By John Brewin
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There has been no more emotive event in British football history
than the Hillsborough Disaster of April 15 1989. It was the spring
afternoon when a simple game of football became a massed human
tragedy. Having failed to learn the lessons of Burnden Park in
1946, Ibrox in 1971, the Bradford Fire of 1985 and, in the same
year, the Heysel riot, it was the watershed moment that football
had to change or face extinction.
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April 15 1989: Fans desperately try to climb out of the
crush in the terraces at Leppings Lane.
Two decades on, the recriminations continue, with the police
authorities and organising bodies responsible still not brought to
the justice that the families of those who died in Sheffield
believe they should face. During two reports that sought to make
sense of the disaster, Lord Justice Taylor laid blame firmly at the
door of the South Yorkshire Police whose actions, or lack of them,
had caused a dangerous situation to become one of mass fatality. In
ordering the closure of standing terraces to be replaced by banks
of seating, he changed the atmosphere and demographic of British
football stadia forever.
All-seater stadia have a direct lineage to that sunny spring
day. The modernising of football may have had regrettable
consequences with high pricing, the poverty gap and the closed shop
that many clubs have become being among the main complaints but at
least the match-going fan is no longer at the risk yielded by
nearly a century of neglect.
The disaster itself was a collision of factors that could have
occurred many times before. Previous stark warnings had not served
to solve the problems. The 1989 FA Cup semi-final between Liverpool
and Nottingham Forest was chickens coming home to roost in the most
harrowing style possible. By the late 1980s the football stadiums
of England were dilapidated, a relic from the early 20th century
when most of them had been constructed. Hillsborough itself had
been rebuilt in the 1960s and had been one of the host grounds for
the 1966 World Cup finals. The Leppings Lane end where the disaster
took place had last been properly renovated in 1965. By the
standards of that day, it was regarded as one the best grounds in
the land.
The era between the golden footballing age of the 1960s and the
late 1980s saw stadia neglected to the state of decay. As
attendances steadily fell so too did available revenue to spend on
rebuilding grounds. Sheffield Wednesday, who spent much of the
1970s at the lowest ebb in their history, were by no means a
wealthy club. But then again, by today's standards, few clubs
were.
To attend a match in that time was not the sanitised theme park
that many Premier League clubs now aspire to. Fans who chose the
terraces sometimes had to be prepared to stand for hours before
games so as to make sure they got in. Access to toilet facilities
were limited on big-match days, giving rise to many a story about
fans feeling the warm, wet and deeply unpleasant sensation of being
urinated on. When goals were scored or in other moments of high
excitement, fans found themselves catapulted forward and back, up
and down, steep and often decaying terraces. You would rarely end a
match where you started to watch it. Take a look at videos of games
from the era and view the swelling sea of humanity as a goal goes
in. You don't get that at the Emirates for your £65. It looked
dangerous. It felt dangerous. It eventually proved deadly.
Another facet of the era was the fencing in of supporters.
Hooliganism's growth in the early 1970s had led clubs to construct
high and forbidding fences, caging fans in to prevent them from
storming the pitch. As a result, fans were often given a poor view
of the games, having to watch the action through tiny grids of
metal. Should an emergency occur, they were penned in to face their
fate as panic set in.
In 1974, Manchester United, at the height of their "Red Army"
era, had been the first to put up perimeter fencing. The seventies
drew on and hooliganism grew worse, hitting its apex in 1985 when
39 people died at Heysel when a wall collapsed after Juventus fans
fled from a charge by Liverpool fans at the 1985 European Cup
Final. Such incidents meant that the small safety gates placed in
the fences in case of emergency were almost always locked. At
Hillsborough in 1989, the gates were only opened by policemen when
it became clear that things were turning deadly. To do so, they had
to go against orders.
The "English disease", and the attitude of the Thatcher
government - "the enemy within" - and establishment towards the
game had football on something approaching its last legs. There was
no TV injection into clubs of the type currently enjoyed. A
latter-day deal for Football League rights far outstrips the amount
ITV then paid for their one live match a week from the top
division. In 1989, both FA Cup semis were played at the same time,
3pm on a Saturday. Neither were televised as live broadcasts. To
the younger generation of football supporters, this must resemble
some form of footballing dark ages.
Hillsborough Stadium itself had previous. The FA Cup semi-final
of 1981 between Tottenham Hotspur and Wolves had seen 38 people
injured when the late arrival of Spurs fans at the Leppings Lane
End after bad traffic on the M1 had led to a terrifying crush. This
incident had seen the ground ignored for semi-finals for another
six years, only being allowed to re-stage such games by the FA
after the terrace was restructured into five pens stretching behind
the goal.
Even after similar crushing was reported at the 1987 semi-final
between Leeds United and Coventry City, the FA chose to place
Liverpool and Forest at Hillsborough for 1988's FA Cup semi, a
carbon copy of the game that would end in tragedy.
The 1988 game had seen fans feeling similarly uncomfortable with
many a complaint made about how Liverpool, with a far higher
average attendance, were granted the smaller end while Forest fans
were given Hillsborough's own Kop, itself redolent of the stand of
the same name at Anfield. The flow of car traffic from the roads
the fans of each club would be travelling from was the given
explanation for that.
The FA chose to hold the 1989 match in the same place, citing
its precursor as a success. That the ground did not possess a valid
safety certificate was only later discovered.
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The police expectation of hooliganism delayed the
arrival of emergency services to help the dying and injured.
A personal memory of the stadium of the time comes from two
months before. Manchester United travelled to play Sheffield
Wednesday on February 11 and took a huge (12,000+) away following
to South Yorkshire.
As I sat in the main stand with my father, the first half was
dominated by events on that Leppings Lane end. It was difficult to
concentrate on the on-field action as it became clear there was
something afoot in the away end. While we knew the "back way" over
the Pennines to get to the ground, the majority of fans had been
delayed on the motorway over. Late arrivals were obviously causing
a bottleneck. Some form of panic was taking hold, with the central
terraces over-filled. Eventually, a significant number of fans were
filtered by police and stewards into an empty and uncovered stand
in the left-hand corner.
On that occasion something approaching sensible stewarding
prevented anyone getting seriously injured. Two months later, with
the game much higher in profile, the policing of events lacked
anything approaching that level of calm and lateral thinking.
Despite the late arrival of many fans, no delay in kick-off - a
common safety practice these days - was sanctioned. Sadly, this was
far from the last mistake made by police on that fateful day.
The overly rigid segregation of fans on entry to the
Hillsborough area and closing off of certain routes led to crushing
in the tight back-streets around Leppings Lane. The sheer mass of
numbers kept waiting by the plodding click of the turnstiles, of
which there were far too few, led to police to make what Lord
Justice Taylor would later describe as a "blunder of the first
magnitude".
“
A blunder of the first magnitude
”
Lord Justice Taylor on
the opening of Gate C
In choosing to open up Gate C at 2.52pm, opening up the central
pens on the lower terraces that were already choc-full of fans
already in some discomfort, the police, led by Chief Superintendent
David Duckenfield, set disaster into agonising motion.
An estimated 3,000 fans, unfiltered by the turnstiles and not
guided by police or stewards into less packed pens, piled into an
area reserved for 2,000 people. It was later found that no more
than 1,600 should have been allowed into the pens for them to be
anywhere near safe. Many of those who had gone in through the
opened gate found themselves, as a result of a collapsed crash
barrier, propelled to the front and eventually crushed against the
fences. Before it was clear there was a disaster afoot, BBC
TV commentator John Motson had also remarked on the lack of
fans in the terraces to the flank of the fateful central pens.
By kick-off some fans were either dying or dead yet police were
trained to think first of hooliganism, thus denying the other
emergency services the extra time they may have been able to use to
save lives. Another personal memory is that at the game I was at
that day (Macclesfield Town v Dartford), the initial reports of
people being dead at Hillsborough centred around hooliganism. Even
then, the thought of the "50 dead" estimated that sunny afternoon
seemed unreal and utterly tragic, a terrible waste of life.
Only one ambulance ever made it onto the playing field, but not
until 3.36, by which time the game had been abandoned as fans
spilled on to the pitch, with some of the dead already lying
pitchside. In the words of Taylor, Duckenfield had "frozen" and
failed to respond to the pressing emergency of the situation. Even
now, the families of the lost are seeking explanation as to why
their loved ones did not receive the treatment that may have saved
them until it was far too late.
Such questions will continue to be raised in the next few days
and for years to come. The aftermath of the disaster continues. No
criminal charges were ever brought against the authorities involved
and private prosecutions against Duckenfield and other officers
also failed to bear the fruit of justice to the families of the 96
who died. Yet they fight on. The police had tried in vain to cover
their tracks, first lying that Gate C had been forced open and then
choosing to blame drunken fans for the chaos that they failed to
control. Taylor's report found that of the dead only a small
minority were over the alcohol limit for driving a car. In choosing
to paint a similarly vulgar picture of the conduct of fans'
behaviour as "The Truth" in the week after the disaster,
The Sun newspaper knocked 200,000 readers off its daily
circulation. It has never recovered those readers.
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Twenty years on the Hillsborough Justice Campaign
continues to fight on. It is yet to secure criminal conviction
against those responsible.
That and other scars continue to run deep when considering
Hillsborough. Many fans bemoan the comparative lack of atmosphere
in stadiums after terracing was torn down in the early 1990s
(Liverpool themselves were one of the last clubs to do so, not
ripping down their Kop until 1994). Debates on safe-standing always
fall on the stony ground of what happened that day, despite such
policies existing successfully in Germany. The families of the 96
continue to be active in the cause of seeking justice, with the
likes of Steven Gerrard, who lost a cousin on that Sheffield
afternoon, being fully supportive of the movement.
Twenty years on, the events of April 15 1989 are never far from
the footballing public's consciousness. It was the day when neglect
bore horrific consequences.
In the coming week the Hillsborough Disaster will be back in the
limelight, and rightly so. The tragedy of so many lives lost in the
trivial act of watching a football match can never be underplayed.
In the cruellest way possible, the realisation of its causes and
effects changed the game forever.