Where were you when England won the World Cup?
In July 1966 I was 11. It was Antony who mentioned the World Cup. He suggested we might be able to get tickets. He was right.
We'd recently to Hatch End. I was an only child (not my parents choice). I was quite used to my own company but my parents worried that needed friends.
In one week I was taken along to the local scout troop and enlisted in the church choir - neither of which were in my or my family’s normal experience. At neither did I make any friends. But two other boys lived nearby. Across the road was Peter - also an only child - and along the road a slightly older boy, Anthony.
Peter’s parents were Austrian. His mother cooked schnitzel and noodle soup. He had a snooker table and the run of a large garden in which we would play football. He had an Arsenal shirt and a leather ball. I liked facing penalties, diving spectacularly in the mud to push the ball round the imaginary post.
I have few memories of Anthony but he and I went to watch Watford, then languishing in the third division with Pat Jennings in goal and it was on the train back from a match that he mentioned this thing called the World Cup.
We definitely saw the opening game at the old Wembley, a boring 0-0 draw with Uruguay. I don’t remember an opening ceremony but there was an air of excitement. We came back for England’s 2-0 victory over Mexico. I can’t remember whether we saw their next win, 2-0 again, against France - I think we did.
Seared into my memory is watching Englands quarter final against Argentina. A horrible dirty and broken game which saw the Argentinian captain Rattin sent off - but refusing to leave the pitch - England sneaked a late winner. This was a Saturday afternoon, a heatwave, we stood high up in the stand (in all the other games we had been close to the pitch, and most were night matches). We could hardly see but there was definitely a different atmosphere now - a tension, a sense that England could be in with a chance of winning the tournament.
I was now getting more interested. I read the sports pages in my father’s paper. In the other groups North Korea were the surprise package until they came up against Eusebio’s Portugal team. Germany started with an imperious 5-0 thrashing of Switzerland. Then Brazil failed to beat Portugal and went out. It was getting interesting. How much of this was on tele?
England met Portugal in the semi’s on the Tuesday evening. They won 2-1. Were Antony and I there? I have a feeling we couldn’t get tickets - bear in mind there was no buying online - did you just roll up and pay at the turnstile? I don’t know, he was the one who got the tickets, I just tagged along. What we did know was there was absolutely no chance we would get tickets for the final. But it was ok, it was going to be live on tele. We even had colour now.
But... my Dad had a friend - Uncle Ronnie (not a real Uncle). He was a referee in the Manchester Central League. Apparently he had two tickets going spare. Uncle Ronnie later gave me his autograph book. He watched Manchester United and Lancashire Cricket Club. Not only does it have the Busby Babes and Charlton and Best, it has Benfica, Brian Statham, Puskas - but why did I end up with it? It may have been a sympathy gift - given to salve my disappointment.
When my mother heard about the tickets she reminded me that I had a prior commitment. The scout troop I had been forced into, were going on their annual camping expedition. I was signed up. My parent had paid the subs. I had to go.
So on the morning of Saturday 30th July 1966 about 20 boys and the various leaders, boarded a coach. I tried to take my transistor radio - it wasn’t allowed - no radios were permitted, and of course there were no mobile phones. We were driven out to somewhere in the home counties - Oxfordshire I think. We put up tents - slept 6 to a tent. I hated it.
Over the next two days there was no news. No-one knew the result. Or if they did they kept it from us. On the Tuesday there was a break in one of the long marches we were subjected to. We stopped in a village where I sneaked into the paper shop and managed to get a look at the back pages.
What had I missed? England had scored a disputed goal to snatch a draw. Then they’d strolled on to beat West Germany - but it had been in the balance until the last moment of extra time. Clearly I had missed a tense, skilful, dramatic and unique match.
55 years later I realise I’d missed being part of a historical moment. Clearly I was robbed, and the anger and sadness actually gets worse as time goes on. Today - on Sunday 11th July 2021 it’s a few hours to England taking on Italy in the final of the European Championship. The media call it the most significant game since 1966. They keep going on about it. Wall to wall coverage provokes me to write this.
This used to be a story I enjoyed sharing and laughing about but the passage of time (and England’s poor performance) have turned the story into something crueller.
I want to go back and speak up for the 11 year-old me - to argue with the grown-ups, to refuse to go, to feign illness or just find a place to hide until the coach has pulled away.
I’m sure I don’t have to ask parents today to watch the game with your children - enjoy whatever emotions it throws up. Cheer and cry together. These events don’t come along every day. You might be lucky to see two in a life time. Or one.
