It is Monday morning. I am aboard a train, The Royal Scot, in Euston
Station. I am heading on a 7 hour ride to Glasgow as a guest of the
British Council. Passengers are slowly boarding and finding their
assigned seats. Many are inebriated and showing lack of sleep. Almost
all are Scottish fans returning from a football match which was played
at Wembley Stadium on this past Saturday afternoon between the Scottish
National team and the English National team, the British Home
Championship game. The winner of this game would be the winner of the
championship of the British Isles. England had played lead up matches
against Wales and Northern Ireland and both games had ended in draws,
giving them 2 points. The Scots in their matches against these same two
teams, played to a 0-0 draw against Wales and defeated Northern Ireland
3-0 giving them 3 points. They needed only a tie to win the
championship.
Saturday morning had found me in Hyde Park near Speakers' Corner where there were many Scotsmen getting up on soap-boxes to describe in mostly vulgar terms what the Scottish National team was going to do to the English National team. They had reason to boast because the English team's record in recent competitions had been poor, and against the Scots, had been abysmal. I heard no rebuttals from the English fans.
I had made my way to Wembley stadium with over a hundred thousand other fans, hoping to be able to buy a "scalped" ticket to the sold-out game. I was out of luck, so I got on the tube and made my way back to my hotel located near Hyde Park. I found a small nearby pub to enjoy the game on the telly and also to enjoy a few pints of bitters. The game to the extreme delight of the English fans, was a resounding victory for the English.The final score was 5 - 1 for the English side. It was, according to the English fans, a most satisfying rout! All night I heard the revelry of the fans, the English celebrating while the Scottish fans drank to forget.
The next morning, a Sunday, I had eaten my breakfast of toast, kippers and tea and again I had made my way to Speakers Corner in Hyde Park. There were the usual political soapbox speeches but also a large number of English fans rubbing salt into the wounds of the now downcast Scottish fans who had been lording it over the English fans the previous morning. The phrases tossed out were vulgar and in many cases down-right crude alluding to the poor Scottish fans as having come from the union of a Scottish shepherd and his favorite ewe. In Canada this would have precipitated a brawl. I watched carefully for reactions from the mostly young Scotsmen, but they took their lumps without retribution.
Morning had turned into afternoon and as I had made my way back to the hotel, I discovered a part of the park where there was a large open field. At one end of it there was a stage. Around the stage there must have been about 10,000 mostly young people. They were focused on the stage on a man in glasses in front of a mike who was playing his guitar and singing. The sound didn't really appeal to me but all the fans were rapt in their attention. I had asked who this was. I found out it was some British "rocker" I had never heard of...a John Elton or was it Elton John? It didn't matter. From what I had heard, I figured he would never mount to much! I had moved on, anxious to get through this crowd to get to my hotel and do my packing for the trip to Glasgow on Monday. Showed what a good judge of talent I was!
Monday on the train, and I am surrounded by young Scots making their way home from a most disappointing soccer match. Out came the cans of Scottish beer and then the arguments of who was responsible for this national travesty, nay, national tragedy. When it was found out that I was Canadian, I had enough beers thrust at me to start my own pub. The ride was interesting and became more so when the singing of football songs started. I nursed my beer as I did not want to arrive in Glasgow and meet my British Council rep in an inebriated capacity. There was constant traffic between the passenger cars. The lineups to the washrooms grew longer by each passing mile.
When we got to Crewe, the train was split and half of the cars were shunted off to form the Royal Scot which would go to Edinburgh. Some of the fans gathered me up and wanted me to accompany them to Edinburgh. Fortunately for me, the Glasgow fans declared that they had found me first and I was their Canadian. "So, hands off!"
We finally arrived in Glasgow and I was able to safely disengage from my friendly abductors. Now when I see the Celtic and Ranger teams from Glasgow on television playing their usual excellent brand of soccer, I think back to London in1975 and how fortunate I had been to experience this excellent piece of Britannia!
Saturday morning had found me in Hyde Park near Speakers' Corner where there were many Scotsmen getting up on soap-boxes to describe in mostly vulgar terms what the Scottish National team was going to do to the English National team. They had reason to boast because the English team's record in recent competitions had been poor, and against the Scots, had been abysmal. I heard no rebuttals from the English fans.
I had made my way to Wembley stadium with over a hundred thousand other fans, hoping to be able to buy a "scalped" ticket to the sold-out game. I was out of luck, so I got on the tube and made my way back to my hotel located near Hyde Park. I found a small nearby pub to enjoy the game on the telly and also to enjoy a few pints of bitters. The game to the extreme delight of the English fans, was a resounding victory for the English.The final score was 5 - 1 for the English side. It was, according to the English fans, a most satisfying rout! All night I heard the revelry of the fans, the English celebrating while the Scottish fans drank to forget.
The next morning, a Sunday, I had eaten my breakfast of toast, kippers and tea and again I had made my way to Speakers Corner in Hyde Park. There were the usual political soapbox speeches but also a large number of English fans rubbing salt into the wounds of the now downcast Scottish fans who had been lording it over the English fans the previous morning. The phrases tossed out were vulgar and in many cases down-right crude alluding to the poor Scottish fans as having come from the union of a Scottish shepherd and his favorite ewe. In Canada this would have precipitated a brawl. I watched carefully for reactions from the mostly young Scotsmen, but they took their lumps without retribution.
Morning had turned into afternoon and as I had made my way back to the hotel, I discovered a part of the park where there was a large open field. At one end of it there was a stage. Around the stage there must have been about 10,000 mostly young people. They were focused on the stage on a man in glasses in front of a mike who was playing his guitar and singing. The sound didn't really appeal to me but all the fans were rapt in their attention. I had asked who this was. I found out it was some British "rocker" I had never heard of...a John Elton or was it Elton John? It didn't matter. From what I had heard, I figured he would never mount to much! I had moved on, anxious to get through this crowd to get to my hotel and do my packing for the trip to Glasgow on Monday. Showed what a good judge of talent I was!
Monday on the train, and I am surrounded by young Scots making their way home from a most disappointing soccer match. Out came the cans of Scottish beer and then the arguments of who was responsible for this national travesty, nay, national tragedy. When it was found out that I was Canadian, I had enough beers thrust at me to start my own pub. The ride was interesting and became more so when the singing of football songs started. I nursed my beer as I did not want to arrive in Glasgow and meet my British Council rep in an inebriated capacity. There was constant traffic between the passenger cars. The lineups to the washrooms grew longer by each passing mile.
When we got to Crewe, the train was split and half of the cars were shunted off to form the Royal Scot which would go to Edinburgh. Some of the fans gathered me up and wanted me to accompany them to Edinburgh. Fortunately for me, the Glasgow fans declared that they had found me first and I was their Canadian. "So, hands off!"
We finally arrived in Glasgow and I was able to safely disengage from my friendly abductors. Now when I see the Celtic and Ranger teams from Glasgow on television playing their usual excellent brand of soccer, I think back to London in1975 and how fortunate I had been to experience this excellent piece of Britannia!
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