On Saturday 6 January, 1962, the world and forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five folk came to Anfield, Liverpool.
Oh, when the
saints
. The world and forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five folk to watch Liverpool Football Club play Chelsea Football Club in the Third Round of the FA Cup.
Go marching in
. The world and the Kop.
Oh, when the saints go marching in
. The Kop clapping, the Kop cheering.
Lord, how I want to be in that number
. The Kop shouting and the Kop singing.
When the saints go marching in.
A wall of sound, a sea of noise.
We are travelling in the footsteps
. A sound so great the Chelsea players trembled on the pitch.
Of those who’ve gone before
. A noise so loud the Chelsea players could not hear the referee blow his whistle.
And we’ll all be reunited
. In a din, a din.
On a new and sunlit shore
. A din so deafening, a din so intimidating.
Oh, when the saints, go marching in
. That never let up and never subsided, that had the Chelsea players kicking the ball anywhere.
Oh, when the saints go marching in
. Anywhere for a moment’s peace, for a moment’s respite.
Lord, how I want to be in that number
. But there was no peace, there was no respite.
When the saints go marching in.
Not from the din and not from the team.
And when the sun, refuse to shine.
The team in red shirts, white shorts and white socks.
Oh, when the sun refuse to shine.
The team that came again and again at the Chelsea players.
Lord, how I want to be in that number
. Again and again, wave after wave, attack after attack.
When the sun refuse to shine.
The sound behind the team in red shirts, white shorts and white socks.
And when the moon, turns red with blood
. The noise of forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five folk clapping and cheering, shouting and singing.
Oh, when the moon turns red with blood
. The din and then the roar.
Lord, how I want to be in that number
. The roar in the sixteenth minute as Ian St John scored.
When the moon turns red with blood
. The roar of a goal.
Oh, when the trumpet, sounds its call
. A Liverpool goal.
Oh, when the trumpet sounds its call
. The roar and then, then a sudden silence. A sudden silence as Tambling equalised for Chelsea. One-all. One-all and Bill Shankly was on his feet. On his feet, his arms outstretched. Cajoling his team, rallying his team. Orchestrating and conducting. Not only the team. Orchestrating and conducting the crowd.
Lord, how I want to be in that number
. The forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five crowd inside Anfield, Liverpool.
When the trumpet sounds its call
. The crowd and the Kop.
Some say this world of trouble.
The Kop clapping again, the Kop cheering again.
Is the only one we
need
. Shouting again and singing again.
But I’m waiting for that morning
. Roaring.
When the new world is revealed
. Roaring again in the twenty-eighth minute as Roger Hunt scored.
Oh, when the new world is revealed
. Two–one.
Oh, when the new world is revealed.
Roaring again in the forty-first minute as St John scored his second.
Lord, how I want to be in that number.
Three–one.
When the new world is revealed
. Roaring again as Jimmy Melia hit one post.
Oh, when the saints
. Roaring again as Ian Callaghan hit the other.
Go marching in
. Roaring again and again as Bonetti made save after save.
Oh, when the saints go marching in.
Then roaring again, louder than ever, roaring again in the forty-fourth minute as Alan A’Court scored.
Lord, how I want to be in that number
. Four–one –
When the saints go marching in …
At half-time, in the dressing room, the home dressing room. With a cup of tea or with a slice of orange. The players of Liverpool Football Club sat on the benches and the players of Liverpool Football caught their breath. And Bill Shankly, Bob Paisley and Reuben Bennett went from player to player. From Slater to Molyneux, Molyneux to Byrne, Byrne to Milne, Milne to Yeats, Yeats to Leishman, Leishman to Callaghan, Callaghan to Hunt, Hunt to St John, St John to Melia and Melia to A’Court. Praising them and cautioning them. Praising them for the job they had done, cautioning them for the job to come. The job still half done,
a half still to come –
The referee blew his whistle again and the forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five folk began to clap again, began to cheer again. But they did not clap as often, they did not cheer as much. They still shouted and they still sang. But they did not shout as loud, they did not sing as long. The forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five folk inside Anfield, Liverpool, began to think the job was done, began to think the game was over. But in the sixty-seventh minute, Tambling scored again. Four–two. Nine minutes later, Bridges scored. Four–three. And now the forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five folk did not clap at all, they did not cheer at all. They did not shout and they did not sing. The forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five folk inside Anfield, Liverpool, held their breath. In silence. For minute after minute. They held their breath. In silence. For long minute after
longer minute. They held their breath. In silence. For eternal minute after eternal minute. They held their breath –
In silence. Silence
until, until,
until –
The referee raised his hand. Slowly. The referee put the whistle to his lips. Slowly. The referee spread his arms wide. And then, for the final time, for the last time, the referee blew his whistle, his whistle that became the roar, the roar of forty-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-five Liverpool folk clapping and cheering, shouting and singing, the roar that became a cry, one huge and joyous cry of victory, of victory and of celebration, of communal victory,
of communal celebration –
Oh, when the reds.
Liverpool Football Club had beaten Chelsea Football Club four–three.
Go marching in.
Liverpool Football Club had won.
Oh, when the reds go marching in
. And the world had watched.
Lord, how I want to be in that number
. The world had watched Liverpool Football Club.
When the reds go marching in …
And the world had heard –
Go marching in! In! In …
Had heard the Kop –
The Reds! Reds! Reds …
The Spion Kop –
Go marching in, go marching on …
…
One week after Liverpool Football Club had beaten Chelsea Football Club in the Cup, Norwich City came to Anfield, Liverpool. And Liverpool Football Club beat Norwich City in the League. Just. Liverpool Football Club were still first in the Second Division. Just. Liverpool Football Club now had thirty-seven points. But Leyton Orient now had thirty-five points. They had won eight games in a row and they were unbeaten in twelve. One week later, Leyton Orient won again. Leyton Orient now had thirty-seven points. But Liverpool Football Club had only thirty-eight points. Liverpool Football Club had drawn one-all with Scunthorpe United. Away from home, away from Anfield. On Saturday 27 January, 1962, Liverpool Football Club went to Boundary Park, Oldham. And Liverpool Football Club beat
Oldham Athletic two–one in the Fourth Round of the FA Cup. One week after that, Brighton and Hove Albion came to Anfield, Liverpool. And Liverpool Football Club beat Brighton and Hove Albion three–one. One week later, Liverpool Football Club beat Bury Football Club three–nil. Roger Hunt had scored all three goals. His fourth hat-trick of the season. Roger Hunt had now scored twenty-nine goals in
twenty-eight
games. And Liverpool Football Club now had forty-two points. Liverpool Football Club still first in the Second Division.
On Saturday 17 February, 1962, Preston North End came to Anfield, Liverpool. That afternoon, fifty-four thousand, nine hundred and sixty-seven folk came, too. Fifty-four thousand, nine hundred and sixty-seven folk to watch Liverpool Football Club play Preston North End in the Fifth Round of the FA Cup. Fifty-four thousand, nine hundred and sixty-seven folk to watch Liverpool Football Club draw nil–nil with Preston North End. Three days after that, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Deepdale, Preston. And Liverpool Football Club were twenty-five minutes late. Because of the traffic around the ground. Because of the crowd around the ground. The gates of the ground had to be closed half an hour before kick-off. And inside the ground, Liverpool Football Club drew nil–nil with Preston North End again. Nil–nil again, after extra time. There was nothing to choose between the sides. Four days later, Middlesbrough Football Club came to Anfield. Ian St John scored two goals. And Roger Hunt scored three. His fifth hat-trick of the season. And Liverpool Football Club beat Middlesbrough Football Club five–one. Two days after, just two days later, on Monday 26 February, 1962, Liverpool Football Club travelled to Old Trafford, Manchester. Forty-three thousand, nine hundred and forty-four folk came, too. Forty-three thousand, nine hundred and forty-four folk to watch Liverpool Football Club play Preston North End in the second replay of the Fifth Round of the FA Cup. On a snow-covered, frozen pitch. Where players slipped, where players fell. In the snow, on the pitch. They slipped and they fell. All except Peter Thompson. And in the two hundred and sixty-sixth minute of the tie, the tie that over one hundred and thirty-six thousand folk had paid to watch, Peter Thompson kept his feet. He did not slip, he did not fall, And Peter Thompson scored –
The only goal.
After the whistle, the final whistle. In the dressing room, their dressing room at Old Trafford. The players and the coaching staff of Preston North End were celebrating. And then the players and the coaching staff of Preston North End heard a knock upon the
dressing-room
door. And the players and the coaching staff of Preston North End saw Bill Shankly step into their dressing room, the Preston dressing room. And Bill Shankly went from player to player. Patting their backs, shaking their hands. Bill Shankly congratulated them all. And then Bill Shankly sat down on the bench next to Peter Thompson. Bill Shankly patted his back, Bill Shankly shook his hand –
Christ, you played well, said Bill Shankly. Over all three games, son. You were the best player on the pitch. The best player by far, son. And so I won’t forget you. I won’t forget you, son. So don’t you forget me. Don’t you forget me, son …
…
The morning after the night before, the cold morning after the Cup night before. The directors of Liverpool Football Club were sitting in the boardroom at Anfield. Again. The directors of Liverpool Football Club were waiting for Bill Shankly. And again. The directors of Liverpool Football Club heard the footsteps in the corridor outside. Again. The fast steps, the heavy steps. Again. The knock upon the boardroom door. Again. Fast and heavy, very fast and very heavy.
And Tom Williams said, Come in, please.
Bill Shankly opened the door. Again. Bill Shankly stepped into the room. Again. Bill Shankly looked around the boardroom. Again. From director to director. And again. Bill Shankly waited.
Tom Williams said, Sit down, please.
Bill Shankly walked to the end of the long table. Again. Bill Shankly sat down in the empty chair at the end of the table. And again. Bill Shankly looked up the long table.
The directors of Liverpool Football Club looked back down the long table at Bill Shankly. The directors of Liverpool Football Club smiled down the long table at Bill Shankly. And Tom Williams said, Bad luck in the Cup, Mr Shankly. Hard luck. But it is still a good season, Mr Shankly. A very good season. And we are all still behind you, Mr Shankly. We are all still sure we can get promotion. And we are all still sure you are the man who can get us promotion.
I’m very pleased to hear that, said Bill Shankly. But if we are to get promoted, if we are to be Champions. If we are sure to be promoted, if we are sure to be Champions. Then we need a new goalkeeper. We need to buy a new goalkeeper.
The directors of Liverpool Football Club looked at each other. The directors of Liverpool Football Club shook their heads. And Tom Williams said, But we have a good goalkeeper, Mr Shankly. A very good goalkeeper who has helped take us to the top of the table. We are still first in the Second Division. We are still at the top of the table, Mr Shankly. The very top of the table …
I know very well where we are, said Bill Shankly. Very well where we are now. But it is still only February. If we want to be top of the table at the end of the season, if we want to be top when it matters. Then we need a new goalkeeper. We need a new bloody keeper.
The directors of Liverpool Football Club looked at each other. Again. The directors of Liverpool Football Club shook their heads. And Tom Williams said, But what is wrong with the keeper we have, Mr Shankly? What is the problem with the keeper we have?
He is too short, said Bill Shankly. And he has let in
twenty-seven
goals in the League. And five in the Cup. Because he is too short.
Tom Williams said, He was just unfortunate in the Cup, Mr Shankly. He was just very unlucky against Preston …
He wasn’t unfortunate, said Bill Shankly. He wasn’t unlucky. He was too short. And that is one of the reasons we lost. Because he was too short. Because he is too short. It has nothing to do with fortune. Nothing to do with luck. It has everything to do with size. Everything to do with size. The man is simply too short.
Eric Sawyer asked, So who do you want, Mr Shankly? Who do you have in mind to replace him?
Jim Furnell, said Bill Shankly. From Burnley.
Eric Sawyer asked, But would Burnley really sell him?
Yes, said Bill Shankly. Burnley will sell him.