It’s taken me some time to appreciate arid places. Being
my parent’s son, limited horizons were sort of taken for granted. So, for years my
idea of a holiday jaunt was a grey, choppy trip just off the Costa Geriatrica fortified by
a zipped up windcheater. This was much better than cowering in the shimmering heat of
those dusty, bleached Mediterranean resorts. At least, that’s what I told myself
then. But my blinkered calculations were truly confounded by those British summers of the
mid seventies. And if the summer of ’75 was perversely hot, that of ’76 was
hotter still. Temperatures topped 30C on 21 days. A local Surrey paper announced
triumphantly, ‘Woking Del Sol’ while a national tabloid urged, ‘Share a
bath with a friend and save water’. Rivers dried up, ponds disappeared, trees wilted
and crops failed (Just like ‘grovelling’ Tony Greig and his humiliated
English cricketers). Large crevices appeared in the baked clay beds of the receding
reservoirs. Among these, Ladybower, in the Peaks, was compelled to reveal the village it
had once drowned. It seemed like an exhumation. With the new season upon us I hoped for a
bit more. Some kind of resuscitation would do even if glory seemed off the agenda. I told
myself all too mechanically, ‘If there was life after the 1970/71 relegation, why not
now?’ In case you haven’t sussed, this question was a tad short in the
rhetorical stakes.
The 1975/76 relegation had cost Burnley dear. We didn’t
know this yet but the Club had sustained an annual loss of £146,871, even though James
had been sold for over £300,000. Debts were around £400,000 and climbing at the rate of
£4,000 per week. Try multiplying those figures by 10 and you’d be somewhere near
today’s values. The Government was broke, too. But at least Callaghan had the IMF to
bail him out, even if he had to pawn whatever masqueraded as socialism first. All Burnley
had at its immediate disposal was its dwindling supply of talent. It seemed not to make
any sense that those former stalwarts, Waldron, Docherty, Morgan and Collins and recent
debutante, Kennerley had been allowed to leave on free transfers. Chief Scout, Dave
Blakey, thought so, too, and scuttled off to join the Owls. At least that allowed a space
for our 1977 saviour, Harry Potts, to slot into. Even the programme’s graphic
designer decided that gloom was chic. As if to counteract the desiccating summer sun, the
new cover sported a tonal motif of a deserted, glacial Turf Moor. After chipping myself
off the Longside, on the 4th December, it made perfect sense.
Anyway, on the 21st August we went to Molineux on
yet another day of brilliant, torpid heat. Elton John and Kiki Dee’s Don’t Go
Breaking My Heart was number one while The Roussos Phenomenon had fallen off
the bottom of all credibility ratings. Curiously enough, I now work with a relative of
Demis. She told me that her mother still has his photograph on her mantelpiece. However, I
think I offended her by enquiring about the dimensions of that mantelpiece. As for the
game, Fletcher, Newton and Morley (freakishly) had all been ruled out through injury, so
Noble partnered Hankin up front with former Youth team starlet, Paul Bradshaw playing on
the right flank. I thought Burnley did OK. At pitch level, the temperature must have been
in the nineties, but they all got stuck in. They didn’t threaten much, but apart from
Kindon, neither did Wolves. A 0-0 result was fine for starters, especially given our
porous centre back partnership of Thomson and Rodaway.
Manager, Joe Brown, was pretty chuffed. He said, ‘ I was
particularly pleased with the efforts of our younger players, including full-backs Derek
Scott and Terry Pashley, who are both teenagers but have ability and a sound temperament.
Ray Hankin was close to giving us victory with a header late in the game, but overall we
were happy with a point…We found that some of (the players) lost more than SEVEN
POUNDS..’(during the game), which, I suppose, confirmed the effort shown.
‘Keeper, Gerry Peyton added, ‘(Wolves) obviously
missed John Richards, who was out with a knee injury. But…I didn’t think they
looked as formidable opponents as when we faced them twice last season in the First
Division (Having stuffed us twice, scoring eight goals in the process, I think that
qualifies as an impressive understatement, Gerry). The speed of Steve Kindon gave us
early problems but they hardly looked like scoring after the first 20 minutes…The
crowd got onto them a bit, but they were lacking in adventure and in the second half they
were worried about us sneaking up for a crack at goal.’
Tuesday 24th August was a memorable day. Burnley
turned in a superlative performance in demolishing 1975 Cup Finalists, Fulham, 3-1, at
home. Bradshaw played a blinder, capping his devastating wing play with a rasping goal.
Joe purred, ‘We really believe we have the talent and skill in our ranks to emerge as
one of the front runners for promotion…’ To be fair, most of us agreed. We were
still oblivious to the mounting financial problems. We wanted, no, needed to share
Joe’s hopes. No matter how sceptical some of us are, there are times when we just
have to suspend disbelief, no more so than at the beginning of a season. Well, there are
so many straws to grasp at, aren’t there? On this day there were simply bailfuls of
them. Despite the latest rise in the jobless total (to 1.5 million), Jim Callaghan had
reason to feel more upbeat than usual, too. Healey’s balancing act was in the Nadia
Comaneci class as he attempted to sell voluntary wage restraint with a future promise of
bugger all. But his gymnastics paled into insignificance when compared to the apocalyptic
talents of Dennis Howell, the new Minister of Drought. No sooner had Jim appointed the
former football referee, than the drains were gurgling once more.
In fact, Saturday’s home game against Luton was the day
on which the rains finally arrived, washing away Joe Brown’s premature boasts.
Bradshaw again did his bit, putting us ahead against the run of play, but Luton, expertly
orchestrated by Ricky Hill, ultimately gained their just desserts. The result was clear
some time before the end. As I made one of my rare premature exits, I met a bedraggled
friend standing on the Bee Hole terraces. Staring disconsolately at the hundreds streaming
past, he moaned, ‘Where is everyone going?’ Quite pointlessly, I chided,
‘Colin, you just haven’t paid attention.’
It was to become worse. In the following week, Fourth
Division, Torquay, ousted us from the League Cup, thanks to a goal from ex-Claret, Willie
Brown and newly promoted Hereford thumped us 3-0, with Dixie McNeil scoring all three. Joe
cobbled together an equivocal defence. He said, ‘I can’t in all honesty
criticise the players for lack of effort (talk about praise with a faint insult).
They knew what was necessary, but we have not yet been able to find a blend and we have
been short of a goal touch up front. We had a real off day against Luton but we played
quite a lot better against Torquay without being able to translate chances into goals. At
Hereford we met a very stern physical challenge and although we were not happy with events
I don’t think we deserved to lose 3-0’. Joe still hadn’t twigged. Teams
needed to battle in this Division. Brian Flynn quickly appreciated this. He said,’
Quite honestly, I find it harder in the Second Division. Harder physically – and
harder in general football terms as well. You don’t get any time at all to play the
ball, and there are so many teams playing defensively. I disagree completely with those
who say it’s tougher in Division One.’
Unabashed, Joe continued, ‘We began the season full of
optimism and it was based on sound reasoning (Whose?), but football is a game of
surprises. Where there are winners there have to be losers…(Oh God!!). Believe
me, we realise how supporters feel about the present situation and we are taking steps to
remedy the position…. You can take it from me that no stone will be left unturned to
create a happier state of affairs.’ If your naivety happens to be of the Little Red
Riding Hood order, then you might regard this as code for ‘immediate team
strengthening’. For us wizened souls, the line was quite clear. ‘We must sell
our most important asset. NOW!’ On the very day that Joe made his specious statement,
Ray Hankin signed off with a stooping header. His goal ensured that FA Cup winners,
Southampton, were beaten 2-0. But on that dank, dismal Saturday, few of us were cheered.
Hankin, we were told, was off to Leeds for £180,000 and although Paul Fletcher, promptly
returned, he couldn’t plug the gap. Fletcher had formerly been a fast, potent centre
forward but his persistent knee injury had depleted his previous striking power.
The lack of an adequate wing service hardly helped him,
either. Paul Bradshaw’s star quickly fizzled out and he was sold to Sheffield
Wednesday for £20,000. Tony Morley continued to disappoint and Colin Morris was
inexplicably ignored, before finally being sold to Southend alongside Derrick Parker. It
was difficult to see where the goals would come from. Only seven were scored in the first
eight games. Loan signing, Malcolm Smith, seemed to have a better idea than most, scoring
five in his first eight games. Some hailed him as holding the Claret’s promotion
ticket. Certainly Pools winner, Danny Carr, thought so. He even offered Burnley the
£25,000 to buy Smith from Middlesborough (Bob Lord refused). But Smith’s
early goals were just window dressing. Once he had been given a permanent contract, the
hot streak deserted him. In fairness, Smith was no more than a journeyman forward. It was
ridiculous to expect that he could power us up the league. Ulsterman, Terry Cochrane,
seemed a better prospect, even though he ran as if trained on three-legged races. He was
signed from Coleraine for £28,000, making his debut on the 9th October; the
day on which Mao died. Cochrane was tricky right winger but he was still raw. Despite
Joe’s blandishments, the policy of patch up and make do was there for all to see.
Chairman, Bob Lord, quickly came under fire for not re-investing more of the £200,000
gained from the sale of Hankin and Bradshaw. But it was only the pressure of a protest
march and a 5,000 - signature petition that compelled Lord into revealing the full extent
of Burnley’s financial difficulties. At the beginning of November, Lord announced
that the Club was on the verge of bankruptcy and that he was therefore open to offers for
Welsh international, Brian Flynn.
Whether out of loyalty or because his arm had been shoved up
in his back, Joe faltered to his chairman’s defence. ‘Fear and frustration by
fans has created an atmosphere in the town similar to four years ago – a situation
which was overcome and for which many of our supporters were proved to be wrong…. It
is my opinion that such fear and frustration has led to bitter and abusive attacks on the
club Chairman, Mr Lord (Please note that ‘club’ is written in the lower case
while ‘Chairman’ boasts a capital ‘C’). Such ill-advised actions
can do no good whatsoever for the immediate or long-term future well-being of the club-and
in fact can only do the reverse by causing irreparable damage…the depressive
atmosphere being created could eventually affect the performances of players (Did Joe
really mean that they could become worse!!) who are fighting their hearts out for
Burnley Football Club…. As an Executive (Dream on, Joe) who attends all
meetings of Directors I have become acutely aware of some of the difficulties they face
when jointly making important decisions affecting this club…The fact that our
supporters have been able to enjoy First Division football for 18 seasons under Mr
Lord’s Chairmanship is surely a tribute to his knowledge, experience and astute
leadership (Jack Butterfield, the Commercial Director didn’t buy this hype. He
resigned in December, openly stating his dissatisfaction with the Club’s management)…Our
supporters are backing our players to the limit on the field of play but if we are to
succeed as a club and gain back our place in the First Division we really need your
off-the-field support too. SO COME ON EVERYBODY – GIVE US A CHANCE!’
Joe’s moral posturing might have cut more ice if the
Club had squared with the supporters at an earlier point. But that didn’t suit Bob
Lord’s feudal ways. He even tried to rebut the protests by angrily stating that only
death would cause him to resign (Prophetic, that). The financial truth had to be
wrestled from him. It was fine that the Club should acknowledge the loyalty of a supporter
like David Burnley, who was a ‘guest of honour’ at the Fulham game. But it
failed to recognise that what supporters really need is honest information. Loyalty
requires reciprocation if it is to flourish. Too often we’re left in the
‘mushroom situation’. Quite bizarrely, the Club tried to flog us ‘MAKE YOUR
OWN RECORD. Ideal present for all supporters – at a price to suit your pocket. Normal
retail price £1.70 – our price £1.50! This is an excellent publication and many
hours of enjoyment can be gained when reading details in the book. Even more so will be
the opportunity of looking back at ‘your’ record of the Clarets
activities, results, teams etc. Only a limited supply available for this season (Can’t
think why) – so buy your copy early – buy now! Excellent Christmas
present!’ Perhaps a Cranberry Sauce class might excite a turkey?
Despite Joe’s stand on Bob Lord’s behalf, it was
amazing that he kept his job for so long. During the 13 months he was in charge, Burnley
only won 9 of the 45 games played and fell to 21st position in Division Two. He
did briefly crack the goal-scoring problem. Nine were scored in three games. The trouble
was that twelve were conceded. So much for a 4-2-4 system when your back four has the
mobility of a bollard. Of course, Peter Noble gave his all and despite the run of 14 games
without a victory, it wasn’t all down hill. There was the Charlton game, in which
Burnley recovered from a 1-4 deficit to gain a 4-4 draw. Brian Flynn should have won it
but he squandered a good last minute chance. Better still, a late, late draw was secured
at a damp, grey Ewood just after Christmas. Brennan and Noble silenced the home
celebrations after Byrom had put Blackburn two up. But these were rare jewels.
As the season began, Mairead Corrigan and Betty Williams
launched the women’s peace movement and fraudster MP, John Stonehouse got his
comeuppance. As Burnley began to stutter, Ian Smith signalled a move to multi-racial rule,
Jimmy Carter was elected US President and James Hunt secured the Formula 1 crown. As the
stutter became a crumble, the Pistols upped their notoriety stakes, destroying TV
presenter, Bill Grundy, in the process. Our favourite films of 1976 featured, One Flew
Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, Taxi Driver and the Man Who Fell To Earth.
We liked Fawlty Towers, I Claudius and The Naked Civil Servant, too.
The year ended with the Cotton towns swathed in freezing fog. The long hot summer seemed a
myth. As I contemplated my New Year resolution, I thought I should give fun a try.
