Bringing back memories of 1959/60

Last updated : 26 November 2015 By Keith Sladen

I was just six when I attended my first match at Turf Moor, the 6-0 victory over Sunderland in October 1957 which, although I didn’t realise it at the time, was Ray Pointer’s home debut. After seeing such a performance at the first time of asking I was hooked, and have been ever since. 

I lived in Todmorden, a strong area of Burnley support, and the players who lined up that day were already household names at home and in the neighbourhood – Colin McDonald, Bobby Seith, Les Shannon, Doug Newlands, Albert Cheesebrough. We didn’t know then that those stars would gradually be replaced by even more famous names in the annals of the club, before that incredible night at Maine Road in May 1960. 

Hero Colin McDonald

Colin McDonald was a towering goalkeeper, my hero, and genuine international class. What a shame his career ended so prematurely. Adam Blacklaw’s absolute commitment eventually won us over but many times our hearts were in our mouths! 

In fact, so many top-flight goalkeepers are mentioned in the pages – Albert Dunlop, Gil Merrick, George Farm, Harry Leyland, Malcolm Finlayson, Chic Thomson, Eddie Hopkinson, David Gaskell, Reg Matthews, Bill Brown, Jack Kelsey, Ron Springett, Gordon Banks, Ron Baynham, Tony Macedo and, of course, Bert Trautmann. When lucky enough to get down to the front at the Bee Hole End, the goalkeepers were almost within touching distance. 

I can’t say with certainty which matches I saw that famous season, 1959-60, but I can remember certain games and events with clarity. Often, I was never sure how I would get to Turf Moor, whether with my Dad and his mates squashed up in the back of a small car (a stop at the “Fighting Cocks” on Red Lees Road was obligatory and the crisps and pop were a treat), with our next-door neighbour or with my grandad on the bus, the football special from Todmorden. 

I know that I saw the 4-1 home defeat to Blackpool. I don’t think Stanley Matthews played that day but even now I still can’t believe the result! How could Burnley lose at home so convincingly to such lowly opposition? 

My next clear memory compensated for the Blackpool match – the 8-0 victory over Nottingham Forest. I was down at the front at the Bee Hole End and of course the oft-maligned Jimmy Robson knocked in five goals. Perhaps Forest were not the sternest opposition, but they were the cup-holders and looking at the final table for the 1959-60 season, their goals conceded stands comparison with the rest of the Division – especially if eight is deducted! 

Winter was now setting in and a match at Turf Moor, when the weather was freezing cold or the pitch was ankle-deep in mud, posed a hardy test. The landmark floodlights flickering reluctantly into action just before the start of the second-half (never before!) seemed to be the sign for Jimmy McIlroy to raise the tempo and more or less pin the visitors against the Cricket Field End. 

My next clear memory is my first away match at Old Trafford on Boxing Day. I distinctly remember Cliff’s “Living Doll” over the half-time tannoy and the generosity of the United supporters at the end of the game. We were positioned high up over the corner-flag on the right-hand side of the Main Stand. I was perched on a crush barrier and the Stretford End where Burnley notched their first-half goals seemed miles away. Incredibly, the attendance was almost 63,000 – little wonder my feet stayed warm that day! What a contrast to mid-winter at Turf Moor! Also, a Burnley victory at Old Trafford in those days was not so rare an occurrence. 

(We recently visited Salford Quays and the Lowry just adjacent to Old Trafford. What a contrast now to the industrial power of that area in the late fifties.) 

Anyway, the tables were turned two days later. To my eight-year old mind, I couldn’t see how we could win at Old Trafford then lose to the same team at home so soon afterwards. 

The New Year heralded the FA Cup and in those days that competition seemed to take precedence over “bread and butter” league fixtures, as the fans’ interest and attendances demonstrated. 

The Lincoln City replay was the first occasion I was allowed to go to a night match. It was cold and we stood high up in the “V” on the right hand side of the Bee Hole End. Every adult seemed to be smoking and tobacco smoke hung heavily in the frosty air. McIlroy scored with one of his trade-mark penalty kicks. I think I went to the next match, Chelsea, played on a carpet of snow – not unusual in those days. 

Events slip in and out of my memory, but I do remember going to the Bolton Wanderers game at Burnden Park. I was left distraught that day because we were hosted by my Dad’s cousin who I was not particularly fond of. He constantly reminded us that he had played in goal for Bolton earlier in the fifties so I suppose I was in awe of him a little. In fact, when I researched this in later years I could find one, or at most two, appearances for Bolton’s Central League team! 

Anyway, there was no hiding the fact that Burnley played poorly that day and, not for the first time nor the last, Bolton “knocked them about a bit”. The curious thing about Burnden Park was that the terracing at the touchline was almost below pitch level so you had to crane your neck upwards to see the game. This was quite unlike Turf Moor. 

The Bolton game followed the Bradford City cup-tie. I didn’t go to either game but both have their own folklore. I still have a memory of a grainy newspaper photograph showing the clock at Valley Parade past 4.30 and Bradford still with a 2 goal lead. In those days, of course, matches finished more or less on the dot at 4.40. 

I was not allowed to go to the replay because the match created enormous interest in East Lancashire and the West Riding and another huge crowd was expected. The attendance was indeed one of the biggest Turf Moor had seen (and has never been exceeded since?). Living in Todmorden, the traffic that evening from Bradford was incredible – road and rail. We lived near the railway line and the following morning on my way to school I remember picking up claret and amber rosettes discarded by disappointed Bradford fans on their way home. 

As the season moved into March, there was hardly time to draw breath. I can’t forget the Tottenham game. This was another crackling night match. Tottenham’s white shirts seemed to glisten in the floodlights (until the mud took over!) and I suppose the match started with Danny Blanchflower in command. But this type of fixture seemed to bring out the best in Burnley and yet again, as the second half progressed, the Cricket Field End was under siege. The noise which greeted Connelly and Pointer’s goals must have reverberated around the surrounding hills. Once more I was down at the touchline, this time in the Longside “enclosure” between the centre-line and the Cricket Field End. 

The matches against Blackburn Rovers now took over. Once again the large crowd expected for the cup-tie meant that I had to be satisfied with the league fixture the week before. This was on the day of a school-friend’s birthday so a group of us squeezed into his Dad’s rather grand Austin. He was a stern schoolmaster who taught Maths at Burnley Grammar so we had to be on our best behaviour. The fact that Burnley recorded a crucial league win seems to have been lost alongside the heroic efforts of both teams in the cup tie. 

Nevertheless, after the defeat at Ewood Park, the way was now clear to “concentrate on the league”. The 3-3 draw at home to Sheffield Wednesday was my ninth birthday treat and the two Easter games against Leicester City and Luton Town on successive days were not greeted with any enthusiasm with my Mum when she realised that football was taking precedence over what was traditionally the time for family tea-parties and day trips! 

I have a memory of travelling by train from Todmorden to Blackpool at this time of the season but I think it was probably two years later, when the double dream was slowly crumbling. 

My next clear memory is the 0-0 draw with Fulham. I can remember Tony Macedo saving everything and, although there was much disappointment at the final whistle and we went home in subdued mood, it slowly dawned on Burnley and all the surrounding area that the Championship was now in our own hands. I think Burnley had not topped the table at any meaningful point during the whole season, but that would matter little in two days time. 

I had no inkling that I would be going to Maine Road until tea-time on the day. It was a fine Spring evening, just a normal Monday (not a Bank Holiday in those days) when my next door neighbour (he was a butcher and had a very low opinion of the quality of Bob Lord’s meat!) called out and off we went in his friend’s van me crumpled up in the back. My Dad was just coming home from work and although he was pleased that I was going, I sensed he was disappointed and a little envious that he wasn’t joining us. 

Our driver had made the journey to Manchester on many occasions to support Burnley at Old Trafford and Maine Road. I don’t recall any traffic problems and we were able to park reasonably near the ground. Nevertheless, the crowds around the stadium were huge with probably not many tiny nine year-old boys, but somehow we fought our way onto the terracing of what I learned later was the Kippax Street Stand. 

I was lifted onto a crush barrier high up overlooking the penalty area which Burnley attacked in the first-half and I am trying to record only the things I can categorically remember not what I have since been told or read! 

It is difficult to describe the charged atmosphere in words – there was tension, nervous anticipation, tobacco smoke, the squash of human bodies, uncontrolled swaying and movement, noise, jostling, and somehow you felt that City would be no pushover, they were not going to allow Burnley an easy game. 

Pilkington’s goal came so early and unexpectedly and Trautmann seemed wrong-footed as the ball rolled over the line at the angle he hadn’t protected. The iconic photograph shows Pointer crouching with his arms out-stretched and a look of almost disbelief on his face. I have never worked out what Denis Law was doing on his knees in the full-back position! 

City equalised but that was at the other end a long way in the distance to our right and before we knew it the ball dropped in front of Meredith in the penalty area below us. It seemed to happen so quickly, he simply volleyed it past Trautmann with accuracy, confidence and total composure. The players celebrated, of course, but as they returned to their own half I have an abiding memory of a tall and cool Jimmy Adamson towering over Meredith and ruffling his hair like a proud father congratulating his son on passing an important exam! 

Burnley were not to be denied that evening but they had to fend off everything City threw at them. I can remember Adamson calmly taking throw-ins down in front of us, McIlroy trying to slow things down in his own inimitable fashion but most of all Blacklaw constantly plucking the ball out of the air, sometimes calmly more often frantically. 

The second-half was the longest ever but eventually the final whistle sounded. 

My only remaining memories of that incredible, momentous night are driving back along Great Ancoats Street in the centre of Manchester past the futuristic glass-fronted Daily Express printworks and imagining the presses already recording the events we had just seen. Then, stopping the van somewhere in Middleton, to be sick outside an old lady’s terraced house and jumping quickly back in just as she came to the door to see what was going on! Events had caught up with this nine-year old. 

I still have the team photo on display with the famous Football League Championship trophy. I’ve always thought it a pity that other players who played their part that season were not included. 

We may never win the Premier League but it would be nice to return to the top flight as Football League champions one day. 

 

The book referred to is: 

Never Had It So Good by Tm Quelch
It's published by Pitch Publishing Ltd. and is available from Amazon at £9.99