Bill Shankly - Jimmy Watson's Debut, a short story

A short story written by Derek Dohren to commemorate the 40th anniversary
of Bill Shankly's arrival at Anfield in December 1959.

Jimmy Watson's Debut

December 14th 1959, Anfield, Liverpool

second or two, they were both in, standing at the foot of the huge entrance to the Kop terrace. Now the enthusiasm turned to pure terror. Grabbing tight hold of dad's arm, Jimmy allowed himself to be led up the steps. As they climbed higher, the wind began whipping around their faces. And the smells too. Fish and chips laced with vinegar, tobacco smoke and beery breaths.

Then at last, they reached the top and tantalisingly, Jimmy thought he saw the corner of the pitch, just for a moment, before it was gone, lost through a sea of legs and coats. Then dad started pushing them both through, for ages and ages until they reached their spot on the Kop. As Jimmy stood there the men talked above his head. They seemed pleased to see his dad and one of them even seemed to know who Jimmy was. Then one of dad's friends lifted Jimmy up and placed him on the crash barrier. Wobbly at first, Jimmy was shown how to hook his foot around the leg of the barrier and then he felt much safer. Dad stood right behind with his hands on the barrier either side of him and Jimmy finally relaxed and took in the scene around him. This was it. This was what Jimmy had longed for.

Hours earlier, young Jimmy Watson had stirred a little earlier than was usual for a Saturday morning. The light had barely begun to filter between the curtains in his room when he had suddenly remembered the reason why he felt so excited. He'd smiled to himself at the very thought. Today was the day dad was taking him to his first ever match, Liverpool v Cardiff City, at Anfield. The new manager Mr. Shankly was taking charge of his favourite team.

He jumped out of bed, ran down the stairs and peered through the bay window of his small terraced house. Within a few hours a throbbing mass of fans would be moving excitedly up the cobbled street, past Jimmy's front window on their way to the ground. There was nobody there just yet though. By standing on his tip toes and craning his neck at just the right angle, Jimmy could catch a glimpse of the Kop roof towering out over the corner shop and over the top of the local wash house. 'It's still there' he reassured himself, and with a shudder of excitement, went to grab some breakfast.

Never before had a morning moved so slowly. Dad never got home 'til half eleven after working all through the night. An unexpected vessel had berthed and caught the dock's authorities unawares and all the dockers on dad's shift had had to work round the clock unloading a particularly large cargo of molasses. The dockers were glad of the overtime of course, and the management knew they wouldn't turn it down what with Christmas just round the corner.

Mum had warned Jimmy after breakfast that dad may be too tired to go to the match so he wasn't to bother him over it when he came home. Now, he watched in horror as dad wearily took off his coat and dropped it on the floor before slumping down in his favourite armchair, barely acknowledging Jimmy's presence.

Jimmy heard his mum tut tut the bosses for making the men work such long hours, 'and at the weekend too.' Dad, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with anything she said, pulled off his boots and lit up his pipe, before taking long thirsty gulps of tea from his favourite mug. Jimmy knew it was best to leave him for an hour or so before approaching him and skulked back upstairs.

Still, he had last night's Liverpool Echo to read again. There was a story in there about Mr. Shankly and a picture of the new manager signing in at Anfield. Besides, he could see further down the street from his bedroom window and it was always fascinating to watch the crowd building up on match days. He could see tram loads of them getting off at the tram stop on Oakfield Road. Now, just a week after his eighth birthday, he too would be joining the same crowd, the rite of passage promised by dad ever since Jimmy had first kicked a ball around in the back yard.

After what seemed an eternity, Jimmy's heart suddenly quickened as he heard dad coming up the stairs. For a moment, as he caught sight of dad's lined and weary face, he thought he wouldn't be going after all. Mum was right. Dad was dead tired. Then, dad's face seemed to come to life as he beamed a smile Jimmy's way. 'Come on son, get your coat on, there's a match to get to you know !'

All around him, as the men stood and chatted to each other, Jimmy thought back to the morning and remembered that moment when his dad told him to get ready as the best moment of his life. Now, as he actually sat on a barrier on the mighty Kop itself, it had been surpassed. His head was spinning as he listened to the all the noises and took in all the strange sights around him. Hacking coughs and laughter, shouting and cursing, strange wooden rattles, and men with black teeth and brylcreemed hair and red and white scarves around their necks. There was talk about work and mates and pubs and football. The talk of the Kopites. And he was one now. No doubt about that.

He peered down to the steps and could see the discarded chip papers and empty beer cups, the fag butts, and squashed ciggy boxes. The most fascinating sight of all though was the pitch. Jimmy had never seen anything so huge. He felt he could barely see to the other end. And it looked wider than it was long. And the net in the goal looked so funny, like a giant fisherman's net. And how did they know how long to make the lines ?

He looked across at the stand to his left, the Main Stand dad said it was called, and began counting all the people he could see in it. After he had reached 14, Jimmy had to start again because he couldn't remember who had already been counted and some of the men were always moving about. No matter how many times he tried to count them, the same thing kept happening and he was forced to give up. Besides, he had become fascinated by the man in the white coat who was working his way along the edge of the pitch in front of the Kop.

As he walked along, the man was holding out a tray in front of him, like he'd seen the lady in the cinema do, and Jimmy could see him throwing things from the tray into the crowd and catching things that were being thrown back to him. Dad explained the man was selling chewy and ciggies and people were giving him the money. Sometimes the money went right over his head and straight onto the pitch and sometimes he dropped it. Either way, he never seemed to bother about picking it up.

Then everyone in front of Jimmy's barrier parted as the large man with the red face who had just barged his way in began to pee down the steps. It went on forever and Jimmy watched fascinated as a torrent of steaming pee sloshed it's way between hundreds of shoes. When the man had finished the crowd closed in around him again and all the men began laughing at some joke that Jimmy hadn't understood. Jimmy liked it here, everyone was having fun.

Then it all went black. Jimmy had felt a huge bang in his back before flying off the barrier. As he threw up his arms in panic, dad grabbed his hands and hauled him back up to his seat. On either side of the barrier the men were hurtling down the steps. He saw one man burn his face on a cigarette, and another stumbled and tripped and soaked himself in the large man's pee. 'It's alright' said dad, 'just hang on to the barrier and you'll be ok'. Another surge came a minute later but this time Jimmy was ready for it. Clinging to the barrier for dear life, he held on and rode it out. Then it was like watching the sea at New Brighton. The surges came like waves, sometimes huge, sometimes in little ripples and ocassionally from side to side rather than up and down. And Jimmy rode them all from his seat on the Kop.

Then came the loudest noise that Jimmy had ever heard. He sensed the surge before it hit him and clung to the barrier as the men around him began shouting and cheering and waving their arms about. Jimmy could see that the players had spilled out of a tunnel at the side of the ground and out onto the pitch. 'There he his !' somebody yelled, jabbing a finger out towards the tunnel where the players had appeared from seconds earlier.

Jimmy followed the gaze of the kopites and saw the subject of the excitement. It was Mr. Shankly. Jimmy recognised him from his photograph in the Echo and immediately, he knew that he would always share a special bond with this man. 'December 14th 1959', he thought to himself, 'the day Jimmy Watson and Bill Shankly made their debuts for Liverpool'.

Postscript:
18th December 1999

Jimmy Watson smiled to himself as he took up his seat on the Kop. He had only managed to get himself a ticket outside the ground just an hour or two before kick off and he was astonished to find himself in almost exactly the same spot his dad had proudly sat him in 40 years earlier.

A white sheet of A4 paper was on the seat, to be used in the Shankly mosaic before kick off, and Jimmy tucked it under his jacket for safe keeping. He was delighted to be able to take part in such a simple, yet emotional tribute. This was his first match at Anfield for twelve years and Jimmy was amazed to see the changes that had taken place since he and his family had emigrated to Australia. 'It's different', thought Jimmy, 'but it still feels the same'. The spirit of Shanks was in the air. In truth, it had never gone away.

He took a sip from his tea, looked across to the Main Stand and started counting.