“And now the end is near, and so we face the final curtain”…
For me and my family, West Ham United goes back to 1964 (as far as we know) when my Dad (John, a regular commenter on this site) decided the lure of an FA Cup-winning side containing the captain of England was too strong. The picture below shows my Dad as a young lad at the Boleyn Ground, pressed up against the left shoulder of Warren Mitchell (in Alf Garnett mode) as my late Grandad, with his roll-up cigarette in his mouth, looks on at Alf.
My Dad attended games in the 1960s and ‘70s with my Grandad and also his friends ‘Bubs’ and ‘Chalky’, amongst others. Although Dad idolised Bobby Moore (‘God’) as much as everyone, a young right-back signed from Charlton by the name of Billy Bonds would go on to be his all-time favourite Hammer. When pushed for his most memorable Boleyn experience, the words ‘Eintracht Frankfurt’ immediately follow as two goals from another favourite, Trevor Brooking, and one from Keith Robson sent a packed Upton Park into raucous raptures in 1976. Robson’s namesake ‘Pop’ would partner Geoff Hurst in Dad’s all-time greatest strikeforce.
Relegation in 1978 did not stop the conveyor belt of heroes as Phil Parkes and David Cross were signed while Alvin Martin and Geoff Pike came through as kids – four more of my Dad’s Boleyn belters. With the dawn of the 1980s, Dad was joined by my Uncle Mark and my cousin Geoff, normally on the West side but one season saw a season ticket in the Chicken Run.
I attended my first game as an eight-year-old, a 2-1 defeat to Manchester City in September 1991 – Kenny Brown scored, Colin Foster was sent off and we lost to a last-minute goal. Hope and despair have been a theme ever since in my 25 years as a Hammer; fortune has almost always been hiding. That first season was arguably the worst in the club’s history – the Bond scheme combining with relegation, although both Man Utd and Tottenham were defeated at Upton Park. I was hooked – standing on the old wooden seats at the back of the West Stand singing ‘Billy Bonds’ Claret and Blue Army’, going home with a programme and the smells of fried onions and tobacco still filling the nostrils – Mum could somehow always tell if I’d had a greasy burger too!
The following campaign saw the loss of Bobby Moore – I vividly recall the flowers adorning the gates and the impeccable minute’s silence before the 3-1 win over Wolves. From then on, I always wore number six in my Sunday League games and, later, when playing for my university team.
My early heroes were Julian Dicks (The Terminator still possibly my all-time favourite), Alvin Martin, Stevie Potts and Trevor Morley. We had attended almost every home game for three years so Dad decided to get our first season ticket together, in the recently-opened Bobby Moore Lower for 1994/95. My sister, Natalie (who has since played for West Ham Ladies), attended her first game in March that season as two late Tony Cottee strikes earned a 2-2 draw with Norwich.
The main Boleyn heartache has been in the FA Cup – losing on penalties in a quarter-final replay under the lights to Arsenal hurt like hell in 1998. The game had everything – a red card for Dennis Bergkamp, a stunning late strike from John Hartson, the old acquaintance Hope turned up again when Arsenal missed two spot-kicks, only for the old adversary Despair to rear its ugly head as Berkovic, Hartson and, finally, Abou all failed from 12 yards. ‘Everybody Hurts’ by REM was played over the PA as we trudged for the exits and that song still takes me back to that night when Wembley dreams were dashed. Incidentally, I’m almost certain that Bill Prosser, the old DJ, only owned tracks by M People, REM and latterly Blur!
There have been great times too – Raducioiu scoring before a particularly thunderous Dicks penalty rescued a 2-2 draw with Man Utd in 1996; defending our six-yard box for the last ten minutes as Ludo, Michael Hughes et al denied the same opposition the title on the final day of 1994/95; watching the development of the young Rio Ferdinand and the silky skills of the enigmatic Joey Cole and the brilliant Paolo Di Canio; seeing ageing England heroes from my childhood, Stuart Pearce and Teddy Sheringham, don the claret and blue with great distinction; the noise at the play-off semi-final second leg with Ipswich in 2004; and the unforgettable victories this season against Chelsea and Tottenham. I’ve met two of the game’s greats in and around the Boleyn Ground – Kevin Keegan, who came across as such a kind man when I was on a stadium tour at the age of 11 and he was manager of Newcastle, and Sir Trevor Brooking last season who, when talking to my Dad and referring to me shortly before this photograph was taken, quipped that he “wouldn’t like to mark him at a corner kick”.
As soon as I finished university and my teacher training in 2005, the first thing I wanted was a season ticket – I’ve sat in the same seat in the West Lower for the last 11 years, right next to the Bobby Moore stand, since when my favourites have included Matty Etherington, Rob Green, Super Scotty Parker, the marvellous Mark Noble and, this season, the talismanic Dimitri Payet. My Dad and sister, having attended many games as members during this time, have joined me for the past two seasons as season ticket holders when, thankfully, seats in my row became available.
We all have our own pre-match routines – most recently, ours is to join the queue at Ercan’s for some chips before heading into the ground to meet my cousin Geoff and his young son George, a member of the next generation of Hammers supporters and Adrian’s number one fan!
After all those years and all those ups and downs however, as well as having bought two consecutive season tickets with the final ever Boleyn game in mind, my Dad will sadly not be able to be at the Boleyn for the Manchester United game next Tuesday. Last week he found out that he has to be in Yorkshire from the Monday to the Wednesday for unavoidable work commitments. For me and my sister, it just won’t feel the same next Tuesday night – if David Gold is reading this and your helicopter fancies doing a return trip to Yorkshire next Tuesday, please let us know!
In the build-up to next Tuesday, and on the night itself, we will all recall our favourite memories – not just of games and players, but of the people we shared those special moments with. Perhaps the saddest thing is that, come Wednesday morning, we will all know that there will be no more memories left to make in E13. However and wherever you take in Tuesday’s game, I hope you savour your own farewell and enjoy your own personal walks down Memory Lane.
Goodbye Upton Park and – as my Grandad used to say – God Bless…