Shatner's Bassoon

West Ham 1984/85 season, looking towards a packed shed from The Benches

West Ham 1984/85 season, looking towards a packed shed from The Benches

West Ham 1984/85 season, looking towards a packed shed from The Benches

Don't.  I occasionally fly from there.  I don't think I could if that happened.  Which reminds me of this - when they had a poor start to the season a few years back.

Wolves 0 Chelsea 1 Aug 78.
About 3,000 Chelsea on the South Bank desite this being a night game.
I couldnt beleive it when the gate man opened up and hundreds of Chelsea steamed out, lots of second wave skinheads amonst them, straight down to the North Bank where the Wolves fans were well and truly took by surprise so legged it onto the pitch.
From what i can see in the picture thats Chelsea in the North Bank looking down on its previous occupants.
Apologies for quality this is a very old newspaper cutting ( 36years!!).

The Shed's last stand. Sheffield Utd, final game of the season 1994.

Fulham v Chelsea, not sure on the year?
 

West Ham 1984/85 season, looking towards a packed shed from The Benches

If you're on Twitter, check this fella out. He's posting some cracking pictures up
 
https://twitter.com/NTilt

Chelsea coming out of the Coventry end 1978
 

Phil Thompson's nose hair trimmer:
 

I try and stay away from this thread these days but after last night curiosity killed the cat.
 
I have never seen a player where for the entire course of a game not a single thing comes off for him. It seems to happen so often you would think that eventually just by chance a ball would hit him and rebound of his arse and go in but it simply so rarely comes off for him.
 
Three decent chances and he failed to convert any of them. I don't think they were sitters as such, but decent chances. Most strikers, even 'out of form' strikers, may miss one, may miss two.... but to fail to concvert any of them is, needless to say, simply not good enough and very rare to see with such regularity at this level.
 
His 'one on one' where he showed a lovely bit of movement and turn would have been a majestic goal if he had chipped the keeper and finished it off but as he was bearing down on goal and the realisation that he would have to beat the keeper one on one dawned there was an air of inevitability when the shot was smothered and it came to nothing.
 
I am not sure if by the end of the game I was focussing too much on Torres out of almost a fascination but it seemed to almost get to slap stick levels- getting in the way of our players, blocking shots and almost seemingly tackling one of our players when dribbling at pace appraching the box.
 
I sincerely hope that Roman has seen enough now.
If you believe what you read then Roman has been determined to get the best out of his £50M man, and  a lot has been done to try and ensure this, which is understandable to some degree. But enough is enough, not even the FSW himself really believes that Torres will ever cut the mustard for us and anyone that does needs to seek help.

I remember my old man being really annoyed that Eddie Mac left in the summer of 1977 over a Company Car !
Here's footage of Eddie Mac in 1970 FA Cup Final, for your enjoyment
[media=]
[/media]The funny thing is, the ref waves just play on

What an excellent thread!!!
Bringing back memories long gone or so I thought.
Pictures of the Bridge from how we used to see it from the terraces and the away crack too, Brighton, Grimsby, Derby etc.
I'm writing this having only got to page 11 of 61 and I'm loving every second it.

Chelsea at Palace

~~~~~where has everyone gone? ~~~~~~~~
anyway to keep the thread goin.........
Old photo from 1970 Manchester, North end road boys to the right shed boys to the left chasing leeds.

Chelsea at Arsenal 1984

The Shed's last stand. Sheffield Utd, final game of the season 1994.

West Ham ICF
Part 1


Part2


At the end of Part 2 you can see how West Ham decide to go over over from Upton Park to Shakes early morning to surprise and ambush Chelsea. (Shakes at Victoria was the Chelsea meeting place when going to certain games). In one of the most brilliant moves of the day Chelsea had decided, for once, to take the fight to the enemy. Chelsea had met up at stupid o'clock and gone to West Ham. On this documentary you can see - at the end of part 2 - how West Ham realise at Mile End that Chelsea have outwitted them.
Parts 3-5 are missing from youtube.
(Update FOUND)
-----------------
Part 3


Part 4


Part 5


-----------------
Part 6


Continuing to part 3 you can see how - in a state of shock and disbelief - reality did not set in and West Ham continued their journey to Victoria. They are then heard bemoaning the fact that "Chelsea boys didn't wanna know" and how they were "giving it large om Chelsea's manor" with no Chelsea defence. Meanwhile totally off-camera and a few miles to the east Chelsea firms from Kent, the Northern and Southern home counties were converging on a pre-arranged meeting place where they meet the boys West Ham had seen at Mile End. What followed was Chelsea walking around West Ham taking it pub by pub. In the hooligan wars of the late 70's and early 80's it was the most brilliant tactical move coming after years of no-show at West Ham. In fact that no-show went one step beyond in 1979. Read on for that. A final comment on the West Ham version above. They were run by Chelsea. And note how they think "Victoria" is Chelsea. It was just one of many meeting places but just where did they think the Chelsea they met at Mile end where when they themselves (West Ham) were swanning it around Victoria.
The story of 79!
In 1979 I went to Upton Park for the first time. During the end of the 78-79 season when relegation was certain there was much talk among Chelsea fans of going to West Ham in 79-80. (They were already in the Div II). Chelsea boys on the away specials presented it as "like going to Loftus Road". Evidently West Ham were a poorly supported team with very few home fans when they played against Chelsea and the West Ham mob always chickened out. I was told how we had swamped their ground year after year with all four sides of the ground a mass of blue and white. As luck or fate would have it the first away of the season was against West Ham. Monday 20th August, I had just turned 18. I had the week off work as we were to have a four days in Bournemouth on a family break. Family now having to plan holiday around football matches. So I left home in the afternoon with a blue and white scarf on and a big smile on my face. Chelsea's show at QPR had been quite something and I was looking forward to a good game of football and the chance to soak up the atmosphere of Chelsea on four sides of the ground.
In those days West Ham had stars like goalkeeper Phil Parkes, Frank Lampard, Billy Bonds, Trevor Brooking and Alan Devonshire. Note that Frank Lampard was plain Frank Lampard in those days, not being referred to as Frank Lampard (Snr) until his son turned professional. I knew it would be interesting to see how Chelsea would fair up against the bookies' Div II champion favourites. Note also by a strange historical quirk of fate we had opened the season against Sunderland at the Bridge on the Saturday. In that match and at 0-0 in the last minute a Chelsea header was goal-bound - Tommy Langley lunged at it to make sure, but Langley's out-stretched foot missed the ball that then hit the post and bounced out and past Langley who could stretch no more. Had he stood his ground the rebound would have given him an easy tap in. The game finished 0-0 and the consequences of this last minute chance 89 minutes in to the new season would ultimately cost us promotion. With the benefit of hindsight the season over before it had begun. I will come back to the significance of our first two games being Sunderland and West Ham.
So back to that Monday night, my last few hours of innocence and blissful ignorance. If you like I was leaving home as a child for the last time in my life. I recall the happiness of catching a late afternoon train up town. Commuters poured off arriving trains as I waited on Platform 3, London bound on a Monday afternoon. Further up the platform beautiful young ladies in summer dresses, a lovely high summer's afternoon was drawing to a close.
This was to be my (and Chelsea's) first away since that last game in Div I when we had got a 1-1 draw at Old Trafford a few days after they lost the 1979 cup final to Arsenal. I had left school for a job in the city and started a 185 consecutive home and away league game run during the 78-79 season. My away record that season was 2 draws, 9 defeats and zero wins. I knew that tonight would be a night of reckoning but with such great support we would have a chance and that I could well be on my way to seeing Chelsea win away for the first time since Crystal Palace in 71. (I did pick my games!). A couple of weeks before this we had sold Ray Wilkins to Man Utd for £800 000 at the end of the close season. There had been much speculation that he might stay but we needed the cash and could not really stand in the way of Butch's need for Div I football. How would we fare without our club captain and star player of the previous six years? I was full of anticipation. I changed at New Cross onto the old "Metropolitan Line East London Section", purple with a white stripe down the middle on the tube maps of the day. Although part of London Underground it was operated by overground trains. From New Cross the route went Surrey Docks (now Surrey Quays), Rotherhithe, Wapping, Shadwell and Whitechapel. (There was also a branch from Surrey Docks that went to New Cross Gate. Somewhere around Shadwell I noticed a few young West Ham fans actually daring to wear scarves when they were set for the Chelsea invasion, didn't they know? As these lads were 11-12 I thought I'd better warn them so I approached them and told them they'd better put their scarves away before they got to West Ham. The mouthy little jack-the-lads responded with a barrage of profanities. I returned to my seat satisfied that I had done what I could and that if these cocky little street urchins became proverbial lambs to the slaughter later that evening then so-be-it.
Changing at Whitechapel on to the District Line and Stepney Green, Mile End, Bow Road, Bromley-by-Bow, West Ham, Plaistow and finally Upton Park. I had began to notice a few more West Ham scarves. Worryingly at Upton Park I realised I was the only one in a Chelsea scarf. I had arrived well early but I was now in a sea of claret and blue with no Royal Blue around. I was amazed by how many visible West Ham fans there were. I thought maybe Chelsea had taken over the local pubs. I put my head round the door of the first pub I found. First stares, then shock and surprise as I froze to the spot like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. The entire pub was West Ham, an object thrown in my direction, which was anything from a beer-mat to a bottle or a hand-grenade triggered my evasive reaction as I backed out of the pub. I didn't know it then but I had stumbled into West Ham's main boozer - in a Chelsea scarf. Outside the pub I was cornered by four policemen. As West Ham poured out of the pub thinking Chelsea had turned up to front them the police called in horses. A scuffle broke out between West Ham and the police. I was led away and marched by 2 policeman, surrounded by four police horses. They led me up to the ground, my own private escort. Inside the ground the entrance to the Chelsea section was on the other-side of the turnstiles. I was met by another policeman and the Chelsea section was further guarded by 2 policeman who were there to stop West Ham fans from entering. They remarked about my scarf and said they could see I was Chelsea. As I came into the away terrace I finally realised the Chelsea talk on the away specials was all front. I was dismayed, our mob had taken the Holte at Aston Villa in one of the last games of 78-79. So where were they now?
I wondered why there were so few Chelsea. Just maybe, maybe our mob were about to turn up in their end and run it? Fat chance. In a crowd of 31,627 there were less than 70 of us huddled together in that corner section. Missiles and chants of hatred were constantly aimed at us. Before the teams came out four West Ham firms had tried to get into our section, from the seats, from the fence, and two mobs who had cut across the pitch. A caldron of fire and hate. Police officers going down in scores under the missiles as they stood bravely repelling all invaders. Their job was to see to it that as many as possible of us would be leaving East London alive. West Ham constantly trying to force their way over the fence. Lines of London's finest in uniform standing their lines, truncheons drawn and being readily used as more and more West Ham appeared on the fence. More police piling in. And the game had not even started! For the only time in my life I wanted Chelsea to lose. But Chelsea do what Chelsea want. As the game got under way our defence were "backs to the wall". Several West Ham corners in the first few minutes led me to believe nothing had changed from the previous season. We'd gone down 7-2 at Boro, 6-0 at Forest and 5-2 at Arsenal. In the 6th minute a Chelsea break, Clive Walker was through on goal, a low hard shot, saved by Phil Parkes, I was elated, he had perhaps just saved my life, the last thing we need now is a Chelsea goal, GOAL! - Parkes had only parried the shot and an energetic Gary Johnson had lashed onto the free ball and cracked it into the back of the net. Silence. Total silence and shock in the ground. Then led by yours truly 70 Chelsea fans leapt for joy in an oasis of elation in the corner. It started raining, coins, 10p coins filed down with sharpened edges gouging themselves into the heads and faces of some of my fellow Chelsea fans. Chelsea the brave. More police and this time they start battering West Ham fans in the seats where the coins had come from.
From then on I didn't care. I stood at the front waving my Chelsea scarf. West Ham outplayed us. We had rare excursions into their half. However our defence stood tall. Petar Borota played the game of his life tipping shot after shot over the bar. On the four or five occasions he was beaten a Chelsea player miraculously cleared the ball off the line. West Ham hit the woodwork seven times. They had 29 corners to our zero. We had two shots on goal, as previously described, Walker's shot and Johnson's goal. Towards the end of the game West Ham piled on the pressure. But we stood firm. Final whistle, a one-nil victory.
Never wanting to be ashamed to be a Chelsea fan but I did something for the first time in my life. I hid my scarf. I had a blue jacket/top on and managed to fold up the collar with my scarf tucked inside. Some time after the game the police led us out of the stadium. Other Chelsea fans managed to drift away in the dark into the crowd. So by the time we got up towards the underground station I was alone. A lot of fans were massed outside the tube station so I decided to wait a while whilst the crowds died down. I stood on the junction of the main road - Green Street - and a small side street with a famous name - King's Road, (Newham).
You can see the junction here.
http://g.co/maps/khtwg
A few minutes later I was approached by a lad about my age. He whispered "You Chelsea?". I said "You first", he nodded. I asked if it was wise to wait here. He said there was a short-cut to East Ham underground and it should be easier to get on the tube there. We walked down this side street, the King's Road of East London. I was happy, we had won, I had found a friend and I'd soon be home and I'd be spending a few days down on the seaside with my parents and younger brother and sister. I chatted away to this fellow Chelsea fan. I pulled back my collar and showed him my scarf. I asked if he had been at Forest when we'd stood in the pouring rain and cheered our team all evening despite going down 6-0. I reminded him how Chairman Brian Mears had thanked us for our fantastic support via the electronic scoreboard at the following home game against Derby. He didn't seem to recall this but I failed to smell a rat. There would still have been time for me to turn and leg it. We continued our chat until we reached the end of this road. The road forked and we went to the left.
Just as we reached this point
http://g.co/maps/jrhkr
Everything changed. He grabbed my collar and said "Give us your scarf". I still failed to understand. I didn't know why a fellow Chelsea fan wanted my scarf. A million thoughts. Did he mean it was dangerous to wear one? Did he think I was a West Ham fan pretending to be Chelsea. A shout went up behind him. He turned to four guys who had appeared from nowhere and said "John! Another one, he's a Chelsea". As "John" ran over I still failed to get it, why would he be telling a guy called John out loud that we were Chelsea fans. My new Chelsea friend then kicked me between my legs, John and his mates thumped and kicked me. I only felt the first blow. I began to cry like a baby. I was kicked and punched for what seemed like a few minutes but was probably not as long. I sniffled and cried and screamed out for mercy. Was this it? Was I to be stabbed in a lonely side-street and left to die just a month after my 18th birthday? Of course by now I realised that my new Chelsea friend had deceived me, he was in fact a West Ham fan. If his mates just happened to be there or if it was his tactic to con people into following him to be ambushed I know not. All I know is that I was hurting. Suddenly it was over. As quickly as it had begun. They hadn't even taken my scarf. I was badly bruised and had injuries to my legs, I had internal injuries to my ribs and stomach. I had offered no resistance, perhaps that is why I was not killed or cut. I had a blow to back of the head. However, I had instinctively protected my face as I fell and I had not a visible cut on me. I staggered back to the main street and found a policeman. In tears I told him what had happened. He then offered to try and find them. He took me back down the side street. It was not a complete dead-end as I had thought. There was a railway bridge over and it was indeed a way to East Ham train station. He said the chances that they were still around were slim. Even to this day 33 years later I'd remember what my "friend" looked like. The policeman led me across the footbridge and we walked around for a bit but we saw no gangs lurking around. I was shown to East Ham underground. I phoned home. I had intended to say what had happened, but fear of mum stopping me from going led to me just saying it had been a great game and I was on my way home. I kept it all bottled up inside me for years, never telling a soul.
During the Bournemouth trip I covered up all my bruises. I couldn't join my family on the beach in trunks or shorts despite the warm weather. I wore long sleeves and jeans for the entire break. Most of my time was spent in the penny arcades. (Do we still call them that? Long since it cost a penny).
The experience left me with a hatred of West Ham and everything to do with the club, its supporters and its team. I have never had a mate who supported West Ham. If the West Ham team had been killed in a plane crash I would have laughed and cheered. If a bus load of West Ham fans had gone over a cliff top I'd have thrown a party. During the early 80's I used to dream about winning millions. I'd have paid mercenaries to fly attack helicopters into Upton Park during a game and machine gun their fans. I wanted every one of them dead. Every man, every woman and every child no matter how old. Giving the chance I would have gladly turned on the gas if we could have rounded up their fans into gas chambers. I wanted a world void of West Ham and West Ham fans: the ultimate and successful genocide of every West Ham fan. Such became my hatred. It has more to do with the way I was tricked than the actual beating I sustained.
To touch again on the irony of Chelsea's first two games being against Sunderland and West Ham: Two days after West Ham won the cup that season they had one fixture left; away to Sunderland. A West Ham victory would give Chelsea promotion. I was the ONLY Chelsea fan who went to Roker Park that night. I just didn't want to be subjected to scarce radio reports. I had to see it for myself. Sunderland won 2-0 and Chelsea finished fourth.
As for my fellow Chelsea fans who were inconspicuous at Upton Park that night: wänkers! I know many of you sneaked into the ground and watched from the seats and were unable/unwilling to cheer our goal and subsequent victory. Judging by the conversations I have had over the years about 3000 Chelsea would have been there that night. They just didn't want to show it at the time.
As for the Chelsea who informed me a 70's trip to West Ham was like a 70's trip to QPR - bullshîtters, you could have got me killed!
Do I still hold a grudge against West Ham? Probably. Would I still be happy if the West Ham team were killed in a plane crash? Don't think so. Would I like it if I heard a bus load of West Ham had gone off a cliff top? Affirmative.
Update: Found parts 3, 4 and 5.
I will re-edit this and slot them in where they belong.

>.......... but if you've been to Hull and back, on a rainy Tuesday night, it sure learns you to appreciate the good times.
Hmmm. I dunno about you but I thought I was the only one who went to Hull and back on the Tuesday night.
As follows.....
We drew 0-0 with Hull on Monday 18th January in the 1982 FA Cup 3rd Round. The replay was 72 hours later on Thursday 21st January - There was a national railstrike announced for Wednesday and Thursday. On the Monday night it turned bitterly cold and a snow blanket swept the country. The snow continued to fall on the Tuesday morning. Not only this, we were banned from all away games and received no tickets. So on the Tuesday morning I went up to Hull by train. By chance I sat with Arthur Scargill on the train (who travelled 2nd class, good man).
When I got to Hull I jumped in a taxi and went to the ground. The taxi driver asked me some questions. We chatted away and I asked him to wait. The tickets were on sale (I had phoned the club in the morning). It was a bitterly cold Tuesday evening with horrible rain and as far as I know I was the only Chelsea fan there. I held out money and got one ticket without having to speak. I put it in my sock and went to another window. There I introduced myself as the President of the Ipswich branch of the Hull City's supporters' club. I got 82 tickets, paid cash and turned to go back to my taxi. The taxi driver was standing behind me. We went back to the cab. Now he started getting very personal. He said he was on to me as a Chelsea fan and that he knew I was from London and that Chelsea were banned. I maintained I was from Ipswich and that there was a team of builders from Hull working on a building site plus som Hull dockers in Felixstowe who were coming up for the Chelsea game. As I was about to get out at Hull he asked to see my train ticket to prove I had come from Ipswich. I said I had travelled via London. I got out the cab, paid the fare, gave a tip and walked into the station.
I had about 30 minute till the last train out of Hull. The last train to move anywhere for 3 days as the train strike was to go ahead. I phoned a few people from the telephone booth to tell them of my success. Cathy, Matt, Terry Last and a few more. I took a few orders and I told them what time I would be back in London. Then I saw the taxi driver with a policeman walking through the station. I hung up and ducked back out of the rear of the station. I crossed the road and hid by a burger bar in the shadows. I was panicking. I hid 60 tickets in the lining of my jacket. I thought if I get stopped I can hand over 20 and say that's all I have. As we were banned I was actually not allowed to have those tickets and I'd bought them under a false pretext. I was unsure of the legal status in British law but I didn't want to find out. If a policeman decided to take the tickets away he his going to do that.
I waited till there was a minute left for my train. I ran full pelt into the station, I already knew the platform and where the gate was. I sprinted at it holding my rail ticket out. This was the last train to roll in the UK for 3 days. The guard held the gate open and shouted "run". The train started to move. I opened the door - lots of practice from my London commute after oversleeping and nearly missing trains in the morning rush hour - and jumped in. Made it. Success! - But - The train stopped. My heart raced. Had the policeman been there and flagged the train down having seen me? Before I could move the door opened again. I prepared to hand-over 20 tickets to the police in the hope I could keep the rest. A young lass in got in and smiled. They had held the train for her. The train pulled out of Hull. I was in the clear. Chelsea mission accomplished for the lads back home. I don't know if the police were still around or what they would have done. Didn't matter at the time. With 83 tickets on me I had pulled it off. Having travelled behind enemy lines and pulled off a covert action I allowed myself a beer or two on the mainline connecting train from Doncaster. I fell asleep.
Arriving back at Kings Cross at 10 to 1 I jumped off the train and started the walk towards the gates. Then I heard a familiar sound. "He's a boy, He's a boy, He's a boy, He's a boy." It was my reception committee; Terry Last, Wayne and boys from around the home counties. I done my orders and we had a coffee in the all nighter outside the station. Someone - Fuzzy Wayne, I think said "You can't ban a Chelsea fan" - I am unsure if that was ever said before but a week later badges and tee-shirts appeared. Not that I lay claim to any credit for it but my mission epitomises the phrase even if it was not coined that night. I went back to Kent by night bus to Bromley and then a 4 mile walk. Arriving home at 4-30 in the morning in a rural Kent completely covered in snow.
Wednesday I was on the morning bus at 7 and with a couple of changes got to work in the city about 9.30. Met up with Cathy, she got her quota of tickets. These late nights and early mornings were helped by the Original Lucozade. (Thank God for that drink). After work I did 2 buses over to Fulham and then Wandsworth. Sold my tickets in the usual Chelsea hotspots, York Tavern being my last port of call. Tweeky had also got hold of a few so most of the lads in there had them. Then back to Kent via 4 buses. Home around midnight. Up at 5 and on the morning bus up town. 2 buses to Charing Cross and the tube to Victoria and then the National Express Coach Station. Met up with Cathy, Matt and other mates. Sold a few more tickets. Made sure everyone had one. We changed in Sheffield and went for a beer there. Arriving in Hull in the evening. I met Kenny Salford and a few others and done my last tickets. In the ground.
This was in spite of - a ban - a snowstorm - a trainstrike - poor team performances - 72 hour notice of a game - subzero temp - a belief by many that the game would not be played. In contrast I saw Chelsea fans leaving the ground on TV today when Man Utd scored their 3rd in the 3-3 draw. Don't they realise if they are going to support Chelsea then that's what they should be doing. SUPPORT.
What does Support mean?
1. To bear the weight of, especially from below.
2. To hold in position so as to keep from falling, sinking, or slipping.
3. To be capable of bearing; withstand:
And these fans are none of that. They do not have the right to hold a Chelsea flag or wear a Chelsea shirt. That right has to be earned. The way we earned it in days gone by. I have now decided to write my book. These last few days have convinced me. There is a story that must be told. Supporting Chelsea is a chore and a privilege. When the team need it and are suffering your support is most needed. When they bang goals in its nice for you to be able to jump around like a moron for a few minutes but you can not just take the cherries out of the cake. You have to get behind the team when they are playing bad and making mistakes. Show them love. Show them understanding and guide them to great honour. In short - Be there for them!
So what of that rainy night in Hull? We won 2-0. And we went on to reach our only cup q/f between 1972 and 1992.
I had to double check this.
> .......... but if you've been to Hull and back, on a rainy Tuesday night, it sure learns you to appreciate the good times.
Maybe I stand corrected. I thought you were referring to 1982. (When I was the only one there on the Tuesday to buy tickets - with the game being played on a Thursday).
However I see that these games were also played on Tuesday nights in Hull:
8th November 1975 drew 1-1
25th October 1988 lost 3-0
So, maybe the above posting I just wrote was uncessary after all?
Cheers for now.....
PS
Any upload of Chelsea Soton 1977 when we lost 3-0 at the Bridge coming?

Yes the football was very very good. They entertained us. With the rub of the green this team would have gone from strength to strength. You may remember Bolton collapsed at the end of 76-77 and let Forest in. Here is a "What If". What if "WE" had collapsed instead? Think what another year in the 2nd might have done for this team. Eddie Mac would have stayed and the young team would have had another year to train, gel and blend. We might have just gone on to be the team of the decade in the 80's. It wasn't to be of course. But seeing many of these games again for the first time since they were played brings it all back. I even remember my home journey to Petts Wood. Fulham Broadway about 5 pm and arrive at Victoria for the 5.42. Back home about 20 past six in time for me mum's 2 giant sausage rolls with chips and beans. Saturday Night in front of the TV, Generation Game, The Cilla Black Show, The Sweeney and then "Match of The Day" at 10 pm. Sunday mornings over the park with the local lads. Roughly ten-a-side with jackets as goalposts. First to ten won. A litlte chat about the football and then back to Sunday joint and "The Big Match".
But throughout this era there was an underlying dream. Not of Premier league and foriegn players and sitting in stadiums with people claiming to support Chelsea who didn't really give a toss. Not even of winning the First Division. And not (God given the chance) to take the end at West Ham or Millwall and run their home fans rugged. No; the dream of these days was to stand at Wembley with my father who came from Roehampton and had bought me up on Chelsea. I wanted and dreamed of us standing there at the Tunnel End side by side. Year after year throughout the 70's this dream was shattered. But each year come January I believed, I yearned and I prayed. Just to stand there at Wembley. I used to think of the lyrics in "If I were a rich man" and my version was "Would it spoil same vast incredible plan if we made the cup final?". It was ALL I wanted. One day, I thought, one day, we could be there, the Chelsea manager would lead the team out, 11 Chelsea men would follow proudly out onto Wembley's hallowed turf. We'd cheer, we'd sing and we'd smile at each other. To see 11 blue heros at Wembley in May. The band would pick their instruments. The crowd would fall silent. Then building up slowly we'd sing, we'd sing:
ABIDE WITH ME; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, ABIDE WITH ME.
Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see—
O Thou who changest not, ABIDE WITH ME.
I need Thy presence every passing hour;
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s pow’r?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, ABIDE WITH ME.
I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou ABIDE WITH ME.
Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;
Heav’n’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, ABIDE WITH ME.
Each year it seemed possible. I remember dancing with my father in the Shed End when Langley banged that 3rd one in against Liverpool on 7th January 1978. We were leading 3-0, Liverpool were the Gods of football and European Champions (read World Champions) which meant anything was possible. That dream, as all others, died at home to lowly Orient on 27th Feb (3 days after my father's 50th). Two years later it was Wigan at home on 14th January, we lost 1-0 having just slaughtered Newcastle 4-0 in the league 2 days previously. Well there's always next year! Always! Always? - Tragically it was not to be. The day after Preston away in April my father died suddenly and unexpectedly on 13th April. I was 18. The dream was over. (Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away) Never would we and never could we stand together at Wembley and sing Abide With Me. I continued on flying the flag and didn't miss a match home or away for a few more years. But I could not take it any more living so close with so much pain. I emigrated to Sweden and have lived here ever since.
If you have not lived through these days I fail to see where any genuine Chelsea passion can come from. Eddie Mac's videos have bought it all back. I have relived these moments again for the first time since these games were played. I have the knowledge that in many of these games I was there with my Dad - in the Shed. Oh for the Carefree days of innocent youth and childhood dreams. Abide with me boys, abide with me and my dreams of what might have been. I have shed many tears in these last few days looking at footage I had never even considered the possibilty of seeing again. Abide with me - but it's taken an outer shell off of me and cut to the bone of genuine feelings of love and..... and nothing, genuine feelings of love. That suffices.
In love and in life abiding with all feelings, all defeats, all victories for those alive and those blue fans who now stand proudly in the Shed End in the sky - We'll meet again! - And Dad - get me a bag of Monkey Nuts at half-time will you?

I found these and scanned them. I took these as a nipper back in 1988 against Liverpool. Obviously the quality ain't too great but some good old shots of the Shed.
If you put these on your website, can you give credit to the forum.