House on the Hill.

Chapter 32 Bolton Wanderers

      Bolton wanderers

Ever since I was young enough to remember, Bolton Wanderers was the club that was close to my heart.
The chats I had with my mum and my uncle Alf about Nat Lofthouse and Bolton Wanderers eventually led me on a roller-coaster ride of football violence and the road to self- destruction.
I was brought up in a house full of violence, looking at the clock and living in fear of my dad coming home drunk and giving me a good hiding. My dad was very strict and he had ground rules I had to obey and if I didn't follow them I was beaten and locked away in my room. I wasn't allowed to have fun like normal children and I wasn't allowed to bring girls home. Therefore it was natural for me to rebel against my father's wishes. I just wanted to be free and live a normal life, but the constant beatings and living in fear made me into someone I didn't want to be. My father made me violent and rebellious. I was getting involved in gangs and street fights. At the time, I thought it just looked normal. I didn't realise I was jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. I was immature and a young kid who was rebelling against his father. I was getting rid of my frustrations on other people. This was one way of coping with it. I was already battle hardened with the scars to prove it. My father toughened me up after all the beatings I received, without ever knowing it and eventually I would turn the tables on him.
I had already had dealings with the police after my shenanigans with the infamous Sergeant Swann and my first football arrest when I was just 15 years old at the game between Bolton Wanderers and Blackburn Rovers at Burnden Park.
I saw mass disorder at Burnden Park in the early days. It would become a regular occurrence on most Saturdays.
Aston Villa
I first ventured to a game with friends when I was still at school. It was a game between Bolton Wanderers and Aston Villa. We couldn't go in to the game as we had no money. Aston Villa was a big club and I knew they would bring a large following of hooligans.
Before the game a few school friends and I were standing outside the Wagon and Horses. This was a pub on Manchester Road adjacent to the football ground.
I saw a large group of lads marching down Manchester Road surrounded by a few police with dogs. There must have been a good three hundred lads singing football songs. They were very loud and rowdy which attracted a few Bolton fans to come out of another pub, The Rose and Crown. The two sets of fans clashed and were fighting all over the road. The Villa fans chased the few Bolton fans back into the pub. The police had their work cut out but they soon had it all under control.
After the game, I was standing near the Embankment side when the gates were kicked open. Hundreds of Villa fans charged over to the Home end. They attacked the Bolton fans who were coming out of the ground and charged them back into the ground. After a loud roar, the Bolton fans ran out and attacked the Villa fans, it was one mass brawl. I watched with amazement as two sets of opposing fans ran into each other with such ferocity. Fist and kicks were there aplenty. I saw one fan go down on the floor after he was hit with a bottle and was knocked unconscious. It seemed to go on for ages before the police on horseback and a few with dogs chased them off.
The Villa fans were then marched back to the train station under police protection, but they still kicked off all the way to the train station.
Manchester City 1971
In 1971 I was still at school. I was just 13 years old. I was already battle hardened after being involved in gang fights with the Little Hultoners and various other factions. The next game I went to was Bolton Wanderers against Manchester City in the league cup tie at Burnden Park. There was a massive crowd on that night over 43,000 and a good contingent from Manchester. I didn't go into the game as I had no money, so a few friends from school and I climbed up the old scoreboard at the back of the embankment. The atmosphere was electric! We won the game 3-0.
After the game, we made our way to the Lever end on Manchester Road. We heard a loud roar inside the ground with echoes of Bolton Aggro. Bolton Aggro which echoed through the night air. The next thing hundreds of lads came piling out of the Lever end. The Bolton fans had chased them out of the home end. They showed no mercy to the City fans. They were attacked from all sides with bricks and bottles. It was a complete free-for-all. There were lads everywhere covered in blood with head wounds. I became caught up in the melee and I ran into a shop doorway. I saw a lad run straight past me. It was Mick from Highfield. He was chasing a City fan with an iron bar. God knows where he had found that. It seemed to go on for ages until the police got it all back under control.
Luton town 1973
Another game I went to was with my dad when Bolton Wanderers played Luton Town in the FA cup third round in front of nearly 40.000. It wasn't the game that excited me which incidentally we lost 1-0, it was the fighting in the corner of the Lever end on the Manchester Road side. I saw a number lads wearing orange boiler suits being attacked from all sides. They came in with the intention of taking the home end but they came unstuck. Fist and kicks were landing on target. They were chased across the Lever end, running for their dear lives. Some had to dive over the fence to escape a certain beating. A few were not so fortunate and got a bad kicking. Some were carried out on stretchers. I saw one guy taken out with a dart stuck in his head. others were lying unconscious and they looked in a bad way. After all the bravado, that was the last time my dad would ever attend a game with me.
Blackpool 1974.
I started to go to more games now, as I was working and I could easily afford to travel the length and breadth of the country. Blackpool would be my first away game and they were our Lancashire rivals. As it turned out it was to be one of the darkest days in football, when sadly, a young Blackpool lad lost his life as he was stabbed to death on the Blackpool kop.
On the morning of the game, I set off with a few lads from Farnworth and we made our way to the train station. On the platform were hundreds of lads all shapes and sizes. Some were skin heads wearing black Crombies (jackets)with white skinners (pants) and Doc Martin boots. There were also mods and punks and after the trouble at the Bolton - Luton game I felt completely safe with them.
The train journey to Blackpool took over an hour and every time we stopped at a train station more lads would jump on. When we finally arrived, the police were waiting for us with dogs. The police couldn't stop the masses of Bolton fans they just ran straight through them and down the road, in their hundreds. The volume of noise was deafening. All you could hear was, "Bolton are back, Allo, Allo." Shop windows were being kicked in, along the way to the sea front. The only Blackpool fans I saw were in their main pub, The Manchester. All the pub Windows were smashed as the Blackpool fans refused to come out and play. Inside the ground, we completely filled the away end. There were small pockets of Bolton fans all over the ground. Now and again you would here the chants of, "Bolton aggro," as it kicked off. During the game, you had to dodge bricks and all kinds of missiles being thrown to and fro, from the home end. At half-time, both sets of supporters met up near the cafe at the bottom of the steps and they kicked off, big time. Bolton chased the Blackpool lads back into their end. It was then that a Blackpool lad sadly lost his life. He
was stabbed to death. His name was Kevin Olson.
At the end of the game the police held the Bolton fans back. My friends and I were interviewed by the police for over an hour. The police only let us leave two at a time which wasn't good news as there were hundreds of Blackpool lads lying in wait baying for our blood. I was lucky to get back to the train station alive. A lot Bolton fans weren't so lucky as they got picked off one by one and received a good kicking. On the way home, there was a defining silence. I felt sick in the stomach at the thought of young lad being murdered over a game of football. He certainly didn't deserve that. It would be quite a while before I ever set foot inside another
football ground.
Manchester United 1974
Ever since I was a young boy I was brought up to hate Manchester United. It had been passed on through generations of my family. It all started in the 1958 cup final at Wembley, when the whole country had sympathy with them after the Munich air disaster. United lost the cup final 2-0 when the great Nat Lofthouse barged Harry Greg and the ball into the back of net. The Bolton team coach was bricked passing through Salford after the United fans took offence after their team was beaten.
So, when this day did arrive against our hated rivals, it was a chance to test us against one of the most feared sets of fans in the country. They had been running amok, up and down the breadth of the country, all season.
On the morning of the match, I was well up for it. We met up with all the Farnworth lads who supported Bolton and we met the Little Hultoners who supported Man United on the flyover bridge between Farnworth and Little Hulton. There were a good 150 of us and we were well outnumbered as there were a good few hundred of them. Everybody was armed to the teeth; sticks bottles, bricks, knives, you name it, they had it. We all waited at the top of the bridge when there was a loud roar and they charged straight into us. They were all wearing Crombies and white skinners with Doc Martins. Quite a few of them had red and white scarves round their hands. I must admit, I shit myself and ran to the back as bricks and bottles rained over all our heads. It was mental. It was man to man fighting. I was attacked by a skinhead who was much older than me. He punched me and knocked me down but I got up and stood my ground which surprised him. He was soon on his toes as I rained a few punches and kicks at him.
Bolton stood their ground. There were casualties on both sides and there were plenty of blooded faces. It was time to scatter as we heard the police sirens in the distance. It was now every man for himself. I and a few others were chased through the long grass but we got away.
I arrived at the game late I was shocked by the sheer numbers of united fans in the away end, it was just a mass of red and white scarves. There must have been 20,000 of them, packed in like sardines. I was in the Lever end with Mick and Frank and there were hundreds of United fans already in there. They had already chased the Bolton lads out of the Lever end and taken the Bolton end. I even saw a lad from my school smiling as he ran past me. He was an ardent United supporter chasing a Bolton lad who was running for his life.
United won the game 1-0 nil. It was a sad day for Bolton in their hooligan history. They had just been run ragged by their most hated rivals.
After the game, I disappeared and I was lucky to get home in one piece.
Millwall 1975
No matter what anybody says about Millwall; they were definitely one of the top firms in the country. They were feared all over and they ran most sets of fans ragged in their own town and in their home end.
Bolton had to get their act together after the humiliation by Manchester United. On the day of the match, we had to improve our organisation and stick together or we would be humiliated once again. On the morning of the game my butterflies were doing double somersaults such was the anticipation and excitement of meeting the Millwall bushwhackers. I arrived in town about midday with Liam, he was mad as a hatter and was fearsome and wasn't afraid of anybody as he proved at Blackpool on our first weekender. Mick and Dave turned out specially for this game. We arrived at the Prince Bill, a well-known haunt where the Bolton lads would meet on a Saturday afternoon on match days. Inside there must have been a good 200 lads.
I looked around and I didn't remember seeing any of their faces at the Bolton Man U game. They never turned up for whatever reason and they probably came up with some good excuses. At about half two, the Millwall train pulled in. We all ran down to meet them. The Millwall lads seemed to be a lot older. Some were in there 40s and they wore white skinners and braces and black Doc Martins which seemed as if they had been polished. Most were skin heads and there were a few rockers. They were surround by police horses and with policeman with dogs.
The Millwall lads tried to run through the police but they were battened back. The odd Bolton lad had a go at them. It was like this all the way to ground just the odd skirmish. I was very impressed with the Millwall lads. They were mental. They only brought a few hundred but every one of them seemed to be crazy. I headed for the Lever end just in time for the kick off. I stuck like glue to Dave knowing that if we were attacked it would take somebody really special, to put him down. It would not be long before I was tested against the mighty Millwall. In the corner of the Lever end there were a good 30 of them. They were huge, all in their 40s and built like brick shit houses. It was like a red rag to a bull. Bolton lads at the Lever end led the attack. Dave was at the forefront of the full-scale attack. The Millwall bushwhackers were getting a good kicking. They started to run towards the fence to jump onto the pitch. Dave was brawling with this huge fella and shouted for me to back him up. I ran straight over and punched him in the side of the head followed by a kick in his shins; it was like a scene from David and Goliath. I was only small and he was huge but I couldn't believe it, I got the better of him. His shirt was ripped and his face was covered in blood as he staggered to the police for protection. The mighty Millwall had been humiliated and they looked a sad sight as they were frogmarched around the pitch to the away end. Most were blooded and limping. All through the game you would see the odd skirmish as Millwall and Bolton would kick ten bells out of each other. After the game, there were hundreds of Bolton lads lying in wait. They didn't need to wait long as Millwall kicked the gates open only to be met by the hundreds of Bolton lads, baying for their blood. Millwall were legged all the way up Manchester Road to the train station. I saw the odd Millwall bushwhacker stand and have a go but they were soon put on their toes. Bolton had turned the Millwall over and it would go down in legend as one of our biggest scalps. As for me, I was very proud of having had a go at one of the Millwall lads who was twice the size and much older than me. I thanked my dad for toughening me up over the years with all the constant beatings he used to give me.
I would carry on going to football for the next few years meeting up with the lads and getting involved in fights all over the country following my beloved Bolton Wanderers. We faced the likes of Chelsea, Arsenal, Tottenham and Blackburn who I grew to hate with a passion and of course the Scousers with their funny haircuts and their funny accents. I would eventually face the full wrath of the law and be locked up for my troubles. That would become a regular thing but that's another chapter and another story for another time.