In South Africa, Nelson Mandela was
sentenced to life imprisonment, having been convicted of a less treasonable offence.
Meanwhile across the Atlantic, three nights of race rioting in New York State underlined
just how much ground needed to be made up there, despite LBJ’s signing of the Civil
Rights Act. Martin Luther King’s dream was still a far horizon.
Our version of civil disorder came by courtesy of the Mods and Rockers. By
now their clashes had become a Bank Holiday institution. One incensed magistrate described
them as 'long-haired mentally unstable petty little Caesars who hunted like rats, only in
packs'. The press would play a significant part in the emergence of these ‘folk
devils’. Vilification provided good copy. For sure the media provided a stage but
there was more to it than that. Whether you liked or loathed it, gang violence conferred
power. As one eighteen year old Mod put it, ‘It was great, the beach was like a
battlefield. It was like we were taking over the country.’ In their role as
participant observers, Hunter Davies ('The Glory Game') and Bill Buford ('Among The
Thugs') gained some sense of this power. Judging by the number of insider accounts of
football violence on the sports shelves of Waterstones, gang violence intrigues more than
the disaffected working class male.
But Mods and Rockers culture was much more than a series of seaside
scuffles. Firstly, there were distinct codes of appearance. Take Mod girls, for example.
Some took after Cathy McGowan off 'Ready Steady Go', with eye-covering fringes and long
hair. Others had these really short cuts. Shift dresses with round collars were all the
rage, usually worn with white stockings and stacked-heeled shoes. Tights would replace
stockings after mini skirts came in. Make-up was minimal and lipstick was completely out.
But Mod guys were equally fastidious about how they looked. Vidal Sassoon
moved in smartly here. Mod boys liked their middle partings with puffed up and lacquered
tops and backs. Their girlfriends would often help out with the lacquer. Remember Stevie
Marriott of The Small Faces? Then you’ll get the picture. Many were fond of the
small-brimmed blue beat hats. As for the rest of the gear, it didn’t come cheap. Ivy
League suits (three buttons, narrow lapels, two vents) could set you back £30 or more,
mega bucks in those days. Then there were the trousers with seventeen-inch bottoms and the
imitation crocodile or python shoes with rounded toes, although many of the cheapskates
settled for suede desert boots. Blue suits were popular, too. So were shirts with peg or
giraffe collars but they were a pig to wear. For those who could afford wheels, this meant
a scooter, usually bristling with lamps and wing mirrors. And of course, the scooter
uniform was a parka with a fur trim on the hood.
Then there was the music. Blue Beat artists like Prince Buster were faves
until aggressive, energetic bands like The Who and The Small Faces supplied the main
soundtrack. Remember 'My Generation' and The Who’s frenzied trashings of their
equipment? It wasn’t all in your face stuff, either. Take the savage ironies of
'Substitute'. ‘I was born with a plastic spoon in my mouth… Substitute you for
my mum. At least I’ll get my washing done.’ Many women weren’t that
emancipated in 1966. This was particularly true of the working class women, as Nell Dunn
illustrated in 'Up The Junction'. Yoko Ono would put it more strongly. She said,
‘Woman is the nigger of the world.’
Rockers, on the other hand, were still caught up with the fifties -
driving rock’n’roll, grease, leathers and the bikes; 'The Wild Ones' revisted.
The Rocker girls would wear leather gear, too, with flat shoes, lacquered bouffants and
thick make-up. They were big on Elvis pendants, too. While Rockers remained faithful to
the Jive and the Twist the Mods were strictly Blue Beat, stiff knees, arms flailing all
over the place.
You may ask what’s this got to do with footy? Well, looking back at
this West Ham programme, some local tailors saw a connection. One of them stuck in an
advert claiming it was just the ‘outfitter for the modern man’. They had seen
the sense in ditching their earlier sketch of the brylcreemed guy in a sports jacket and
flannels. But it was unclear whether Ivy League suits were on the agenda. They might have
reasoned that Carnaby Street prices were beyond the prudent Northern pocket. Another
tailor offered measurement and fitting ‘in your own home’, so perhaps your
sorties into fashion were more discreet up in Burnley.
The programme gave further evidence of the good life. The Cabaret Club of
Rosegrove and The New 77 Club at Brierfield offered ‘First Class Family
Entertainment! Dancing, Two Hour Cabaret Nightly! Annual Membership £1. Half fees for
Ladies. Come and have a wonderful time!!’ Somehow this didn’t sound too much
like the Hammersmith Palais or the Marquee Club. Was this really where the local faces got
their rocks off?
If British youth were now generally enjoying a swell time, Burnley were
certainly not. For only the third time since the War, Burnley reported a financial loss
over the 1963/64 season. Although compensated by the sale of Connelly, plans for building
a new stand were postponed. What’s more, the Clarets' start to the new season was one
of their worst. Only four points were secured from their first eight games and by the time
FA Cup winners West Ham came to Turf Moor on the 19th September, Burnley had
yet to register their first win. There were rumours, too, that Harry was on his way. In
his programme notes for the game, the great man tried to put the record straight.
‘Over the past week gossip and rumour has had my name linked with the
vacant Sunderland Football Club managership. How or why this came about I do not know, but
the true facts so far as I am concerned are as I now take the opportunity to explain.
On Tuesday of last week to my surprise I was informed by our two local
Press representatives – Keith McNee ('Burnley Express') and Granville Shackleton
('Lancashire Evening Telegraph') that they received information from the Sunderland area
regarding myself and the football managership. That was the first intimation reaching me
on the matter… Still later in the day Steve Richards of 'The Daily Herald' arrived at
my home concerning the same report and he also told me he had had it from a Sunderland
official. To each of these inquiries I replied that I knew nothing about it and that I
certainly had not applied for the job nor had I been approached by anyone about it. I am
very happy in my present position… and I regard it as unfortunate and unhealthy for
the game of football that false rumours of this kind are so often put through
soccer’s grape vines.’ Obviously, Harry hadn’t understood that kite flying
is an essential part of football chatter. How else would Clubcall drum up trade?
Anyway, Harry made it clear that there were greater priorities. ‘To
turn now to a matter of more immediate importance – our eagerness for our delayed
first victory of the season. It is a new experience for us to go into mid-September
without a victory to our credit, but I feel confident that we shall find compensation and
full satisfaction once we hit the trail… We have no points to show for our two
‘away’ efforts since our last League game here, yet in both encounters we were
in with a chance. It is not that in our defeats on tour we have been kind of submerged. At
Birmingham (1-2), for instance, we had the chances to make sure of one point, if not both,
but although playing with the right spirit and determination in general, we failed to
profit which in effect is almost like giving goals away.
At Nottingham (1-3) we were again seen in the right mood, but this time we
were more than a little unfortunate in that we got a never-more-deserved penalty for an
infringement against Gordon Harris, which Lochhead so efficiently converted, we had
Harris’s effectiveness considerably reduced by the nature of the infringement,
otherwise I feel sure we would have got command of the match. Harris received rough
treatment in that incident which matured because his break through indicated a certain
goal. And of course, there is always the possibility in such situations that even if an
infringement is penalised, the spot-kick will be saved or sent off target, especially when
the crowd behind the goal do as the Forest supporters did – concentrate on putting
the penalty-taker ‘off’ his confidence.’
Harry sounded under pressure. With gates having fallen alarmingly over the
previous two seasons and Burnley placed fourth from bottom, he had good reason to feel
oppressed. Presumably he was in no mood to go along with Herman’s Hermits chirpy
number one hit, ‘I’m Into Something Good’. But it proved prophetic with
Burnley doing just enough to squeeze past the Hammers (3-2). Pointer justified his recall
from the reserves by snatching the first goal. Ian Towers, who would later swell the ranks
of local tailors, got the winner.
However this was not a memorable year. Burnley ultimately achieved 12th
position, their worst ranking since 1951/52. Over sixty team changes were made as Harry
struggled to find a successful formula. He plumped for a 4-2-4 system after the disastrous
1-5 home defeat by Liverpool in December. Despite its inherent flaws, the tactical change
was an instant hit as twin strikers Lochhead and Irvine put four past Blackpool at
Bloomfield Road. Irvine scored twice, too, in the Ewood drubbing (4-1). Relegation fears
were finally dispelled around Christmas. But after their disappointing FA Cup elimination
there was little left to play for.
Their FA Cup exit at Old Trafford was a big let down. They were leading by
a Lochhead goal with only five minutes remaining, before George Best turned the game on
its head. What’s more, he only needed one boot to achieve this.
The season had its plusses, like the debut of Ralph Coates. It ended on a
high note, too, when ambitious Chelsea were put to the sword (6-2) with Lochhead scoring
five. Chelsea had led the Division on the day that West Ham came to Turf Moor. It was true
that the Blues were weakened after seven first teamers had been disciplined by Tommy
Docherty for breaking a curfew at Blackpool. But this was still a fine result.
I was sad to see Pointer go. He had been one of my earliest footballing
heroes. He’d only played thirteen games in the previous two seasons and so he was
allowed to move to Portsmouth, where he played in midfield. By this time he’d let his
hair grow. It was a bit dopey as if styled by Playmobil, not the look of a true predator.
Irvine did the same. In his final days he looked like a waif from 'Oliver'. Like Pointer,
Irvine’s early hairstyle was short and sharp. It bristled with intent. Small wonder,
then, that both Pointer and Irvine had drooping strike rates as shaggydom took hold. A
reversal of the Samson syndrome, I reckoned. As if to prove my point the rapidly balding
Lochhead continued to bang them in.
