Buddy Awful – Celtic conceded a Scottish Cup semi-final to St Mirren

The game against Dundee wasn’t a particularly great match but we somehow managed to come from behind with two late goals and win 2-1. The first was a shot from Brogan that Dundee centre half Ian Ure seemed to misjudge and allow to pass over him into the net.

Ure was seen as a rival of Billy McNeill for the Scotland centre half spot, so we especially enjoyed his error. Even better five minutes later when Big Billy came up for a corner and headed home the winner. That would not be the only time we would see such a goal.

Bobby Lennox, Celtic FC. Photo IMAGO

When the teams were announced at the start of the game there were a few puzzled looks on faces in the crowd to hear that our outside right was to be a certain Bobby Lennox. A complete unknown (although that would soon change!) For myself and my mate Peter Dickson though (and no doubt many others) it was the opposition right winger that was the main attraction. We got the opportunity to see the great Gordon Smith in action.

Despite that win I cannot recall that too many people still seemed to be confident about winning the League. Indeed, there were some concerns about our victory helping Rangers. However, we were still in the Scottish Cup and that was where we were confident about winning a trophy.

The Cup campaign had got underway with a first round tie against Second Division Cowdenbeath which resulted in a comfortable 5-1victory. The second round also involved a lower league side with a visit to Cappielow. Morton put up a much more confident display than the Fifers and there was a great relief when Mike Jackson scored a late goal to clinch a 3-1 win.

The next round was very di erent- A trip to Tynecastle to face Hearts. Neither Peter nor I had any experience of a victory at that venue as Celtic had not won a game at the Gorgie Road ground since 1955. Nor would be attending the latest attempt. At that stage we only went to home games.

Neither of our fathers generally bothered with travelling to far for the football. My dad was content enough with the short trip to Parkhead. Peter’s father, usually with his brother, would go to other grounds in the Glasgow area if Celtic were playing away. So, for this big away game our routine would be a common one.

Watch St Bridget’s Boys Guild at Maxwell Park, have a kickabout ourselves and then across the road to Peter’s house about 4.45 to get the results on the TV teleprinter.

In case there are people too young to know what the teleprinter was I should explain that it was like watching words and numbers appearing on your TV screen in the way you would see them on a sheet of paper in a typewriter.

Of course, the message started from the left with the home team. We watched as the figures started to appear- Hearts 3. Our stomachs sank. It seemed a lot longer than a few seconds for the rest of the message to continue. In that short period of time our brains were imagining the worst- and the best, likely outcomes. The printer clicked on – Celtic 4!

Pat Crerand, the Celtic player marries Noreen Terry in Glasgow on 27 JUNE 1963, Photo: Topfoto

We whooped with delight. That night I sat down with my dad and brothers to watch the Scotsport highlights of an exciting game. The winner came with a few minutes to go. A penalty for Celtic. Gordon Marshall saved the kick from Pat Crerand, but the referee ordered a re-take and Paddy this time netted. The referee was a Mr R H Davidson of Airdrie. I reckon that was that the last time he ever gave an award in Celtic’s favour.

The reward was a home tie against Third Lanark. Although the Hi- Hi were not doing as well as the previous season they were still a team to be reckoned with and had a very settled team. Every fan in Scotland could rhyme o their exciting forward line- Goodfellow, Hilley, Harley, Gray, McInnes. With the game being at Celtic Park, Peter and I knew we would be going. So, a week after we had beaten the league leaders we were back on the same spot on the East Terracing with Peter’s dad and uncle to cheer on the Bhoys in our quest for the Cup.

The crowd was bigger this week. 42,500. The biggest home crowd of the season so far. Expectations were high and excitement was great.

Thirds started well and had a couple of early chances, but Celtic struck first when Stevie Chalmers scored in 10 minutes. As soon as the ball hit the net, hundreds of young fans ran on to the field to celebrate. We were standing near the front and Peter and I looked at each other wondering if we should join in.

As if reading our minds Peter’s dad looked at us and said, “Don’t even think about it- the pitch is for the players – and stupid wee laddies!”

The referee went over to speak to the Police commander but soon the fans were ushered back on to the terracing. The interruption certainly didn’t help Celtic. Thirds scored two goals in as many minutes about five minutes later and added a third to go in at half time with a 3-1 lead.

Celtic came roaring back in the second half and lay siege to the Third’s goal with great backing from the Celtic End behind the goal we were now attacking.

Chalmers, Brogan and Hughes scored to put us in the lead. We thought were through but near the end Frank Haffey appeared to misjudge a cross and Matt Gray nodded home the equaliser. It was possibly the most exciting game Peter and I had attended and both teams were applauded off.

The replay was 4 days later. It was switched from Cathkin to Hampden as it was felt Thirds home ground would be too small for the expected crowd and there was no time to print and distribute tickets. Not that it made any difference to Peter and me.

A mid-week game not at Parkhead was still out of our travel ability at that stage. The switch to the bigger ground was justified as over 50,000 attended. It didn’t seem to help Thirds though. They were not as sharp as in the first game and although the first half was apparently pretty even, Celtic had banged in four second half goals for a comfortable 4-0 win.

So, hopes were high. In recent weeks we had won at Tynecastle, beaten Dundee and had a resounding victory to put us into the Cup Semi Final. The next game was against lowly Airdrie on the Saturday- St Patrick’s Day. I wasn’t at the game, but I saw photos of the girls in traditional style dress handing out shamrocks to the Celtic fans who came in confidence and swelled the crowd at Broomfield to 24,000.

That confidence was misplaced though as we fell to a 0-1 defeat to extinguish any faint hope that we could go on to win the title.

But we still had the Cup. In the semi-final we had avoided Rangers, who would face Motherwell, and were drawn against St Mirren who were having problems at the bottom end of the table.

Our semi final would be at Ibrox. My father decided we should make the occasion by getting some good seats in the stand.

My uncle Terry was well known in the Glasgow licensing trade and like a lot of those involved in that business he had good contacts for acquiring items including tickets. Accordingly, we were soon in the possession of four

Grandstand tickets for Terry, Dad, me and my cousin Gerard, Terry’s son.

On the Monday before the match there was a sort of dress rehearsal in the shape of a League match between the teams at Love Street. This ended in a comfortable 5-0 win for Celtic to hinder the Saints fight against relegation and boost Celtic confidence for the upcoming semi-final.

My father and myself were in a bright mood as we set of that morning, in his wee Ford Anglia to head from Baillieston to first stop in Castlemilk to pick up Terry and Gerard.

After a bite to eat we started off for Ibrox. As we drove down Cathcart Road we could see the crowds already making their way to Hampden for the Rangers v Motherwell tie.

“Hope Motherwell do it” said my dad. He had seen Celtic beat Motherwell in three Cup Finals in 1931, 1933 and 1951 so he fancied making it a fourth. Motherwell had eliminated Rangers the previous year with a 5-2 win at Ibrox, but Rangers were the favourites this time and Terry was sure it would be Rangers in the Final.

That was something to be imagined – An “Old Firm” Scottish Cup Final. That had not happened since the 1920’s. My father had memory of it as a boy but had not been there. Terry had no experience of that type of occasion at all. “We’ve still to beat St Mirren,“ said Terry. “Yes” said my father. “But we should win this time”. “Well, it surely can’t be as bad as the last time” was Terry’s cheery reply. He turned round from his seat in the front to explain to us two boys in the back that the last time Celtic had played in a Cup Semi-Final the Buddies were winning 3-0 at half time and eventually won 4-0.

We certainly couldn’t see that happening today. St Mirren wasn’t the team of a few years ago and we had just beaten them soundly at Love Street a few days previously. And I recalled the home game in November when we had won even more comprehensively scoring seven goals in the process. As the goals started going in during that game, we could hear the fans chanting “ We want seven” . Indeed, when Tottie Beck scored St Mirren’s

consolation goal as the last of the game there were cheers among the Celtic support that the magic scoreline of 7-1 had been reached.

March 31st was a clear sunny day for my first ever visit to Ibrox. We had excellent seats, near the back, about 20 yards from the goal line at the Copland Road end of the ground. We had a great view right around the stadium. When the teams were announced Terry and my dad noted that John Hughes was back in the team. Yogi had been injured and had missed the game at Love Street. A lot of fans had reservations about him at that stage, but I was a fan of his and was glad to see him back. My dad also noted that the St Mirren team today had a lot of changes from the one that had taken the field earlier in the week.

One player in the St Mirren team we all knew well was Willie Fernie. His name was the first signing I had been aware of as a Celtic when he had re-joined the club in October 1960. He had done a great job for Celtic but by the end of 1961 he was reckoned to be past his best and had been transferred to St Mirren. I soon learned the way that fate works in football.

After only nine minutes Frank Haffey could only weakly palm out a high cross from the right. It landed at Willie Fernie’s feet, and the ball was promptly netted. The Saints continued to dominate and Celtic looked powerless to stop them at times. Just after the half hour they scored two goals in as many minutes and things were looking bleak. Terry shook his head. His prediction that this would not be like the last time had gone spectacularly wrong.

In our more youthful enthusiasm Gerard and I still thought we could recover. We had scored three in the second half against Third Lanark so why not again? In the second half, playing towards the Copland Road end, Celtic did step up their attacks but more with determination than composure or skill. For a moment we were up out of our seats as Yogi put a shot past the St Mirren keeper but was flagged up for offside.

Hope was now fading and acceptance of our fate was creeping in. With about 20 minutes to go my attention was taken from what was happening on the pitch to something occurring on the terracing behind the St Mirren goal. A fight had broken out.

This was unfortunately not an uncommon occurrence. We had witnessed one such event at the Dundee game a few weeks previously. The format was usually the same. There were no all seated stadia in those days so the people near the fight would push away and continue to watch the game while leaving a clearing on the terracing for the combatants to slog it out and await the police to come and sort it out.

This time though things quickly took a turn for the worse. Some bottles were lobbed. At first in the direction of the fight, then more indiscriminately around the terracing. With the bottles flying and some displacement on the terracing steps some people jumped over the boundary wall for safety.

We could see the police making their way to sort it out, but before they could do so I noticed that trouble was not confined to this one spot. You could see agitation on the terraces all around the ground. At the Broomloan Road end I saw a hail of bottles raining down from the terraces.

I had recently seen the film of Henry V with Laurence Olivier and the famous scene at the Battle of Agincourt where the sky is almost black with arrows. I was reminded of this as I saw the flying bottles falling over the terracing. Not surprisingly some more people sought safety by jumping over onto the track and getting out of range of the bottle throwers.

Unlike modern stadia there was plenty of space between the terracing behind the goal and the pitch so on occasions play could continue if the disturbance was not too great. This was different.

More people started to invade the actual pitch, and not necessarily to avoid trouble. I can remember Frank Haffey trying to persuade fans to get o the actual pitch. The referee then took the players back into the pavilion. More and more fans came onto the pitch. And they were not all the “stupid wee laddies” that Peter’s dad had referred to.

Unlike the terracing I did not witness any actual fighting on the pitch itself but there were plenty of people well above the “wee laddie” age cavorting and even celebrating, waving their scarves in the air as if they had achieved a victory. Maybe some of them thought they had? We stood in the stand and watched on . My father just stood morosely , saying nothing. Terry turned to his son and said sternly, and sadly- “That’s why you are not allowed to go to games on your own”

Many people had started to leave but we stayed on. After about 15 minutes the teams came back out and play re-started. Alex Byrne pulled a goal back but it was met with no acclaim. “The score doesn’t matter now,” said Dad.  “We will have conceded the tie anyway”.

And that indeed was what had happened. Nothing much was said on the journey home although we did watch the “highlights “ on Scotsport that evening.

The following day – 1st April – we followed the usual Sunday custom that most families of that era did. We went to our Granny’s . Our maternal and paternal grandmothers lived within about a five minute walk of each other so most Sundays we would visit both. My mother had more siblings who were married with kids so her mother’s house was always a bit more noisy and boisterous with all our cousins squeezed into the wee prefab.

At least there some activity was able to divert our minds slightly from the previous day’s events. At my father’s family home it was slightly quieter. Apart from me the only cousins there that day were my Uncle John’s two boys. Slightly older than me and like their father big Celtic fans. The mood was accordingly a bit more sombre.

My father’s oldest sister , Katie, was a matron at local hospital and to us youngsters she seemed at times to be the stern archetype of that profession. She wasn’t really that interested in the game of football itself but in her eyes Celtic fans, whether she liked the idea or not, were seen not just as representative of a club but of the wider Irish Catholic community.

“Scandalous” was her opinion, and she was not referring to the actual game. Even if you had the bravery to try and debate with her it would have been a hard cause to argue against.

There had a been several cases of hooliganism at games that season, particularly in the game at Perth where a defeat to St Johnstone had led to fighting and vandalism at the ground and in the streets. Even worse after a defeat at Dens Park on 5 November where fighting and vandalism had continued through the city and a Celtic fan died in police custody.

I remember a journalist of the time writing that maybe it was time to ban not just to ban Guy Fawkes but also Celtic. We were not the only club with an element of thugs in the support, but it did seem to happen more often with us.

I caught up with Peter at school on the Monday. He had gone to the game with his dad and had been in the Broomloan Road terracing. They had not been hurt but had witnessed people being hit. He showed me into his bedroom. On the wall where he once had a Celtic poster, he now had a crude cardboard banner with “C’mon Airdrie” and a rough red diamond on it. He had decided to give up Celtic and start following Airdrie. I was doubtful if that would last long but said nothing.

Our next two games were away from home so we would not have been going to them in any event. And the next home game was against Rangers – and that game was still in the “high risk ‘ category anyway as far as our attendance was concerned.

Celtic managed a draw in that game which at least kept our unbeaten home record going , and also helped Dundee in their quest for the title.

It was not until 21st April that I saw Celtic play again. A home game against Raith Rovers who were involved in the relegation battle. Peter didn’t go. And he wasn’t the only one. I went on my own and joined little more than 11,000 others to see the Fifers help their cause and take away our unbeaten home record with a 1-0 win. On the same day Rangers won the Cup with a routine comfortable win over St Mirren.

On the last Saturday of the season Peter’s dad and uncle took us to Broomfield to watch Airdrie take on Partick Thistle. On that day Airdrie, St Mirren, Falkirk, Raith Rovers and St Johnstone were all within two points of each other and trying to avoid the second relegation spot which would mean them dropping down to the second division with the already relegated Stirling Albion.

Airdrie won but I can’t remember anything about the game . I was more concerned about what was happening at Perth where Dundee needed just a point to win the League. As we were leaving the ground we heard that the Dens Park men had won 3-0 which meant they were champions and St Johnstone were relegated, a fate the Paisley Saints avoided by having a slightly better goal average.

We couldn’t help but note that the team who had eliminated us from the League Cup had been relegated, and the team who had ended our involvement in the Scottish Cup had only just avoided that fate.

It was a long close season but as always hope springs eternal. By the time the next season started Peter’s love  affair with Airdrie had ended. I did suggest to him that he was maybe influenced by the fact that the bus fare to Broomfield was more than the fare to Parkhead Cross. Whatever, we were both at Celtic Park in August with hope in our hearts to watch the first game of the season and were rewarded with a fine League Cup win over Heart of Midlothian. Hearts did go on to win the group though.

It would still be a couple of seasons yet before our salvation would arrive.

Mike Maher

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