What was wrong with Britain in 1961? Certainly,
Macmillan’s 1959 election boast that we had ‘never had it so good’ was
turning rancid after the July run on the pound. Despite Macmillan’s radical
modernisation programme, his Government seemed crusty and out of step. At least, this
seemed to be the view of the British ‘twentysomethings’, whose clamour for
something new and dynamic began to take an almost frenzied turn. It was their growing
frustrations, which helped make satire chic once more. And boy did it sell! A new
satirical nightclub opened in London called The Establishment. This attracted the
notorious American comedian Lenny Bruce in April 1962. Private Eye also produced its first
scrappy editions, and much as it might appear tame now, 'Beyond the Fringe' was a daring
revue when it opened in the summer of 1961. This Oxbridge production, starring Peter Cook,
Dudley Moore, Jonathan Miller and Alan Bennett, was prepared to boldly go into the
previous ‘no go’ areas of humour. Take the war, for example. Up until the late
fifties, the British cinema had churned out a succession of plucky World War II dramas,
like 'The Cruel Sea', 'The Dambusters', and 'The Cockleshell Heroes'. To mock these tales
of selfless courage was almost sacrilegious, at least, to those who insisted that Britain
was both great and grateful. But while the Fringe team was criticised for trivialising a
war that they had been spared, this accusation could not be levelled at Joseph Heller,
whose 'Catch-22' first appeared here in 1961. Heller had served as a bombardier with the
US Air Force, based in Corsica, flying missions over Italy in support of the allied
invasion. His Catch-22, a grotesquely funny satire, savaged with nihilistic abandon the
euphemisms, moral pretensions and organisational chaos of war.
But just then Burnley had no need of gallows humour. Despite an early setback at newly
promoted Ipswich (2-6), Burnley’s star was rising. By November 4th, Burnley had raced
into a three-point lead at the head of the old First Division, having won ten of their
first fourteen games. Moreover, they had scored forty-three goals in so doing.
Twenty-seven of these were scored away from home! Fulham had been thumped 5-3 at Craven
Cottage and Leicester and Birmingham had both been thrashed 6-2, as the away daze
continued. The 2-4 defeat at Spurs had briefly arrested the momentum. But Harry
Potts’ confidence was not rattled. In fact, he positively purred about the game.
He said, "This game, like the corresponding one just short of a year ago, reached
the heights in everything good in football and kept everyone of those fifty thousand-odd
spectators in the grip of delight right through to the last kick. Among the observers of
this fine football were representatives of the Dutch Champions (Feyenoord) due to meet
Tottenham in the European Cup in Holland in midweek, and they did not hide their concern
about the high standard this game made them appreciate they would have to face. We played
some of our best football this season, and Ray Pointer fashioned it into a great start
with two brilliant goals taken in international style. When two sides as good as these are
in opposition, one can always be prepared for exciting fluctuations in the run of the game
and just as we rallied in that memorable game at White Hart Lane eleven months ago to
redress a seemingly impossible position, so Spurs found their way to a lead at the
half-way stage. With only one goal in it as the game resumed, we got the sort of second
half struggle that we expected. It was tremendously pulsating with the result right in the
balance until Spurs managed to get through for another goal eight minutes from the end.
That goal came partly as a result of our all-out effort to get on level terms, and how
nearly we were to getting it when John Connelly’s shot rattled against the upright.
If that shot had gone in it is interesting to think what might have happened. We thus
failed to get the point which I think we certainly deserved, but why grieve about it after
such a great game? Here were 22 players due for thanks of all who saw the game, and all
who have pride in English soccer, for serving up such fine entertainment and playing the
kind of football that will not be a long time in putting our national game right on the
topmost pedestal once more. Our team received great acclaim from the spectators before,
during and after the game - a tribute we shall long remember."
Of course, it is nice to reflect upon a classic battle of skills, just as Harry did.
But if you were to present me with a choice of a watching a losing cameo or a ragged
victory, I'd always pick the latter. Now, it has to be said that this ruthless pursuit of
success comes from someone who has shackled himself to a bigger losing cause than a
flat-earther. But, what would life be without our crosses to bear? Probably pretty good,
actually, but we’ll let that pass.
In the autumn of 1961, I regarded football as almost all-consuming (nothing much
changes). But outside my adolescent range of focus, a doomsday tumult was taking grip. As
the Soviets developed their 100 megaton bomb, there was a panic of fallout shelter
building in America and a huge anti-bomb demonstration took place in Trafalgar Square
(over 15,000 joined in). The erection of the Berlin Wall seemed to symbolise the stony
divide between the World super powers.
Meanwhile, rock music had become becalmed. The driving energy of artists such as Chuck
Berry, Little Richard, the early Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly and Eddie Cochran had
been supplanted by the derivative, commercial mush of manufactured heart throbs like
Frankie Avalon ('Venus') and Bobby Vee. Even TV pin-ups like Richard Chamberlain (Dr
Kildare) and Ed 'Kookie' Byrnes (of 77 Sunset Strip) were peddled to the uncritical
masses. Rock had lost its edge. Safer, uncontroversial images prevailed, like that
portrayed by Helen Shapiro, the 14-year-old East Ender, with a vibrant personality and an
improbably deep voice. She made a huge, albeit brief, impact in late 1961 with hits such
as 'Don't Treat Me Like A Child', 'You Don't Know' and 'Walkin' Back To Happiness'. It
seemed as if we had abandoned the wild side, exchanging the rebel yell for a comfy
girl-next-door image.
Even Trad Jazz began to rival rock's supremacy among Britain's young trendsetters.
Acker Bilk made it to the UK number one in January 1962 with 'Stranger on the Shore'. It
was the theme to a BBC Sunday teatime TV serial, about a lonely French girl in Brighton.
Kenny Ball had a Stateside hit with 'Midnight in Moscow' and a British number one with
'The March of the Siamese Children'. The Temperance Seven warbled into their megaphone
while the music press wondered whether Trad Jazz would kill rock music. More promisingly,
the Beatles auditioned for Decca, only to be turned down! Nevertheless, zestful black
music, notably rhythm and blues, was on its way back thanks to populist white boy bands.
As the year turned, Burnley were still in pole position. They had stuffed Man Utd (4-1)
at Old Trafford and Villa (3-0), Sheffield Wednesday (4-0) and Sheffield United (4-2) all
at home. What’s more, Pointer and Connelly had scored England’s World Cup
qualifying goals against Portugal. Harry had much to celebrate. Indeed, Harry still seemed
to be on a New Year bender as he prepared his programme notes for the FA Cup-tie with
Third Division QPR on the 6th January. He wrote, "If the game of soccer had feelings
like human beings, I am afraid my expressions of goodwill might be scorned, for the game
has experienced more than average frustration over the period of the Festive Season. Never
before have so many football teams been so completely mastered by the meteorological half
back line of Frost, Snow and Ice. For them it has been a real picnic. But I do not think
we ought to get too downcast about the rigours of the weather in a general sense. I am
aware that the evidence of the last three weeks has caused a lot of discussion focused on
the question of whether our great national game should take a rest during certain winter
months. It is not my intention to join issue with this matter in this programme, for after
all this present experience has been exceptional."
As was his wont, Harry was respectful of the opposition’s strengths. "They
are, of course, managed by that enterprising and highly successful manager, Alec Stock,
who took Leyton Orient to many successes. Captain of the side is Roy Bentley, the former
Chelsea, Newcastle and Fulham player, who has figured in all departments except goal. He
now occupies the right back berth. They also have in their ranks well known players like
goalkeeper Ray Drinkwater (who played with two black eyes and six stitches), John
McClelland, outside right (replacing Mark Lazarus who was sold to Wolves for a QPR club
record of £27,500). At inside right they have Brian Bedford (who scored 66 goals for QPR
in the 60/61 and 61/62 seasons), Jim Towers, who was with Brentford (for whom he scored
170 goals), at inside left." As it turned out, QPR didn’t pose much of a
challenge. Harris snatched two as Burnley overran the West Londoners 6-1. In the next
round, Stock’s former club, Leyton Orient, put up a sterner fight. The Os were then
well on course for promotion from the Second Division behind Liverpool. Their half backs
Lucas and Lea were widely envied and Burnley were fortunate to progress after being held
1-1 at Turf Moor. By contrast, Burnley found other First Division defences more obliging.
Man City and West Ham both conceded six on their visits to the Turf, and Birmingham went
one better when they travelled North on February 3rd. What’s more, the Double
remained on the cards as Everton and Sheffield United were overcome in the FA Cup, leaving
only Fulham between Burnley and a second Wembley appearance. Burnley sustained just one
defeat in those first three months of 1962, at Blackburn!
With the season entering its final phase, the Twist displaced Trad Jazz as Britain's
latest teenage trend. Chubby Checker ('Let's Twist Again' and 'The Twist') and Joey Dee
and the Starlighters ('The Peppermint Twist') led the assault on the UK charts. The Twist
started a dancing craze which saw the introduction of The Fish, The Pony, The Madison, The
Bird, The Mess Around, The Watsui, The Bristol Stomp, The Surfer's Stomp and many others.
In response to the growing demand for dance music, the Mecca ballroom chain announced
plans, in November 1961, to introduce 'disc sessions' with disc jockeys instead of
all-live music. The teenage leisure market now seemed to offer limitless commercial
opportunities.
By contrast, cinema takings continued to decline, although epics like 'El Cid' and
star-spangled blockbusters like 'The Guns of Navarone' made substantial profits. The
biggest box office success of 1961, though, was the musical 'West Side Story', which won
eleven Oscars. TV was beginning to follow the lead of the British 'new wave' cinema in
depicting 'raw', 'tough' and 'realistic' subjects, focusing on British working class
themes. As with many of the 'new wave' films, the North of England, the 'cradle of the
Industrial Revolution', was thought to offer the most authentic settings. In line with
this trend, the BBC chose Liverpool as the setting for its new cop series, 'Z Cars', which
stripped away the cosy images of British policing, as epitomised by 'Dixon of Dock Green'.
On March 31st, Burnley went to Villa Park for their FA Cup semi-final tie with Fulham.
The prospects were good. Burnley had won there in the League on the previous Saturday
(2-0) and had already beaten the Cottagers twice that season. What’s more, Fulham's
position near the foot of the table looked perilous. But Fulham had half a dozen class
players, like 'pass master' Johnny Haynes, the England captain. In any event, form
mattered little as throughout the game Fulham applied considerable pressure on the Burnley
goal. Fortunately, goalkeeper Adam Blacklaw was in superb form and Connelly’s goal
earned them a draw.
Jimmy McIlroy was Burnley’s ‘pass master’. Throughout this season, his
influence was pivotal. He even featured in the Jean Shrimpton - Mary Quant collage
fronting the first Sunday (Times) colour supplement on February 4th. Although injured in
the first semi-final game, and not fully fit for the replay, he was still selected; such
was his totemic reputation. Talk about El Cid! It seemed to work. Despite Fulham’s
continued determination, Burnley finally prevailed thanks to two Jimmy Robson goals.
Partly because of McIlroy’s loss of fitness and partly because of a crowded
fixture list, Burnley began to falter and Ipswich started to gain ground. As the anxiety
increased, I found it harder to leave the house on Saturday afternoons. On the Saturday
before Easter, Burnley were hosts to erratic Man Utd while Ipswich were at home to
relegation-troubled Cardiff. Spurs were at Leicester. The Burnley result came up fourth.
The first three results were all home wins; Arsenal had beaten Wolves, Birmingham had
beaten Sheffield United and Bolton had thrashed Forest 6-1. This wasn't good. Well, they
can’t all win at home, can they? The odds were becoming more and more unfavourable
with each preceding home win. Anyway, my misgivings were well founded. As soon as the
radio announcer said Burnley in a low pitch, I knew they’d lost. I knew that the goal
that they’d scored was irrelevant. I knew that the radio announcer’s pitch was
about to lift, signifying that United had scored more. Well, if this was bad, other
results made it much worse. Ipswich and Spurs had both won. This put Ipswich only a point
behind Burnley and when the Suffolk side won 3-1 at Spurs on the following Wednesday,
Burnley finally conceded the lead in the championship race that they had maintained for so
long.
I couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. Admittedly, United had reached the FA
Cup semi-finals, but they were placed well below Burnley and were without key forwards
Charlton, Viollet and Quixall. Even full back Noel Cantwell had been pressed into service
as a makeshift centre forward. Sure, they still had Johnny Giles and leading scorer David
Herd. But it was still a much-weakened team. I expect Mark ‘Pancho’ Pearson,
United’s inside forward, particularly enjoyed his afternoon. Pilloried as a
‘teddyboy’ by Burnley chairman Bob Lord, I’m sure he thought this result to
be a fitting reply.
On Good Friday, April 20th, I refused to go out, just in case I didn’t make it
back for the results. This time, it proved worthwhile. Burnley's result was first up. The
announcer's higher pitch signalled victory even before I knew by how many. They had beaten
Blackpool (2-0), with veteran centre half Tommy Cummings scoring his first goal for ten
years. What's more, Arsenal had held Ipswich (2-2) at Portman Road. We were back at the
top! If only on goal average. Spurs had dumped Blackburn (4-1) to keep them in with a
shout, but they were still four points adrift.
My joy was short-lived, though. The next day, Burnley went down (0-2) at Bramall Lane,
Sheffield. Although Ipswich had only managed to draw again (2-2), this time at
relegation-bound Chelsea, it was enough to put them in front, once more. Meanwhile Spurs
had lost at home (1-2) to improving West Brom. and seemed out of the race.
After a wet start, Easter Monday was a day of brilliant sunshine. But the clouds had
returned by evening. Burnley had gained a point from the return game at Blackpool, but
Ipswich had crushed Arsenal at Highbury (3-0). Burnley could still seize the Championship,
but they had to win both their final two games at home to Chelsea and away at Sheffield
Wednesday to be sure.
Again, I stayed at home on the following Saturday, waiting for the results. Burnley's
was fourth up. The previous results gave no guide. Perversely, Arsenal had beaten
Sheffield United. Spurs had won at Birmingham and Bolton had beaten West Ham at home. What
next then? A draw? Surely not. Chelsea were already down and had nothing to play for. They
had conceded 93 goals in their 41 games. It couldn't be a draw! But there it was. The
unmistakable draw cadence in the announcer's voice. That meant that the title would go to
Ipswich if they’d won. They had. They’d beaten Aston Villa (2-0). It was
finished. So that left just the FA Cup to play for. Obviously, it was still an important
prize, but with the Double dream over, it seemed more of consolation value.
Looking back, with all feelings of pain long gone, I have to recognise Ipswich's
achievement. If Preston's inaugural triumph is discounted, they remain as the only club to
have won the First Division at their very first attempt. It is highly unlikely that this
feat will ever be repeated in a modern game dominated by big money.
Their success owed much to the tactical vision of Alf Ramsey. He managed to fashion an
effective team out of assorted journeymen and cast-offs. Ramsey, like his mentor Arthur
Rowe, manager of the 1951 Spurs Championship-winning side, believed in the maxim 'Make it
simple, make it quick'.
Typical of Ramsey's signings was Jimmy Leadbetter, who looked more aged than TV copper
PC George Dixon (of 'Dixon of Dock Green', where they had no concept of a retirement
policy). Leadbetter was a ploddingly orthodox inside left when he was with Chelsea and
Brighton. Ramsey transformed him into an unorthodox outside left, who hung well behind the
other forwards, pushing the ball around immediately after he had picked it up from his
defenders. Leadbetter's withdrawn position often contrived to pull the opposing full back
out of position. This left spaces, into which central strikers Crawford and Phillips could
run to receive Leadbetter’s oblique crosses.
Crawford, who had been rejected by Portsmouth, brought to his game the strength which
had taken him through the Malayan jungle while on National Service. He headed the Second
and First Division scorers in successive seasons, another unique achievement, and became
the first Ipswich player to be selected for England.
Little Roy Stephenson had played for Burnley, Blackburn, Rotherham and Leicester, often
switching positions. Ramsey confirmed him in the outside right role. With Stephenson
gaining the benefit of a settled position, he began to lay on a host of chances for his
colleagues. Andy Nelson, a former West Ham reserve, became an unyielding centre half and
John Crompton became a reliable left back after languishing in Chelsea's second team.
Their most expensive signing was inside forward Doug Moran from Falkirk, who cost
£12,000. The total cost of the side was only £30,000. By contrast, the Spurs team had
cost around a quarter of million pounds.
Surely it has to be good for the game if small sides like this have a chance of
breaking through. That is why I continue to have a soft spot for teams like Wimbledon and
Charlton. I once witnessed Wimbledon celebrate a goal by collapsing on Sam Hamman, their
Chairman, who’d been standing immediately behind the opposition's goal, cheering them
on. That team was clearly a pub side which happened to be in the Premiership. Long may
teams like them bugger up the ambitions and pretensions of their more lucrative opponents
and, in the process, perhaps achieve a few of their own.
FA Cup Final Saturday 1962 remained grey and murky all day. Traditionally, it was the
occasion to celebrate the best in English football, although many of the preceding finals
had proved quite disappointing, with serious injuries marring the contests in 1957, 1959,
1960 and 1961. I prepared for the Cup Final in the accustomed way. I had my friends round
and we pulled the curtains early in order to watch all the preliminaries:; the interviews
with the players, their wives, their in-laws, with people who might have seen them once
down the pub, interviews with fans on Wembley way. There were the highlights on the road
to Wembley; the games, the goals, the drama, the passion, the hyperboles, the gold-plated
platitudes. Somehow, these qualifying games seemed unconnected with the big occasion. It
was very difficult reconciling these dark, claustrophobic, muddy tussles with what was
about to take place on the spacious, bowling green surface of Wembley.
All in all, it was a four-hour build-up, stuffed with total but compelling bollocks.
Stuck in the small back room with several pubescent bodies loading up on junk food. The
pulled curtains helping to incubate the intense, sweaty aroma. It was all too much for the
dog. He didn't know which moist crotch he really wanted to shove his snout into. The
choice was bacchanalian. My dad had to detonate its testicles to get it to go for a walk
and settle itself down.
Finally, we got through the build-up, the contrived emotion of 'Abide with Me', the
Royal introductions and the game started. Three minutes later Burnley were behind. Spurs
goalkeeper Bill Brown cleared long into the Burnley half, burly Bobby Smith headed on and
Greaves squirmed past Cummings and Miller, before half-hitting his shot just inside
Blacklaw’s left post. My friends cheered. They held no torch for Spurs. I knew that.
It was a blatant wind-up, but I still glowered at them, snatching away the remaining
crisps. Bloody Greaves! The worst possible opponent.
Burnley were struggling for most of the first half. They couldn't seem to get going.
Jimmy McIlroy was repeatedly robbed. The Burnley forwards looked flat-footed. Spurs were
totally in charge. Then just before half time, the balance of power began to shift.
Burnley weren't just there to make up the numbers, after all. John Connelly began to make
progress on the right wing. Ray Pointer began to enjoy better possession. hey were still
behind at the break, but there was more reason to be cheerful. I decided that I would stop
freezing out my friends.
After the interval, it got better. With just five minutes gone, Gordon Harris beat
Spurs full back Peter Baker on the left wing. His fast, low centre hit Jimmy Robson's
shins as he ran in. The ball flashed into the net before goalkeeper Bill Brown could move.
Unspeakable joy! But there was hardly time to make a dig at my friends before Spurs were
back in front. John White ghosted past McIlroy and Angus, before floating over a perfect
centre for Smith, who swivelled and blasted the ball past Blacklaw. I knew then that it
was hopeless. It wasn't going to happen. Burnley continued to fight and came close to
equalising once more, but to no avail. Quite predictably, Spurs finished it off, with ten
minutes remaining. Blacklaw made a hash of a cross. (It was later claimed that he was
fouled), Spurs winger Terry Medwin shot at goal and Cummings handled. A penalty.
Blanchflower strolled forward, placed the ball carefully on the spot and coolly sent
Blacklaw the wrong way.
After carrying all before them for over 75% of the season, Burnley had ended up with
nothing. At the death, they’d achieved the worst kind of Double: runners up in both
premier competitions. In our depression, we weren’t to know that this was as good as
it would get. For Burnley would never reach this height again.
