So here we were on the cusp of something… but first, there was the little matter of my A Level exams, followed by a ten-week stint at a full-time summer job. Please bear with me, as I might just have to fluff this part of my diary a little… I hope you will indulge. There are football scores ?
Saturday 7 May 1988
Liverpool hammered Sheffield Wednesday 5-0 and I noted that “[It] looks good for next week!”
Two, no three things. First, I got the score wrong. It was actually 5-1 for Liverpool with two goals each for Craig Johnstone and Peter Beardsley and a single goal for John Barnes. David Hirst notched for Wednesday after 86 minutes when it was already 4-0.
Then, although it looked good for [the FA Cup Final] next week we do have to remember that Liverpool were already Champions and Wednesday had probably been mentally on the beach for at least a month having not lost since 12 March and being safe from relegation.
Thirdly, we have to roll forward a week until…
Saturday 14 May 1988
… when Liverpool were beaten in the FA Cup Final courtesy of first half a Lawrie Sanchez header. My diary records, “Lost the bloody Cup Final 1-0 vs Wimbledon. DISASTER.”
Now of course, to use the word disaster in the case of losing a game of football is completely ridiculous, especially given the events that would transpire less than twelve months on from this date and had transpired only three years previously.
But here I was, 18 years old, and spitting my dummy over a football match.
Monday 16 May 1988
So, sixth form was fun as any non-Liverpool fan that I knew, which to be fair, was a number reckonable on the fingers of one hand, took great delight in rubbing it in. But us glory-hunting, out-of-town Liverpool fans were a hardy bunch, so we rode it out.
We must have been coming to the end of our time at sixth form, with exams impending, so there are no more diary entries until we find records of my exams and the results in the 1988 UEFA European Football Championship aka Euro 88.
Wednesday 25 May 1988
Exams started for me today with General Studies, Paper One. Given that this was the last week before the Whit half-term holiday, I would imagine that we had not yet been granted study leave.
Thursday 26 May 1988
And another one! General Studies, Paper Two.
Wednesday 8 June 1988
After having had a week off for half term AND two days of study leave, I was up for the first proper exam on my schedule. Well, you would have thought so. This was me though, so I probably wasn’t. But here we were, Pure Maths and Mechanics – Paper 1.
Thursday 9 June 1988
Woah, steady on! Here we go again… Industrial Studies, Paper 1 – Core Syllabus.
Friday 10 June 1988
So, May had passed and June was already accelerating into history when we rejoiced, rejoiced I tell you, in the advent of Euro 88. Tonight’s opening match was West Germany versus Italy which, played in the Rheinstadion, Düsseldorf, ended in a 1-1 draw with goals traded in three second-half minutes as we saw Roberto Mancini’s opener cancelled out by Andreas Brehme’s equaliser.
Previously, I had sat the first two of four Physics A Level papers.
Saturday 11 June 1988
Today’s game in Group 1 saw another North v South match-up as Denmark took on Spain in the Niedersachsenstadion, Hanover. A 3-2 win would see Spain top the group, although neither they nor their opponents would garner any more points in their remaining games.
Sunday 12 June 1988
Today, we had our first view of the teams in the second half of the tournament, also known as Group 2. England were poor in defeat to Ray Houghton’s sixth-minute header in Stuttgart. Later that same day we saw what would turn out to be a rehearsal of the final as Netherlands lost to Vasyl Rats’ fifty-second winner for the Soviet Union.
Monday 13 June 1988
Monday dawns and there are two more Physics papers to tackle. That’s Physics done and dusted.
Tuesday 14 June 1988
Today, two games in Group 1 finished West Germany 2-0 Denmark (Parkstadion, Gelsenkirchen) and Italy 1-0 Spain (Waldstadion, Frankfurt). Denmark were therefore out with a total of only two points possible compared to the three already in the bag for West Germany and Italy. Spain with their two points still had a chance to progress if they could defeat the hosts in their final group game.
Wednesday 15 June 1988
England booked their flight home with a 3-1 defeat to the Dutch at the Rheinstadion, Düsseldorf. At halftime, things looked halfway decent for the Three Lions. Bryan Robson had answered Marco van Basten’s opening goal and the score was tied at 1-1.
It could have been so different. England might have been ahead at half time, had Lineker’s early effort gone in, or Hoddle’s freekick not hit van Breukelen’s left-hand post. But come the second 45, they were blown away as van Basten completed his hat-trick in just 4 minutes.
In the evening kick-off, the Republic of Ireland scored first through Ronnie Whelan’s shinned effort before Oleh Protasov rescued a point for the Soviets. Both teams had three points versus two for the Netherlands and England with none.
Earlier, I had done the second and final Maths paper.
Friday 17 June 1988
Things were sorted out in Group 1 as in Munich, the hosts defeated Spain 2-0 to seal their place in the first semi-final. Both goals came from the right boot of Rudi Völler. In the other game in the group, at the Müngersdorfer Stadion, Cologne, Italy prevailed over Denmark with a similar score line to book their place in semi-final two. Their goals came from Altobelli and De Agostini.
Also today, I took my final A Level examination – Industrial Studies, Paper 2 – Optional Studies. And that, as they say, was that. Roll on August when the results would be in. Had I managed to eke out enough marks to get the grades I needed?
Saturday 18 June 1988
England’s humiliation was completed at the Waldstadion, Frankfurt, with a 3-1 defeat versus the Soviet Union. In winning, the Soviets secured their place in the second semi-final as winners of Group 2. Sergei Aleinikov opened the scoring after just 3 minutes before Tony Adams levelled on the quarter-hour mark. Oleksiy Mykhaylychenko restored the USSR’s lead just before the half-hour mark. The USSR’s third goal was scored by Viktor Pasulko with 12 minutes remaining.
Meanwhile, at the Parkstadion, Gelsenkirchen the Dutch needed a win to qualify – any other result would have seen Ireland prevail. As it was, Ireland were 8 minutes from qualification for the semi-finals when Wim Kieft popped up with a header from a rather scuffed shot by Ronald Koeman.
Tuesday 21 June 1988
In the first semi-final, we had the old enemies West Germany and the Netherlands playing for a place in Saturday’s final. After a goalless first half, the match burst into life on 55 minutes when Jurgen Klinsmann drew a foul in the Dutch penalty area. Lothar Matthäus duly dispatched the penalty, although van Breukelen was mightily close to pulling off the save as he dived to his left.
Fearing the worst after 32 years of failing to beat their opponents, the Dutch had to dig in. With a quarter of an hour remaining, Marco van Basten was deemed to have been fouled in the penalty area and upstepped Ronald Koeman to dispatch the penalty. Both teams’ nerves were shredded with extra-time looming and maybe even penalties.
It was that man van Basten though, keeping his head to coolly slide a winner past Immel’s despairing right hand with just 2 minutes remaining. The Dutch would be travelling to Munch for Saturday’s final – their first in the competition.
Wednesday 22 June 1988
Played at the Neckarstadion in Stuttgart, the second semi-final was a more one-sided affair. The more powerful Soviet team outmuscled the more technically adept Italians with 2 second-half goals from Hennadiy Lytovchenko and Oleh Protasov. This would be the USSR’s fourth final of the European Football Championships having won the inaugural title in 1960 but lost both subsequent finals.
Friday 24 June 1988
Today we were required in sixth form to return any textbooks that we had been issued with at the beginning of our A Level courses. There was also the chance for an informal tea.
Unfortunately, I have no record of the vibe surrounding the day. It is suffice to say, I was absolutely delighted to have finished at the place; it had not been a happy time for me. I have the timetable we were issued for the day, and on it, I collected the names of just three lads* with whom I had been able to have conversations amounting to more than nodding in the corridor.
And as for that informal tea, I was on the bus home by the time it had got going.
*I have only bumped into one of the three in all the years since, and that was a chance encounter outside a pub ten or more years after leaving sixth form.
Saturday 25 June 1988
So, the big day loomed. The final of the European Football Championships would be a repeat of the two teams’ opening match in Group 2. That time, a solitary goal had been enough for the USSR to make a winning start to the tournament.
But the Dutch had grown into the tournament with an impressive win over England and a win over the Irish which showed all of their battling qualities. Then, with a huge win over the tournament hosts West Germany, they had laid the ghost of 32 years without winning against them.
The final was a close affair, perhaps best remembered for THAT goal from Marco van Basten. Already one up with Ruud Gullit’s headed goal, the ball was lofted towards the Dutch number 12 from Arnold Muhren on the left wing. Instinctively, van Basten hit the perfect volley with his right foot from the opposite corner of the penalty area almost on the by-line. The ball’s trajectory was perfect. Over Dasayev in the Soviet goal and under the crossbar into the back of the net.
There was still time for a free kick to the USSR which eventually resulted in the ball hitting the post from Belanov’s effort. Then a penalty was awarded for van Breukelen’s foul on Gotsmanov. Could the Soviets drag themselves back into the game this time? Unfortunately, not, as van Breukelen’s knee saved the penalty and the match ended with a 2-0 win for the Oranje.
Sunday 26 June 1988
In my personal space, changes were afoot. With my exams finished now, there was a summer of leisure ahead. Or rather, there was a summer of graft. Dad had mates who worked at a local creamery and he had managed to get me in as student labour for ten weeks over the summer.
This also meant that my time as a paper boy was over. My four or so years of delivering papers and collecting cash for customers’ bills were over. Today may have been the last day, or maybe last Sunday would have been – I made no reference to it in my diary.
Tomorrow’s imminent start was weighing heavily on my mind, so today, although a day of leisure, probably saw me swinging between moments of ‘leisuring’ and sudden rude awakenings that I would have to get up ridiculously early and go to work with people that I didn’t know, doing a task or tasks that I was unfamiliar with.
Monday 27 June 1988
This was the day. Up before the crack of dawn I had to make the 6-mile journey on my push bike. I still had my orange Peugeot with dropped handlebars and wheels like razor blades so off I toddled (surely, peddled, Ed.)
At least I think that I cycled. I know that I eventually secured myself a lift with a bloke who lived down the road, but it was only through working there that was able to work this out for myself. Alternatively, I had passed my driving test in April just gone, so I could, in theory, have driven to work. But I had access only to the family car and not all the time, so I only think I only drove a couple of times.
Anyway, I got there and was allotted to the “tamper evident” section whereby we sat around with a stack of plastic hoops which were placed on the top of full pots of cottage cheese which would then be shrink-wrapped to seal them. If the purchaser got a pot of cottage cheese home and this seal was broken, it would be “evident” that someone had “tampered” with the pot somewhere along the line between this room in the factory and their home.
During the ten weeks there, I soon moved from this section into the main hall where the production line was situated. Here there were 3 or 4 machines which somehow* saw pots filled with cottage cheese, the lids put on and the pots stacked in twelves (two trays of 6). They were then shrink-wrapped before arriving down a roller runway to be stacked in tall trolleys by the operative who, as they became full, would push them into the cold store.
It was my job to cover the man who did this job whenever he went for his breakfast or lunch. At first, I was hard pushed to keep up and consequently, the shrink-wrapped trays of cottage cheese would back up on the runway down from and into the shrink-wrap machine, thereby causing the product to begin to cook. Mmm, it was a lovely smell.
But I got the measure of the job and was soon able to keep up and when men would go off on holiday, I would be quite able to keep up with the demands of the task. Doing this job, I learned that, at the time, cottage cheese is the same cottage cheese, whether it’s from Tesco, Asda, Sainsbury’s or wherever. The only retailer then selling bespoke cottage cheese, if you will, is Marks and Spencer.
And this production line was where I worked during those times when I wasn’t stood at the end of the main one in the room. It was work carried out mainly by women, ably assisted by me and another student type. We would receive a stack of filled pots and then insert them into a cardboard sleeve before stacking them in plastic trays that could be placed directly on the shelf in store.
*Perhaps by magic; more likely, by mechanical engineering
Friday 19 August 1988
And so, the summer went on. At some point along the way, one Friday evening – Friday 19 August according to its postmark – I got home to find a brown envelope containing my A Level results. Now, the truth be told, I had already received communication on Thursday that I had been accepted onto my chosen degree course – Civil Engineering – at the University of Liverpool.
Consequently, it was rather academic that the results slips in the envelope showed two C grades – Pure Maths with Mechanics and Physics and a B in General Studies plus an N grade (N for nearly?) in Industrial Studies.
Friday 2 September 1988
And relax, time for a three-week break before setting sail for the University of Liverpool. But before that, my final day at the creamery saw me dumped in a vat of cold water for my sins. It was all good knockabout stuff.
Thursday 29 September 1988
Today, I travelled up to Liverpool to start at University. My abiding memory is of sitting in the Shrewsbury traffic with Mum driving me to the station, panicking that I would miss my train.
After all the fretting, there was no problem and I managed to get to the station on time. I was soon making a familiar trip across Crewe railway station to make my change for the ride into Liverpool over the Britannia Railway Bridge at Runcorn.
Arriving at Lime Street I was greeted by a slickly professional greeting party and once we had a coachful, we were bussed over to Mossley Hill to the Carnatic Halls of Residence.
But still, the fun and games weren’t over. I had managed to cop for a place in Dale Hall, which, with its layout based upon that of a Swedish prison, was the height of student luxury. The design was such that I shared a toilet and bathroom with just one other inmate, sorry, student. And we had a common door to the corridor, as well as out own internal doors.
This was contrary to the situation in other halls of residence where whole floors of 10, 12 or more students shared 4 or 5 toilets and shower rooms.
Anyway, enough about architecture, already. I could hear my new neighbour a-sneezing and a-spluttering next door, so I pulled up my big boy pants and knocked on his door to make my introductions.
We were soon in the highly rated Chris’s Chippy indulging in brain food of half chips, half rice and curry or some other exotic northern delicacy*. Alas, if we had ventured just a few steps further, we would have found the pub, the Rose of Mossley. Still, we scoffed our chips and then went in for a couple of cheeky pints of Tetley’s.
*Well it was for me. My new friend was from Bury (Booreh, not Berry). As a result, he was probably already familiar with such delights.
Friday 30 September 1988
After the previous day’s excitement, today was another day of fun and frolic as I headed into campus to officially register for my course. It was a day of much standing in line and form filling and on my part, being wholly self-conscious*.
Before we left, we met our respective academic tutors. I was lucky enough to be in the tutor group of Prof. B.A. O’Connor who was the head of the Department of Civil Engineering.
In another rare out-of-comfort-zone experience, I found the nerve to invite myself for a walk down Brownlow Hill into town with a lad on our course. I say lad, but he was positively ancient at 21 years old ?
From chatting, I learned that he lived on our corridor in Dale Hall, which was nice. In just two days, I had now met 2 of the 5 lads with whom I would share a house in our second and third years.
*No doubt, others felt exactly the same