That Fateful Day

Last updated : 02 January 2003 By Grandmaster Suck
My own father tells of that day and whilst he cannot remember the day vividly, he certainly can remember the aftermath.

It began like any other day - 1971 and my older brother had just turned one. My father went to the Georgic on Pollokshaws Road like any other game to meet his pals, however was slightly under the weather from the night before.

Because of the that, or because of the game (he cannot remember which) he decided to have a skin-full again and subsequently did not take up his usual spot in the now infamous Stairway 13. What I put this down to could be fate, could be drink or could be luck.

Of course, when my father did not arrive home from the match my mother was frantic. She knew were he stood and knew what had happened. Friends and family called to see if he was home, but to no avail. Never before (and probably never since) has my mother been so glad to see my father arrive home, worse for wear, with a half-eaten fish supper.

He was one of the fortunate ones, and if I am honest you cannot understand the scale of grief felt until, not actually hearing about it, but reading about it. The 2nd January will prove to be an emotional day.

My heart goes out to all those involved and all those families and friends affected by this tragedy. God bless you all.

Vanderhogg, The East Enclosure Dutchman