but his place in the history of Celtic is assured. We who never saw him play heard tales from our fathers and grandfathers of a goalkeeper who was peerless, fearless and supreme.  In the words of the old song my father would sing, long ago…

So come all you Glasgow Celtic, stand up and play the game,

For between your posts there stands a ghost, John Thomson is his name.

 

                                               John Thomson (1909-1931)

                                                          Celtic Legend.