David Peace - Red or Dead

On Saturday 18 April, 1964, Arsenal Football Club came to Anfield, Liverpool. Again in the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. Forty-eight thousand, six hundred and twenty-three folk came, too. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. Forty-eight thousand, six hundred and twenty-three folk locked inside Anfield, Liverpool. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. Ten thousand, twenty thousand, locked out of Anfield, Liverpool. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. Red balloons floated in the sky. Over Anfield, across Liverpool. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. Red balloons bounced on the ground. Outside Anfield, inside Anfield. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. The Anfield crowd sang, the Spion Kop sang. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. With flair and with wit. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. The crowd sang, the Kop sang. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. The crowd swayed, the Kop swayed. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. They sang in rhythm, they swayed in rhythm. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. They sang and they swayed. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. They sang as one, they swayed as one. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. They sang and they swayed, they swayed and they waited. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. They waited and they prayed. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. For LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. For LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL, Liverpool Football Club. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. At home, at Anfield, Liverpool, LI–VER-POOL,

LI–VER-POOL –

Before the whistle, the first whistle. In the dressing room, the home dressing room. On the benches. In their kits and in their boots. Tommy Lawrence, Gerry Byrne, Ronnie Moran, Gordon Milne, Ron Yeats, Willie Stevenson, Ian Callaghan, Roger Hunt, Ian St John, Alf Arrowsmith and Peter Thompson looked up at Bill Shankly. Bill Shankly standing in the middle of the dressing room, Bill Shankly pointing his finger into the air –

The top of the mountain is in sight, said Bill Shankly. The very summit of the mountain, boys. And today you will reach that summit. You will stand on the very top of the mountain, boys. But you will not be standing there alone, no. You will be standing there with the tens of thousands here today. Inside Anfield. And the tens of thousands outside here. Outside Anfield today. You will stand there with them, boys. And you will stand there as one. So go out there now, boys. Go out there now and reach that summit. Go out there now and stand on the very top of the mountain, boys. And give these people what they deserve, give these people what they want. Go out there now and make these people happy, boys …

In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. After just seven minutes, Ian St John scored for LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL. But Arsenal Football Club did not capitulate, Arsenal Football Club did not surrender. And in the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. The players of Liverpool Football Club began to feel anxious. And the players of Arsenal Football Club sensed that anxiety. The players of Liverpool Football Club began to make errors. And the players of Arsenal Football Club exploited those errors. Baxter missed by inches. Again. Baxter missed by inches. Gerry Byrne cleared off the Liverpool goal line. And Arsenal won a penalty. Eastham stepped up. Eastham struck the ball. Lawrence dived. Lawrence reached the ball. Lawrence pushed the ball around the upright. Tommy Lawrence had saved the penalty for LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL. Now there would be no more anxiety, now there would be no more errors. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. Lawrence, Byrne, Moran, Milne, Yeats, Stevenson, Callaghan, Hunt, St John, Arrowsmith and Thompson shone. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. They shone like diamonds. And they cut like diamonds. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. LI–VER-POOL, LI–VERPOOL, LI–VER-POOL cut Arsenal Football Club to pieces. And in the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. In the thirty-eighth minute, Peter Thompson turned Arsenal inside and out, this way and that. And Thompson sent a perfect centre to the post. St John rose to head square for Arrowsmith. For Alf Arrowsmith to nod home. Into the Arsenal goal. London Bridge is falling down . In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. In the fifty-second minute, Thompson beat Magill. Inside and out. Both ways. In a single, surging movement. Thompson unleashed a shot. From the edge of the penalty area. Into the Arsenal goal. Falling down. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. Five minutes later, Thompson repeated the dose. From an inside-right position. London Bridge is falling down . In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. In the sixtieth minute, Gordon Milne passed to Thompson. Thompson flicked on to Hunt. Roger Hunt shot. A thundering shot. Into the back of the net. POOR, OLD LONDON! In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL, Liverpool Football Club beat Arsenal Football Club five — nil. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL, Liverpool Football Club were the Champions. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL Liverpool Football Club were the Champions of England –

LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL …

WE LOVE YOU, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH …

LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL, LI–VER-POOL …

WE LOVE YOU, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH …

And in the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. The new Champions of England ran around the pitch. The Anfield pitch. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. The new Champions of England ran a lap of honour around the ground. The Anfield ground. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. Ron Yeats carried the trophy around the stadium. The Anfield stadium. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. Not the real Football League Championship trophy. Not the Lady. The Football League had refused to let Everton Football Club courier the trophy across the park. But in the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. No one cared. In the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. Ron Yeats carried a papier-mâché trophy around the pitch. The Anfield pitch. A red papier-mâché trophy around the ground. The Anfield ground. And in the sunshine. The lovely, spring sunshine. The Kop sang, the Spion Kop sang. And everybody sang, everyone sang, WE’VE WON THE LEAGUE! WE’VE WON THE LEAGUE …

EE-AYE-ADDIO, WE’VE WON THE LEAGUE!

In the house, in their kitchen. At the window. Bill stared out at the sheets on the line. In the sun. The white sheets, drying on the line. And in his eyes, in his mind. Bill saw another sheet, another white sheet. In his eyes, in his mind. A white sheet held aloft, aloft on the Spion Kop. In his eyes, in his mind. The white sheet painted with two words, two words in bold capitals. In his eyes, in his mind. In capitals, in red. In his eyes, in his mind. SHANKLY’S CHAMPIONS. In the kitchen, at the window. Bill smiled. And Bill turned away from the window. Bill walked back over to the kitchen table. Bill sat back down in the chair. And Bill stared back down at the table. At the piles of letters, at the piles of telegrams. The letters of thanks, the telegrams of congratulation. The thanks from their supporters, the congratulations from his colleagues. Men he had played with, men he had played against. Managers he had pitted his wits against, managers he had beaten. At the table, in the chair. Bill went through the letters, Bill went through the telegrams. The letters of thanks, the telegrams of congratulation. Backwards and forwards. The many letters of thanks, the many telegrams of congratulation. Forwards and back. At the table, in the chair. Bill kept coming back to one telegram, one telegram of congratulation. A telegram of congratulation from Jackie Milburn. Jackie Milburn was the manager of Ipswich Town Football Club. Liverpool Football Club had played Ipswich Town twice this season. And Liverpool Football Club had beaten Ipswich Town twice this season. Ipswich Town had finished twenty-second in the First Division this season. And Ipswich Town had been relegated from the First Division. Two years ago, Ipswich Town had been first in the First Division. Ipswich Town had been the Champions. The Champions of England. At the table, in the chair. Bill put down the telegram of congratulations from Jackie Milburn. And Bill turned back to the window. The light had changed, the sun had gone. There were spits of rain on the window pane. At the table, in the chair. Bill stood up again. Bill walked back across the kitchen. Bill opened the back door. Bill went out into the back garden. The spits were now a shower. And Bill began to take the sheets down off the line. The shower now a downpour. Bill brought the sheets back in. Out of the rain, into the house. Bill shut the door behind him. In the house, in their kitchen. The sheets in his arms. At the window. Bill stared out at the line. In the garden, in the rain. The pouring rain. The empty, hanging line. Redundant in the rain. No use to anyone. In the house, in their kitchen. The damp sheets in his arms. At the window. Bill knew the time of the greatest victory was also the time of the greatest danger. These hours when the seeds were sown, these days when the seeds were planted. The seeds of complacency, the seeds of idleness. Watered with song, drowned with wine. The seeds of defeat. In showers of praise. That hypnotised men, that intoxicated men. And blinded men. Holes for their eyes, stitches for their lids. Finished men, forgotten men. In their houses, in their kitchens. At their windows. Redundant in the rain.