Saturday May 6 was rather like a fairy tale,
enchanting for Clarets supporters but ‘Grimm’ for the Iron. It had heroes galore
like Glenn Little, Steve Davis and even Micky Mellon, not to mention Stan and Brian Flynn,
but of course every fairy story has it's villain and Lee Hodges, who scored the first goal
for Scunthorpe, may have thought that he had upset the apple cart. Other villains who
could have spoiled the party were the so called ‘Suicide Squad’ who apparently
announced their intentions via the internet. We may have encountered them after the match
as an evil looking bunch of skinheads approached the pub where we were celebrating, but
they were closely followed by a large police presence and swiftly moved on.
The weather also played its part. Blue sky and bright warm sunshine
predominated, creating a holiday atmosphere. The reception at Scunthorpe station was also
rather special, making us feel like celebrities. We were approached by two gentlemen from
the Telegraph (the Scunthorpe Telegraph!) who proceeded to question us about our Burnley
pedigree. One was busy scribbling our replies in shorthand whilst the other took several
group photographs. When I received a copy of the paper during the following week our
pictures were no where to be seen; there was only a reference to Mr Brian Collinge’s
comment about a heavy police presence!
A delicious lunch then followed at a delightful canal side pub called
‘Take a Gander’, where we observed a collection of Anglo Saxon looking farm
implements hanging from the ceiling. We pondered as to which each one of us should take in
order to combat the ‘Suicide Squad’ but thought better of it as they were not
easy items to conceal.
As we proceeded towards Glanford Park we saw coach after coach filled to
the brim with Clarets supporters who like ourselves had been lucky enough to obtain
tickets. As we took our seats in the stand the team were already warming up. Little did we
know that this would be the last time we would observe this ritual this season, as most of
us felt that although a win here was a distinct possibility, there was no way that
Gillingham would allow Wrexham to beat them. (Oh we of little faith!)
I don't remember too much about the game itself, except the numerous long
balls that were continually flying from end to end seemed to make it a nervous and rather
scrappy affair. However when I watched the goals during the following week (again and
again) they were all of excellent quality, suggesting that the game had contained first
class football. I must have missed the good football as my mind was on which play off
place we were going to occupy and how I was going to get there!
I remember the enormous cheer that arose and spread around the visitors
end like a Mexican wave when we heard that Wrexham had scored. I thought it was great but
too early; after all Cardiff had done exactly the same in mid week and look what had
happened after that. Strangely enough, when Scunthorpe scored I did not feel unduly
worried, as I knew that somehow we had resources that would enable us to strike back
sooner or later. Micky Mellon's goal was a quality strike, although as it happened at the
opposite end of the pitch I didn't see it go in, I only saw everyone stand up and cheer.
As I occupied a corner seat at the top of the stand I was not sure who scored the second
goal as my view was once again obscured, but by this time I didn't care.
The minutes seemed to turn into hours as we waited for the final whistle
and even then, as happened two years ago, our fate was unknown for some time. I was
determined to set foot on the pitch whatever the consequences; after all the police
couldn't arrest two thousand people. I assumed that we had gained automatic promotion when
I saw Stan being given the bumps. What an unbelievable conclusion to a season this was.
What a celebration was taking place. What an incredible scene stretched before our eyes.
There was a sea of Claret and Blue extending as far as the horizon. How exciting it was to
be a part of this pageant.
No one wanted to leave the pitch but eventually all good things must come
to an end and we wandered away, slowly savouring the celebratory atmosphere. There was a
collection of Scunthorpe fans still present in their own end and it was sporting to see
the Burnley fans clapping them as we left the field. After all, it must have been a bitter
pill to swallow. Not only had we invaded their pitch, but whilst our celebrations were
steeped in promotion glory, they had to accept the sour taste of relegation.
The journey home was a riotous affair rather like the Mad Hatter's tea
party. After purchasing numerous bottles of champagne it was party time! Everyone was in
excellent voice and a non stop sing song from Doncaster to King's Cross echoed around the
carriage. One or two people quite understandably moved to another carriage. There were
however two elderly gentlemen dressed as if they had been to a conference sitting at the
end of the carriage. They appeared to be quite oblivious to our rowdy ‘singing’
and continued their conversation all the way to London.
It was the kind of journey that you hoped would never end but it concluded
and we all went our separate ways. As I alighted from the escalator at Euston what should
I bump in to but a large group of Gillingham supporters on their way home from Wrexham. By
this time I had put my scarf into my bag, so I passed them with a smug smile on my face
feeling extremely elated. This season everything had ended happily ever after.
Barbara and Joan Watson
