I was born in January 1960, less than two years after the air disaster at Munich. The legends who lost their lives that day should have been the first team I supported. I should have watched Tommy Taylor and Duncan Edwards in their prime, but like millions of others, I was robbed of that privilege when the aircraft carrying the team crashed into the icy ground at the end of the runway aMunich Airpot in 1958. This is the true story about my love affair with Manchester United. My story obviously begins in the early sixties, when I started to play, watch and love football, but before I can tell it, I need to share a few facts and a little history.
Manchester United is the biggest football club in the world. In fact, they are by far the biggest sports franchise in the world. This has major advantages, like the ability to sell merchandise all over the world, but it also has disadvantages like losing its identity as a local team. I personally will take the wealth, as long as it continues to be invested in the team, but there is an air of sadness when half the accents at Old Trafford don’t speak properly.
United have been champions of Europe three times and have won the Premiership ten times, more than anybody else by a country mile. They have also won more FA Cups than any other team and are the only English team to be crowned Champions of the world, and they have achieved this glory twice. United have the biggest club stadium in Britain, holding more than 76,000 and this is way too small for most games. I’ve been disappointed so many times when I’ve failed to get a ticket to a big game. Applications are usually over-subscribed and the ballot seems to skip my membership number with glaring regularity. Old Trafford would easily fill 100,000 if there was a sensible way of expanding the stadium.
The current team is made up of millionaire superstars but this has not always been the case. In fact, they have not always been called Manchester United. Surprisingly, they have not always played in the famous red shirts either; their first kit was green and gold, reflecting the colours of the industrial company where it all began in a suburb of Manchester. In the nineteenth century, Manchester was the heartbeat of England. The industrial revolution was born in Manchester and it was the most productive industrial city in the world. Manchester was also the birthplace of the railway.
In 1878, a group of football mad railway workers created their own football club. They were called, Newton Heath L.Y.R. (Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway). Newton Heath was denied entry into the Football League on several occasions and because of the lack of ability to take on the wealthy teams of the day, they struggled financially. Like so many twists and turns in the United legend, this adversity led to opportunity and the birth of success. Club Captain Henry Stafford took his St Bernard dog to a fund raising event for the ailing club. The event itself barely broke even, and worst still, the dog went missing. A few days later the dog was discovered at the home of local brewer and wealthy businessman, Henry Davies. When Davies, a rugby and bowls fan, met with Henry Stafford, he was intrigued by the clubs story and bought them, injecting much needed cash. Like many a traveler on his last legs, Newton Heath had been saved by a St Bernard dog.
Henry Davies also moved the club to a new ground at Bank Street in Clayton. This was three miles away from the railway works at Newton Heath and closer to Manchester city centre. He decided to change the name of the club and after much soul searching the names of Manchester Central and Manchester Celtic were both turned down (thankfully) and Manchester United was born in 1902. Within two seasons United were promoted to the First Division (the premier league of its day) and in 1908, United won its first league title, now playing in the famous red shirts.
United were also moving forward off the pitch as well. In 1910, they moved from their old Bank Street Stadium to a new purpose built ground at Old Trafford. It was just in the nick of time. Two days after moving to Old Trafford, strong winds blew down the main wooden stand at Bank Street. Even in the early days, the fortunes of Manchester United would have made an Oscar winning Hollywood script.
When Old Trafford was opened on February 19th 1910 it was described as the best football stadium in the world. (It is remarkable how a century later it is still regarded as one of the best football stadiums in the world.) The cost of the 1910 version seems modest today but it was a small fortune of 60,000 pounds at the time, with a capacity of 80,000.
During the Second World War, the Luftwaffe added their bit of history to the legend by bombing the ground. It was 1949 before it re-opened; looking exactly the same as it had before the bombing. In 1950, a roof was added to the famous Stretford End which packed in 20,000 fanatical United supporters. When floodlights were installed in the late 1950’s, Bobby Charlton recalled that thousands of fans were congregated outside the ground before the season had started. They just wanted to be part of the story and witness the floodlights for the first time. United has always had that type of support.
The team’s fortunes were up and down throughout the 1920’s and 1930’s, mainly down. In 1930 they made their worst ever start to a season, losing their first twelve games, and we thought the seventies were bleak! It was in 1945 that Matt Busby joined United, having turned down Liverpool. Matt was still at the helm of the club twenty five years later.
Busby’s impact was immediate, leading the team to second place in four out of five years before eventually winning the championship for the third time in the clubs history in 1952. This was the end of one era and the start of the most legendary period in the history of sport, the birth of the famous Busby Babes. The Babes redefined football, winning successive championships in 1956 and 1957.
Most of the Busby Babes had graduated through the ranks, starting with the youth team. Matt decided that although they were incredibly young, he could not leave them out of the first team. The average age of the team that won the championship in 1956 was just 22. The following year, they won it again with a teenager called Bobby Charlton now in the team. The team had eleven stars but the two stand outs were Duncan Edwards and Tommy Taylor, possibly the best two players in the world at that time. Tommy was signed from Barnsley and scored an amazing 131 goals in just 191 games. Duncan is still revered by those lucky enough to see him play as the greatest player of all time.
In 1958, United were going after their third title in a row and at the beginning of February went to Arsenal, winning 5-4 in what has since been described as the greatest game ever. Of course, it was completely overshadowed by what happened just a few days later. Having triumphantly knocked out Red Star Belgrade on their way to the European Cup semi final; disaster struck. After refueling at Munich airport, the plane crashed at just after 3 o’clock on February 6th. Twenty one people died, including seven players, David Pegg, Liam Whelan, Eddie Colman, Roger Byrne, Geoff Bent, Tommy Taylor and Mark Jones. Fifteen days later, the great Duncan Edwards joined them in heaven, dying from his wounds. The Busby Babes were cut down before they’d even reached their prime. I still cry when I watch the Pathé News report of the day. The best way I can think to describe the feelings of the nation came by way of an anonymous poem, ‘The Flowers of Manchester’ first published in folk magazine ‘Sing’ and later attributed to editor Eric Winter after his death. There is an amazing a cappella song version by Mick Groves of the Spinners folk group. Mick, a fellow Salford lad, claims his proudest ever moment was when he sang it quietly to Matt Busby and Louis Edwards (then chairman of United). Mick’s song can be found easily on the internet and if you haven’t heard it, make sure you have a box of tissues handy. Here are those amazing words.
‘The Flowers of Manchester’
One cold and bitter Thursday in Munich, Germany,
Eight great football stalwarts conceded victory,
Eight men will never play again who met destruction there,
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester
Matt Busby’s boys were flying, returning from Belgrade,
This great United family, all masters of their trade,
The pilot of the aircraft, the skipper Captain Thain,
Three times they tried to take off and twice turned back again.
The third time down the runaway disaster followed close,
There was slush upon that runaway and the aircraft never rose,
It ploughed into the marshy ground, it broke, it overturned.
And eight of the team were killed as the blazing wreckage burned.
Roger Byrne and Tommy Taylor who were capped for England’s side.
And Ireland’s Billy Whelan and England’s Geoff Bent died,
Mark Jones and Eddie Colman, and David Pegg also,
They all lost their lives as it ploughed on through the snow.
Big Duncan he went too, with an injury to his brain,
And Ireland’s brave Jack Blanchflower will never play again,
The great Matt Busby lay there, the father of his team
Three long months passed by before he saw his team again.
The trainer, coach and secretary, and a member of the crew,
Also eight sporting journalists who with United flew,
and one of them Big Swifty, who we will ne’er forget,
the finest English ‘keeper that ever graced the net.
Oh, England’s finest football team its record truly great,
its proud successes mocked by a cruel turn of fate.
Eight men will never play again, who met destruction there,
the flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester.
This all happened two years before my birth in January 1960, and some fifty years later we still remember them. I have been the lead singer in many bands over the years and on several occasions tried to sing The Flowers of Manchester but I can never get through it without breaking down. God bless the Busby Babes and Manchester United.
