Thursday, 12 December 2013

Joe Symes and the Loving kind

Another Liverpool Musician / Band that have so far gone unmentioned on The End’s hallowed pages are Joe Symes and The Loving Kind.
They have an album out called, Joe Symes and the Loving Kind which you can buy from their website or download via I-tunes.
They are unashamedly proud of their 60’s tinged retro roots and have already caught the attention of Noel Gallagher (and were invited to play at one of Noel’s infamous after show parties) and have been invited to support ex Ocean Colour Scene front man Steve Craddock on his upcoming tour. However more importantly they are supporting the Blockheads at Eric’s (Liverpool) this Friday, 14th December and they will be on the Billy Butler show (Radio Merseyside) the same day at 2.30pm  AND they will be playing the Bandstand in Queens Square (Liverpool) on Friday December 20th.

Here’s a song to whet your appetite, "Where do I belong"

You can her more songs on their web site and listen to an album taster and read album reviews interviews and more.

Wednesday, 11 December 2013

peter coyle hijacked - christmas in liverpool

Have a listen (and a watch) to this excellent song from ex “Lotus Eaters” founder Peter Coyle.

The song is called “Christmas in Liverpool” by “Peter Coyle Hijacked”.

I was quite a fan of the Lotus Eaters (The Fist Picture of you) and he has had two solo albums released in the past including the brilliantly titled “I'd Sacrifice Eight Orgasms with Shirley MacLaine Just to Be There”.

This is going up on our page as our song for Christmas (unless you demand another Liverpool flavoured Christmas song).

Find out what Peter has been up to over the last few years here

Tuesday, 10 December 2013

Thomas McConnell "Penny (won't help me now) - Free download single - 16th December

The multi talented Thomas McConnell releases his excellent first single,  "Penny (Won't Help Me Now)". It will be released as a FREE download from Monday, December 16th at - have a listen to the song now via Thomas's video here. Its a great song and its a free download, so it would be foolish not to..

Wednesday, 9 October 2013

Saturday, 28 September 2013

September 13 Ins & Outs


Your arse is on your head, your arse is on your head, you arse is on your head (bring back bald footy players and refs)



Knowing someone who has shagged a tomato

Tony Bellows Big gash

Pete shelleys muzzy

Padding out your lunchbox/package with rice pudding

Oxtail soup toasties

Sucking hard on an oxo

Placing a plaice in yer mates hood

Smoking rice crispys in a doobie

Putting a rice crispy in your bosses top pocket

 D.L.T perms

the D.L.T IS INNOCENT campaign.

Being suspicious,

Pork flavoured custard

smoking fresh air,

sly kicks at pets,

knowing what blind scouse is,

snitchin on snitches,

reading echo obituaries before your mar has,

not understanding family etiqutte,

still enjoying pub quizs

not knowing any hard cases at all and enjoying that fact

remembering Kojaks watch


Bartering with butter

Putting hot dogs in your mates ma’s central heating cupboard

Dicing with Dench

Giving your nan a butt plug for chrimbo

Providing an example to Example…before hastily flinging him off the 14th Floor

Coffee butties

Curried cotton

Playing cricket on your own

Dreadlock’d pubes

The Systematics

Punching a pygmy

Slapping slid

Chinning  Chris Malone

Giving yer boss a cheeky kiss on his bald head when you’re clocking off

Wearing footy socks over yer jeans

Eating yer mates daughters chicken nuggets while yer mates on the phone

“size of a mammoth”

Loitering in Leeds

Dogging in Dagenham

Smirking in Smedley

Rioting in Rhyl

Diarrhea in Derby

Wearing your aunties thong

Massaging your bosses lego






Ian fucking Ayre and his harley

Knee length testies

Mark Lawrenson

Manager of the month curse

Knowing someone who sends champagne over to people they know

That mad manc firm at the buzzcocks gig (50 yr olds in sheepie’s in a mosh pit isn’t a great look)

Scousers on those magaluf tv programmes

Rimming a rhino


“Hurr hurrr hurrr” laughs

BRodgers self portrait

You STILL wearing hoodies? Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

wearing your lads north face

jimmy saville rinses,

talking about lines all the fuckin time

saying totally agree mate, when you’re thinking get me away from this boring fuck

being stressed,

stressing out,

stressing over xmas menus

the word stress,

not being stressed out

 not recognising stress,

stress related cardigans

refuting things

having a cat as a mate,

whistling soft porn tunes,


concentrating ,

the word bugle,

having a cousin who’s a loon

shouting medication time on the train

robbin’ rembrandts.

Stealing steak

Nicking Nike

Pickpocketing Police

Talking teak

Getting a tit nudge off yer nan

Young pups passing on wisdom to you

Having a spat with China,

Kicking fuck out of a sausage

Ball bag beards

“Dickcember”( leave your dick hanging out your zipper for the entire month of December for charity)

Polishing your elbows

Frying a frozen fritter on a Friday

Diced soup.

Collecting grass


Getting yer mates daughter to hold yer ciggy while you eat her chicken nuggets

Breaking your nipple

Felching in Fulham

Bumming in brum

Massaging your bosses ego

Remembering Scottie Road

Snarling at a sweaty growler

D. wing

Tuesday, 24 September 2013

Ahead of Tomorow's Liverpool Man u game, here's an excellent read from thenfieldwrap / Karl Coppack

Ahead of Tomorow's Liverpool Man u game, here's an excellent read from thenfieldwrap / Karl Coppack
Our Friends in the North

WEDNESDAY night sees another Cup tie against ‘our friends from the other end of the M62′ (George Sephton, under P.R duress, April 1988) and the continuation of the Scouse-Manc bunfight. It’s the League Cup so no one should be ‘that’ arsed but if this were a testimonial for the oldest Old Trafford car park attendant we’d still fill our allocation and act like it’s St Etienne. These games matter even when they don’t.
In the pre-match ramble before the Manchester derby, Carra accepted the League significance of that game but still considered the Liverpool/United game to be the biggest game in the country. He’s right. Sorry Chelsea but they’re our rivals, not you. True, the derby is still up there and that march from the Albert across the park, usually in the rain, forms a pleasing high of the season, but the United game edges it. There can’t be many rivals who would swap an Anfield win for an Etihad one and similarly Goodison and Old Trafford wins are two very different things.
It’s not the fact that we’re now underdogs since their Sky age dominance, we never won there when we were hammering the giants of Europe, it’s more that it’s historical. We’ve hated each other for decades now and we’ve hated each other for purely fantastical reasons of little significance. Our mutual annoyance at each other’s existence is a start but there’s the accents, the fashion, the haircuts and the larger game of which is the better city. This last dates back into pre-Victorian age when the pride of Manchester cotton industry was met with sniffs from the inhabitants of the world’s greatest port. The Mersey beats the Irlam. I’m putting that on a banner.
Of course it gets overly nasty, of course some of it is hard to fathom and of course it goes over the top but there’s something welcoming about it too. In April 1988 when relations between the clubs were still of 1985 standard i.e. pretty bad, a decision was made to extend the hand of friendship and unite the footballing North West. For one game only United would run out to the Kop instead of to their own fans at the Anfield Road end and would charitably kick training balls into our end to mark this newfound bond.
Every single ball came back on the pitch.
Every single one.
I love that.

The Kop boisterously sang about Bryan Robson’s supposed susceptibility to certain venereal diseases. He waved a nonchalant hand in a gesture that fooled no one. He was to have his revenge two minutes into the game by which time we’d moved onto their other players. No one wanted a chummy relationship. We like hating them and they like hating us. If United didn’t exist we’d have to create them to make the match more interesting. After that game the two managers went for each other when Kenny told the press that they would get more sense out of his baby daughter Lauren than his ranting rival. We were then eleven points clear and were about to wrap up a title that Ferguson could only dream about at that point but we never let a second’s polemics pass without comment. Winning isn’t enough for those games. You have to craw about it for ages afterwards too.
If the main reason for the rivalry is geographical in nature why don’t we do the same for City? They had a decent side when the Liverpool/United thing first kicked off so why aren’t we ascribing STDs to Vincent Kompany? Well, it’s just not the same. United were glamorous back then. Best, Charlton and Law, nightclubs, massive crowds and media darlings. Liverpool were a ‘pint of mild and a bag of chips side’ by comparison and each was mistrustful of the other. ‘You can keep your image; we’d rather have the trophies’ was the credo and the ‘Glams’, despite relegation and the Tommy Doc scandal, were still the club the press wanted to talk about. Readers of a certain age will remember Gerald Sinstadt and later Elton Welsby effusing endless praise to them on ‘Kick Off’ despite the fact that they never came close to a League title.  They weren’t true rivals in the footballing sense – just an irritating side we couldn’t beat. The party’s over, Gerald? Back then United weren’t even invited. You wouldn’t think it though. Lengthy discourses of Peter Barnes and Dennis Tueart ate into valuable Liverpool time each week.
City were never that annoying. They still aren’t in a way and if any such rivalry springs from their current success it will be on a par with Forest, Leeds and Chelsea.

To read the full article visit the following link;

Friday, 20 September 2013

Thomas McConnell- “John”


Some time ago I wrote a little review on the here website, advising anyone who’d listen about the Beatle inspired virtues of one Thomas McConnell.


Since then Thomas has been a busy feller. Recording more songs, performing with the likes of Ian McNabb, and having a cover version of a Paul Mcartney song tweeted by Sir Macca himself!  So when Thomas highlighted a new song on his facebook page called “John”, your humble narrator made the foolish mistake of assuming  this was a song lamenting the passing away of John Winston Lennon.

I mentioned to Thomas that I thought he needed to start imposing more of his own story into his songs and maybe back off from the Beatle covers and tributes and was shocked to hear that I had gotten this one completely wrong. “John”, it turns out is actually Thomas’ most personal song to date! He explained the sensitive nature of the origins of the songs meaning (not something he is ready to have splashed all over a crappy blog page like this) . Suffice to say, I got it wrong. (though Thomas admitted the lyrics could well be applied to Lennon should a listener choose to do so).

Give the song a listen and judge it on its own merit. I’d also highly recommend you visit his page check out a prolific set of tunes from this emerging young talent.
Thomas is touring the UK soon, see poster for details




The Sugarmen

Talking of Emerging young talent from Liverpool, “The Sugarmen” are starting to make waves in the recently flourishing locall scene.

Hailing from Liverpool (well apart from one stray cockney), they been mainly playing as support acts, their energetic songs and shows has seen them gathering more and more of their own followers with each passing show. They are playing on Alan McGee’s next 359 night   

( ) on October 4th “District” (Jordan Street) along with Gun Club Cemetery, Keziah, Matadors and Xylaroo, well worth heading down there for this..

 you can listen to a couple of their tunes here if you can’t wait until the show

Enjoy and Support.



In other news TOPFLIGHT MFS have a new radio show on air at


The Scouse / yank duo regail us with tales about “The Mabby” (Mab lane youth club) , American Grafitti, white men in tea cosy’s amongst their usual witty banter and you can hear songs by Daft Punk, Willlie Nelson (with Snoop Dog), errrr Ace (?), Donald Fagan , and an even bigger “errrrrrrrrr” for Phil Collins (HEY, I don’t pick the songs!, PC  ranks up there  with my most hated artists of all time)  The James Hunter Six, Junior Brown, and Tim Timebomb (Proper old school ska by Rancid frontman, Tim Armstrong, best tune of the night by a country mile) …fucking hell, you can’t accuse this radio show of being boring or predictable…ska, AOR, 80’s uk shite, some current stuff , a bit of Bob  Marley, a bit of rockabilly and some Amy Whinehouse!

Just have a listen yerselves yer miserable fuckers!

Tuesday, 13 August 2013

Sabotage Times - The Death of the football casual

Death of the football casual- Sabotage Times

The Death Of The Football Casual

by Jack Collins
13 August 2013        
Recent years have seen the slow demise of a culture I once loved. Now all we're left with are kids and wannabes. RIP to the Football Casual.
The fact that I was born in the ’80s rather than grew up in the decade meant that I got involved in the football casual scene on tail end of its glory days. Many would say it was over long before I came along, but the scene was still vibrant with lads of all ages involved when I started going, a decent mix of dressing and violence, if significantly scaled down compared to the generation before me.
There have already been an exhaustive amount of essays and studies written on why young lads get together to fight at football, so I’ll save you the psychoanalytic bollocks and come straight in with rule number one: no matter how straight we walk or how we dress ourselves up, we as men are animals, tribal, and be it for pride, sport or survival, we will fight each other. Rule number two is that within those base instincts, that raw aggression and the uncontrolled environment, your body jolts into survival mode and pumps a dose of adrenaline so fiercely through your blood that it creates a rush more intense than any drug I’ve experienced. It’s that feeling which makes it so addictive.
After a few years having the time of my life, touring the country and continent engaging in recreational violence with my mates, I began to see the scene I loved changing. Films like Football Factory and Green Street had been released, and with them came a new generation of ‘casuals’ who I recognised none of myself or my mates in. As far as I knew, if you wanted to knock about with a mob as a youngun you had to show a bit of respect to the older heads, recognise there’s a way of doing things, and above all show that at the very least you’d stand your ground in a row.
With these lads it was solely about emulating a lifestyle they’d seen on screen: wearing the right clothes, using the right words, listening to the right music, toying with the violent aspects but not wanting to get their hands dirty. These boys weren’t from the same stock as the past three decades of casuals in Britain, the football factory had got a new supplier and was knocking out cheap synthetic copies. Cardboard cut-out casuals.
If you don’t believe me, do a Twitter search for ‘casuals’ or ‘awaydays’ on the morning of a match day. You’ll be greeted with hundreds of muppets across the country sporting their spiky hair and Stoney gear, or posing fully goggled up in their Migs. They’ll either be pulling a well’ard face or looking solemnly at their trainers in some grey urban landscape, desperately trying to create a lifestyle they’ve pieced together from books and films. The reality is chaps, football violence isn’t a scene from Kes. Do you think lads in the ’80s had time to take photos of their footwear while some mental Scouser tried to stab them up the arse?
Before I get accused of being a grumpy old bastard longing for days gone by and moaning about the youth of today – I’m still in my twenties. Admitedly I don’t go to football anymore – HMCS and the Football Banning Order Association have decided I’m not responsible enough to go within a mile of any football ground in the country, presumably for fear I might erupt into a frothing rage at the sight of a blue and white scarf and whack a load of pensioners. But what I experienced was that my generation were the last to uphold, or at least try in the face of an ever growing police presence, the core values of the football casual.
For me, the realisation that the game was over came one morning at our local derby. Our rivals had arrived early and got themselves into a boozer off the beaten track. The usual phone calls ensued. Muffled voices, crowds of heads gathering round the blower like a family sat around the wireless for the Queen’s speech. They were over the road.
Drinks slammed down, caps on, single file out the side exit. Look both ways, no old bill. Touch. Across the road and straight in through the double doors we went, waiting for the roar to go up, jacket up, cap down, ready to shield the bottles that I knew were about to come raining down any second…
And nothing.
They got up and ran. Literally ran past us, heads ducked down, and out the door. Teenagers. Kids with frightened looks on their faces. Sorry mate, we don’t want to play any more. Give us our ball back and we can go home.
You see, they thought they were on the phone to their equivalents, the young pretenders like themselves (and believe me we had them the same as everybody did) who’d jump around in the street shouting until the police separated them and they could claim a result for simply being there. When it transpired that they’d actually riled up a sizeable group of twenty-to-forty somethings who were intent on causing damage, and without the salvation of the police escort anywhere around, I saw their faces turn pale.


Wednesday, 12 June 2013

End Book T shirts

Following the excellent BBC1 programme a couple of nights ago, "Blacklist Britain", where friend of The End, and our new male model, Roy Bentham was interviewed wearing our limited edition, sold out, End Book Tee shirts, (previously only available at our book launch last year) we've had quite a few requests from people wanting to purchase one.
Like I said, we have none left at all at present, but if we get enough people pledging to buy, we will do another run

If anyone is interested can you inbox me on our facebook page

or you can email me at  we will be enlisting our usual, excellent printers and stockist at Hat Scarf Badge

Price will be around £13-£15 depending on orders received

Look forward to hearing from you

Tuesday, 14 May 2013

Rip Up The Sun (Hillsborough Justice Music Video)

Following on from excellent articles written by some from Red Brethren from the other end of the East Lancs Road, (Annie Eves, Hillsborough, a Mancs view;-      and  a brilliant article written by J Stand, from The MUFC web site A fine lung here is a song From Salford Band , "Class Actions" entitled Rip Up The Sun. They have released a compilation free download entitled ‘RIP up the Sun, R.I.P. the victims’, in order to raise awareness of the Hillsborough disaster of April 1989, and the subsequent campaign for justice.
The download includes a mixture of music and poetry from football fans of different teams worldwide in order to show solidarity with the victims and their families, which is far more important than any football team rivalry.
Class Actions’ signature tune ‘RIP Up the Sun’ is included, which features a youtube video shot around Liverpool, consisting of Liverpudlians literally ripping up the Sun and samples of Derek Coleman (a lifelong Liverpool fan). Last year the video made several national publications.

Friday, 19 April 2013

Hillsborough- A Mancs view- By Annie Eaves

Hillsborough – A Mancs View.

By Annie Eaves

I’m a United supporter. I’m from Manchester, well Salford to be precise.

I don’t like Liverpool. That’s the plan isn’t it? The script we all adhere to. Something only people from one of the two cities could understand. Our city is better than yours, yes you have the river and easy access to a beach but we’re Manchester. We started the industrial revolution, we invented the computer, we split the first atom. You played a major part in the slave trade.

I don’t like scousers. That’s the norm isn’t it? I prefer Mancunians. Scousers don’t like me. Scousers don’t like Mancs. All very well and good, except it’s rubbish. I do like most Scousers, indeed the ratio between my like of individual Scousers and Mancs is no doubt exact. I’m not going to stereotype Scousers as being salt-of-the-earth or having wit. They’re people, all individuals, all like you and me in their own ways.

When I was younger I’d hear conversations in pubs and offices and take part in them. Surely they knew they were killing their own fans? Surely they knew they were going in the wrong section? Surely some of the fans were to blame? I’m not ashamed of having those thoughts, it’s natural. It’s a natural question to ask of such a situation. I ask questions of many situations and my queries were not to be confused with insults. I kept them to myself mostly but read a bit. Here and there. I read more each year and each year I feel more closely connected to what happened in Sheffield. I feel more informed.

Perhaps it’s because I’m now a parent. Perhaps it’s because I’m older. I’m not sure why but each year with the more articles, diaries, first hand accounts I read, I feel more emotionally connected. This makes me more likely to talk to others about it. My mother who has buggered off to Spain for her 60′s came to stay yesterday and last night we sat and talked about Hillsborough. How when I was a youngster aged nine she was trying to explain to me what had happened, she knew little herself as the coverage had been so confused, she didn’t know what to say. She just told me that evening she was washing the dishes and realised that there would be many mothers who had seen their excited sons off to football that morning, like she had done many times herself, who would never see them again. She said she had cried and felt angry, she still gets upset now.

These genuine emotions make the behaivour of some football fans sickening.

Ignorant, insulting, and bizarre.

Last week against Fulham, during the barracking of Danny Murphy which I whole heartedly joined in with, I heard a man behind me shout ’96 was not enough’. Well I say shout, he more murmored it. I expect he knew that anything louder would result in him being shouted down, or worse/better. I believe I was the only one to hear, I was filled with rage. To be fair, I’m easily filled with rage. I wasn’t sure how to react and in my time thinking, the moment had passed. The ball had moved on and those who hadn’t noticed originally were not going to notice now.

I needed to let him know though. All I could do was simply turn and stare at him. He and I knew why I was giving him the Eaves stare. It was enough, if anything ever could be, to let him know this wasn’t on. In these moments you want to transport yourself and the idiot to a quiet country pub and drink and explain. Explain to the idiot why what he said is ridiculous, read the idiot the first hand accounts that never fail to bring tears to my eyes. Tell the idiot about the young man who cannot forget the feeling of crushing ribs under his feet. The young man who couldn’t remove his elbow from crushing someone’s windpipe before it was too late.

The Eaves stare is pretty good, but couldn’t convey that.

However these idiots are becoming rarer. I hope it’s because they read a bit. Here and there. I hope that they are not just biting their lip through a fear of being controversial. I hope that they are not just stopping the chants because they feel they should. I hope they have learned and feel the connection all football supporters should with Hillsborough.

Whilst the campaigners may not get the Justice For The 96 that they so desperately crave, their efforts are rewarded. This year many people will have read the first hand accounts through links on Twitter, Facebook, the rest. They’ll have read articles in papers. I have no doubt that somewhere today there’s an individual who had questions and now feels they are answered. An idiot will have been turned.

Somewhere today someone will have shed their first tear for Hillsborough, they won’t forget it. I don’t forget mine.

To read more from Annie Eaves follow her on Twitter @AnnieEaves

Monday, 15 April 2013

Heroes: April 15 1989

HEROES. April 15th 1989
Peter Hooton was the lead singer of The Farm and also edited influential Liverpool fanzine The End. Here, he salutes the heroes who showed their true colours on a day that changed lives forever.
It started like any other morning. A bright crisp spring morning, the beauty of the Snake Pass in the Peak District was breathtaking, as we travelled to the FA Cup semi-final being held at Hillsborough, Sheffield between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest. Little did we know that the coming day would forever change our lives and the game we loved.
After an uneventful journey, we arrived at the ground at about 2pm as we had done the previous year, at the same venue against the same team. Only this year things were different, outside the Leppings Lane it was absolute chaos.
The year before the police had appeared organised with a cordon checking tickets at the end of the road. This year things seemed to have gone badly wrong, with one or two mounted policemen in the middle of a massed motionless crowd. It was the sight no football fan wanted to see outside a ground: non-existent queues, no obvious police presence and no stewards. I had been in these situations many times before outside the Kop during the 70s prior to all-ticket games, and outside many away grounds - most notably Wolves in 1976 and of course Wembley, especially against Everton in 1986.
I knew the futility of getting into a crowd and trying to get to a turnstile! You panic, you sweat, you struggle to breathe and just as you get to within touching distance of the entrance you are sure to hit by a sway that takes you back to where you started. So I decided to go and get something to eat from a nearby shop and wait for the police to get their act together.
By 2.30pm it became obvious the situation wasn't going to get any better. So I reluctantly entered the crowd. It must be emphasised these were Liverpool fans with tickets, the touts I talked to that day were struggling, business was as they say "on the floor" compared to the same lucrative match the year before. This was not a ticketless crowd trying to bunk in or force the authorities to open the gates, this was a good-humoured crowd who deserved proper organisation, who wanted it, who were demanding it. Alas it was not forthcoming!
After ten to fifteen minutes of movement, invariably sideways and getting no nearer to the turnstiles, I saw fans climbing onto the turnstiles screaming at the police inside the ground to do something. Nothing happened. By 2.55pm, a sway took me to within inches of the turnstile. This was it; I was in, relief, emotion, I could hear the teams coming out onto the pitch, the roar of the crowd, another few agonising steps and I had made it.
Once inside, I was met by a jovial group of policemen, I told them in no uncertain terms that somebody was going to die outside the ground unless they did something quickly. They had to open the gates, I pleaded. I wasn't the only one. Most people, who staggered through the turnstiles due to sheer exhaustion, were also telling the police to get their act together. The common consensus was that they had to do something otherwise there would be a fatality or serious injuries outside the ground.
Either side of the Leppings Lane end were stairs into the side sections (which we now know were nearly empty). The gaping black hole of the Leppings Lane tunnel lead directly into the middle of the already packed terracing. No-one could have imagined the consequences of heading into that tunnel. The simple solution to such congestion would have been for club stewards and/or police to block off the central tunnel and funnel fans to the side sections. I had a ticket for the North stand so I went left but if I had had a ticket for the terraces I would have certainly gone into that tunnel.
Once inside I think I saw Liverpool hit the bar as I certainly know the game had already started before I found my seat. After a couple more minutes, a fan appeared on the pitch. He seemed unsteady on his feet, nobody had the faintest idea of what was happening and then more and more people spilled out onto the pitch.
The referee took the players off. I didn't think trouble, I immediately thought overcrowding. The Leppings Lane had been uncomfortable the year before and was well known in football circles for being a crap end. More and more people started to fill the pitch and Forest fans began to sing "You Scouse bastards" thinking that this was indeed a pitch invasion.
It soon became obvious that something more serious was happening but still the enormity of the tragedy could not have been imagined. After 20 minutes or so, an ambulance appeared at the opposite end of Leppings Lane and drove along the edge of the pitch. Around about the same time the police inexplicably set up a cordon across the halfway line. About 50 or so policemen stood there throughout the duration as the tragedy unfolded, making jovial smalltalk and passing the time of day. Presumably some of these people would have had first-aid skills but were under orders to stay on the halfway line. I know this because at 3.30pm I went onto the pitch and asked them why they were standing there and what was happening. It soon became obvious as the injured, dying and deceased were carried on the advertising hoardings, the vivid image we now know so well.
Most people on the pitch that day were bewildered, feeling either hopeless, confused or inadequate. I saw heroes that day and the majority were not in uniform. The real heroes that day were the ordinary Liverpool fans who seemed to take control of the operation, taking casualties to the opposite end of the pitch and laying the fans in the penalty area, in front of the Hillsborough Kop.
As the Liverpool fans tried to revive lifeless bodies, I felt totally inadequate. I tried to convince myself that these people had simply lost consciousness but in my heart of hearts I think I knew they were dead. The line of police looked on. Some people refused to give up pumping chests of complete strangers or maybe loved ones, giving the kiss of life to fellow Liverpool fans as the line of the police looked on.
The heroes of April 15 1989 were the ordinary Liverpool fans. Whoever you were; I salute you, your role in the tragedy unbelievably tarnished by the gutter press cover-up the following week.
That day, that night, that week, that year, that decade, I was inconsolable. But I was also proud to be a Liverpudlian. I had witnessed the selflessness, courage and dignity you afforded the dead and dying before they were handed over to the authorities. 96 RIP.
Peter Hooton was the lead singer of The Farm and also the edited influential Liverpool fanzine The End and contributed to The Face, NME, Loaded, Goal and the Liverpool FC official magazine

This article is from The