Category: Uncategorized

By HWS 8th December 2024

The Dumfries Bowling Club bar is a place Shaun McSorley and I would hang around in during the midweek days. It became a beacon of solitude during those days spent in a dole induced coma in the hope just to numb the pain of mind-boggling sadness of knowing we were mere puppets on Thatcher’s strings. The mid 80’s brought along many things and most of it was yet another toe punt in the balls. Fae communities being torn apart at will along with family members being pitted against one another on the picket line. And those once proud heart beating industries of the area that once gave people where I’m from a sense of identity were discarded to the ash heaps of history. Along with our hopes of a brighter tomorrow. Such painful thoughts we couldn’t escape whilst watching horizontal rain rattling off the boozer’s windows. Deep down the pair of us had visions of escaping abroad to live in the sun. Sure, more than likely we would still be jobless and penniless. Still at least we would be in a land where the sunrises.

The usual suspects in the bar during the week are, Whiskey Nose McCulloch, Bruce Campbell, and Arch Thompson. They were undoubtedly the most significant trio of bitter, bullying old twats you could ever encounter. While their antics were often cringe-worthy, you could either sit back and observe them with a healthy dose of disdain, or you could find yourself giggling at them uncontrollably or cringing at their behaviour.

Whiskey nose rightfully earned his title due to his big read cricket ball hooter as a result of his daily battles with Bell’s whiskey. A boy who could easily be handpicked by Santa to guide his sleigh in a Christmas Eve snowstorm. He had a real resemblance to Sid James and consistently wore the same black shirt with small silver tassels on the collar, it reminded me of something that Johnny Cash would wear. Along with this he would just growl at us.

The three stooges were avid supporters of Rangers FC. Just another reason that left me wondering why the fuck I shared the same airspace as these jokers. Of course, they would refer to them as ‘the fucking Rangers’’. Words that sounded like that angry self entitled persona that most of this clubs faithful carried around like the pounds and pence in their pockets.

Bruce as always is kitted out in his customary Adidas samba training shoes, snow wash pieces of denim, and a brown leather jacket with big flaps. Also prominent was his tight, curly hair, which was almost pubic-like, sporting a big brown moustache and silver-rimmed specs. Lager top is his choice of drink preferably McEwan’s. He seemed to like that wee bit of froth on his moustache so he could lick it off. The year is 1987 and Rangers were sponsored by McEwans Lager. Also on the go was the McEwan’s Lager advert ‘’you’ve got the power’ by the band ‘Win’, this instilled into Bruce something that he could never find on his own, a sense of belonging.

Arch Thompson was the angriest of the three, a boy who would probably moan if the sky was blue. His round football-shaped face is a ringer for Korky the Cat from the Dandy. The sort of puss that would fast become addictive smashing.  

The three amigos were constantly trying to get us barred from the bowling club as we were “not of the correct calibre to own a membership to a respected establishment” This of course made things less boring which was a bit of a bonus in the grand scheme of things. Shaun’s crucifix necklace seems to attract special attention from Arch, he addresses him as “the cunt wi the hang glider”

On this particular depressing wet and tedious afternoon, myself and Shaun are in the club drawing picture’s and crushing beer mats while downing snake bites. Simple measures to prevent us from running a razor across our wrists. Our sketches were at least creative including a music group consisting of Arch fitba face Thompson and his entourage. In the name of comedy the band was named “The Firemen” as oppose to “The Police” ironically because at this very moment the jukebox is playing Walking on the Moon and Arch is miming the words with his comrade Whisky Nose whilst they are playing dominos.

The cartoon drawings have Arch Thompson on vocals as he has the loudest and aggressive persona, a bit like John Lydon, but not in any good or talented way. Rudolph’s love child was strumming the bass guitar, giving it pure attitude. We then illustrated Bruce Campbell giving it big bashes on the drums. A tag along who was quite harmless was auld Dougie, he’s also a regular in the bar. Dougie rarely found himself away from his transistor radio in his lug, as he listened to the football scores or horse racing. All with the purpose of trying to score a rare victory over the bookie. We scribbled him into the band and sketched him just standing there tapping a tambourine. Auld Dougie’s dress code is always a dead ringer for that Harry Enfield character with the catchphrase, “Now I do not believe you wanted to do that, did you?”

Arch ‘Korky’ Thomson is at the bar ordering his drinks when we hear the rustle of a crisp packet, and he’s staring straight over at us, all macho with his chest puffed out, whilst shaking his pack of ready salted crisps. The next thing, Raymond the bartender has a pickled egg on a tablespoon and proceeds to drop it into Arch’s packet of crisps. Arch then gives the packet another gentle shake as he’s still staring straight through us with this ‘square go now then ya cunt’’ expression melted across his puss. It reminds me of one of John Waynes western flicks where he’s waiting for the first cunt to blink before he lights up the room like a Fourth of July firework display. 

Incidentally, this pickled egg and crisps mix is his lunch he is telling Raymond and it saves him from “going hame for dinner, it is a balanced meal I’ll tell ye, and I sometimes add peanuts for the full of nutrition”.

As we’re drawing and imaging Arch signing in a band the laughter almost becomes contagious.  As old fitba face is munching on the crisps he gives us the obligatory fantasy threat yet again, “you lot are no so clever when I see you in Fine Fare and you go white wi fear especially the cunt wi the hang glider!” This daydream grenade has been thrown into our laps many times. So, once again Shaun and I need to inform him and and more importantly for the benefit of the audience that “we have never seen you in Fine Fare”. To which we get the compulsory threat of “I’ll take the twae of yizootside”

Predictably, Raymond, the barman rolls over and attempts to defuse any potential tension. He informs us: “I don’t believe in mindless violence gents so can we all keep things civil, the club has a good reputation”. As he has both his hands out in a slow posture that mimicks bouncing two basketballs. Of course, he is only looking in our direction with this request. This will be due to his fear of Arch et al and with him also being a supporter of the Rangers I would strongly predict. Raymondo either wears a Scotland or a British Lions rugby shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and this would alternate each day. Today it was the red British Lions one. His head is always shaved to the bone and we are convinced he applies some kind of oil making it shine like a snooker ball.

Suddenly, Raymond is very impressed with our sketch. It is really Shaun’s handy work he did have natural talent and had flirted with going to art school in the past.

“That is talented drawing lads,” Raymondo compliments us, possibly this is a kind of deflection tactic. He is so impressed he inquires, “Would it be possible for the club to have the drawing, it’s not often we can show such creativity from our members” so, with Mr Sheen head having no idea who the characters were, we oblige and to this day the picture of a band named The Firemen hangs above the Bar at the Bowling Club; with only Shaun and myself knowing who the characters are.

Sitting away from the crowd were two distinguished gentlemen: Eric Boland and Professor Yaffle, both of whom had little fondness for Arch and his companions. Eric is genuinely a good soul, who, after a few beers, has a habit of crushing your hand and proclaiming, “I’ve just rode into town,” a phrase inspired by his love of Western movies. As always he is wearing his signature deerstalker hat. I believe the hat adds to his character; I loved how he would tie the ribbons under his chin while sipping his glass of whisky with his pinky raised. I suppose you could say Eric was a bit damaged or eccentric but it was never in a negative way for us.

According to legend, Eric was a well-known Rugby Union player who traveled to the north of England to play Rugby League, where he could earn maire than a cauliflower fur his troubles. His dream to aspire  was viewed as a serious betrayal, leading to a disconnection from his peers in the Rugby Union community. Fitba Puss and Whisky Nose also criticised him for this choice, failing to resist peer pressure and the small town mentality. Having such ambitions is often viewed as an act ae class treason in such small towns.

Eric did not care and would inform us “see that lot at the bar, thir a waste o claes … Fackin arseholes”. Shaun and I could certainly relate to this.

Professor Yaffle is Eric’s right-hand man but he just sits there in silence but will laugh at Erics stories like some geriatric groupie with this “nyick nyick nyick”  tone. This resulted in us baptising him “Professor Yaffle” in honour of the carved woodpecker from the ‘70s children’s programme Bagpuss. He also just so happened to wear those round lensed specs as well like John Lennon

Professor Yaffle’s full name on the programme is Augustus Barclay Yaffle. He typically prides himself on being the brains of the outfit, given his extensive knowledge. However, our version at the bowling club presents a more complex character who mostly agrees with Eric and the rest of us.

Eric would rhyme off stories and direct a sideways glance, swinging his thumb towards Yaffle for confirmation, “he’ll tell ye,” and Yaffle would respond with a toothy smile followed by his characteristic squawk. Shaun and I loved sitting there, enjoying the company of the two men and their crazy sense of humour. We could relate to it, perhaps out of boredom, but who cares?

Eric is sharing his daily anecdote, which has a cowboy western movie twist to it, as he mimics drawing a gun while riding into town. it, as he mimics drawing a gun while riding into town like fucking John Wayne himself.

“I rode into town and down the Old Kent Road and stopped for caviar and truffles”.

Our table of four is on that infectious laughter, in-the-moment vibe enhanced by Yaffle’s response. However, Korky the Cat puss Arch Thomson is glaring over holding this invisible wheelbarrow posture. Miserable prick was opposed to a laugh and giggle. The cunt was always self-conscious in case we were ripping the piss out of him and band of merry men.

As the pints were rapidly downed, Eric folded a beer mat into his mouth in the name of comedy and for the sheer thrill of making a tit of himself. His patter is drenched in a thick London twang and he belts out a repetitive rant…

Dan the Old Kent Rowd

Dan the Old Kent Rowd

Dan the Old Kent Rowd

This trip through the asylum has set us all off in to explode in a fit of giggles and watching the poker face response from Arch et.al only turned up the thermostat on the comedy routine. However, Raymondo, the barman with his snooker ball napper on full display is collecting empties and with his intense gaze in our direction we’ve clearly not tickled his funny bone. Arch fitba puss Thomson escapes the unravelling events and growls over to us, ‘IRA bastards!’’. The sickly odour of sectarianism is hoovering up everybody’s beaks. Such a bizarre accusation, leading Raymondo to seek out an escape hatch. He informs us ‘“okay lads it’s time to leave, we can’t have such political views here at the club” So due to our apparent political opinion’s reported and confirmed by the jury of Arch “fitba puss” Thomson and encouraged by whisky nose McCulloch we are being told to leave. By this point, none of us can even find the energy to argue. We are still too much in hilarity. As we leave the club and approach the exit, Raymond feels a sense of power and is guiding us towards the door walking behind us expertly herding us like a flock of sheep. Although we are leaving anyway and are care-free about the whole situation.

As we look back at the fine gentlemen of the Bowling Club establishment. We have whisky nose, Korky the Cat and Bruce frothy moustache singing in unison “cheerio, cheerio, cheerio”!

Simply the breasts

Good work from these two. Some fantastic tunes played. Hopefully have them in the stadium soon.

After reaching a milestone birthday this week. Kevin and the rest of the old skool CSC went on an outing to Paisley. In typical reunion style the old stories did flow. Kev takes us on his trip down memory lane.

I suppose we need to go back to the late 1970’s. Around ’78 or ’79. Around that time a lot of the trouble for us lads from Coatbridge centred on travelling on the train between Coatbridge and Glasgow. At each stop another group of Celtic supporters would get on and eventually certain carriages became associated with different areas, in the regular travel through to Parkhead. There’d be some stops, like Garrowhill, where you’d meet Rangers fans on the platform and it would kick off. You’d get benches thrown through windows and seats launched out, from inside the train. Lads jumping off onto the platform or lads trying to get into the train for a scrap. So that’s where my first experiences of football violence began. I was only a kid travelling on the trains to the matches but it felt like running a gauntlet between Coatbridge and Parkhead.

The next thing that sticks in my mind is the 1980 cup final at Hampden, when there was a huge riot after the final whistle. I can remember going on the Coatbridge supporters’ bus to that game. Celtic had won 1-0 and a couple of young lads had gone on the park and ran up the other end. At the other end, they stopped and kicked a beach ball into the net, and celebrated like it was them who had won the cup. That sparked a whole scale pitch invasion from the rangers end. With loads of older guys all on the park chasing these lads back towards the Celtic end but as soon as the Rangers supporters had taken to the pitch, it obviously sparked our end as well and the Celtic fans took to the field to face them down. One thing I remember clearly is that I looked up at the air above the crowd and it looked like a sea of midges or flies but was actually a sea of bottles, cans and other missiles that were in the air. There was that much being thrown. It was a mental atmosphere. I also remember seeing my first policewoman, on a horse. There was this mounted policewoman, riding a white horse through the crowd whacking people with her batten. The police restored order after some time.

            We returned to our supporters’ bus and tried to head for the safety of Coatbridge via Glasgow’s south side. As we were driving along we passed a few Rangers fans, which were waving their scarves and flags and giving us the two fingered salute. One of the boys stuck his arse up to the window and mooned at them. Next thing there seemed to be more and more Rangers fans appearing from nowhere, hundreds of them. The bus driver was new to the job, and didn’t know his way around Glasgow; he’d taken a wrong turning and was driving us back into the city, via, the route for Rangers supporters. Our bus got absolutely wrecked. Smashed   (Within a week, drink was banned at football etc…Pre cursor for all laws that were later brought in to curtail football hooliganism)

            I come from Coatbridge which is known as little Ireland. It’s a 90% Irish Catholic town and the whole town is Celtic mad. It’s inevitable then, that there would be a few lads that were well up for a bit of soccer violence. In the early days it was a bunch of lads that were quite family orientated. It was a tight unit. We went to the football together, drank together, socialised. The boys I went with from Coatbridge would have been my brother James, Gerry, Fudgy.

For a while it was just us, that tight little group but it was probably me more than the others who had a taste for more, and went on to become a CSC lad. It took me a few months to get to know people and get in amongst it with the CSC. They used to call me Kevin ‘the boys’. It was a kind of affectionate slagging of me because of my slightly different, Coatbridge accent. I was known to always turn up and say ‘Where’s the boys? What’s happening with the boys today? Are the boys coming?’ Hence the nickname. The Glaswegians always used to noise me up at first. We used to go to clubs together at weekends, the warehouse, fury Murray’s. We hung around the pubs at George Square, like Sylvester’s, which became the Berlin Bar. The Berlin became a bit of a stronghold for us. That’s where all the lads used to meet up before jumping on the football specials at Queen Street. We’d head off from Queens Street to places like Aberdeen, Dundee and Edinburgh for matches and scraps.

During the 80’s there were times when there were more than 400 lads on those trains. In a big mob like that you obviously didn’t know everybody, so whether people would stand or run, it was an unknown quantity, until the fighting actually started. Some would stand their ground; some would get off their mark (run). It didn’t matter to me where people came from, as long as they were lads that were up for it. We had middle class, working class, guys with money and guys from really poor backgrounds. But all lads together. One of my pet hates, I remember, was when we tried to organise for the football specials in a more disciplined way, you’d still always have lads that just wanted to do their own thing. You know, we’d try to get people to stay quiet, maybe not get so drunk for particular games, don’t shout and sing and draw attention. Sometimes it worked but many times it didn’t. I hated arriving in places like Aberdeen, hoping to surprise them and the lads would just pour off the train and immediately burst into a chorus of ‘Celtic! Celtic! Celtic!’ which obviously drew police attention to us, and often scuppered our plans to surprise other mobs. I didn’t see the point of having no tactics, just jumping off a train and letting everybody know that you were there.

When we went through to Edinburgh, against Hibs, we’d get off at Waverley, the main station. Hibs had tactics, you’d never see them, and then you’d look up and see a little head looking down from a bridge above you. You’d know they had their spotters out. We’d be given a police escort to take us down leaf walk towards Easter Road. No sooner had you started walking down the road, than you’d just be pelted from all sides of the road by bricks and bottles from Hibs’ CCS mob that had been lying in wait for us. Sometimes you never even saw the people who were throwing the stuff at us that was Hibs. We had a lot of good scraps with Hibs. We respected them and they respected us. Well, most of them anyway. Hibs had a bit of a mixed crew.  A lot of what you could say neutral lads when it came to politics or Ireland which is fine, but they also seem to let some right wing influence in with them, some of these lads actually supported Hearts and they seem to be able to still keep their politics and join Hibs which were a bit off centre for us, they all came from different areas of Edinburgh, so some of them would have their own views of Celtic. Some were really sound with us; others weren’t. We were never really bothered about who liked or disliked us.

One of the games that were most significant against Hibs was, obviously, the CS gas bomb game, in 1987. About 40 of us decided to get the train through early. The football special wasn’t scheduled to leave until quarter past one, and we were supposed to wait for the rest of the lads, but we had a brainwave and decided to go through earlier instead. So we get off the train at Haymarket and walked to Easter Road, getting there at about 11.30. There wasn’t a soul around when we arrived in Edinburgh. We decided we’d go into one of the football pubs on Easter road and wait there for a while. There was hardly anyone in it when we went in. So were sitting drinking, and all of a sudden the door opens, and a mixed race lad with an English accent says ‘come on Celtic, outside.’ I don’t even know where this guy appeared from. Some of the boys took up his offer, and charged at the door. We went out on the street as the rest of us came at the door, throwing bottles and tumblers also a flare gets fired at the at the Hibs lads assembled outside. We were caught at the door and the manager and barman came to the door and pulled the shutters down. Within a couple of minutes we got the shutters back up and got outside, only to be confronted by the police. There was no one else in sight, and we couldn’t see our two lads who’d been left on the other side of the pub shutters, when the manager had pulled them down. The police took our names but then let us leave the pub. There was a bit of sporadic boxing between us, and we still only had our 40 odd lads. We got chased a bit, back the way, towards London Road, in the direction of Waverley. We got to this street with them chasing us, and all I could see coming towards us was another 300-400 lads. It was then that I though, we’re gonnae get done silly here, there’s even more Hibs coming.

Then I took a closer look at this mob of 300-400 coming from the other direction. There are two lads at the front wearing Bermuda shorts. I had just remembered that my brother and his mate had gone out that day wearing Bermuda shorts. I’ve went ‘yes, it’s Celtic!’ and Celtic came charging over the hill and it kicked off big time. We had Hibs backing off on their own patch on Easter Road. There was big clashes right in the middle of the road. These continued until the police actually put cars and vans in between us. It was a really serious clash before the game. We felt we’d done well. I think at one point I got decked, but I still managed to pick myself up from the ground, and go for it again. There was one Hibs lads standing in the middle of the road who kept shouting for Celtic to come ahead, so I ran up and smashed him one right on the jaw, he ended up going over a car bonnet. Next thing I knew, I had two coppers on me and was handcuffed. The police just said ‘you’re nicked.’ The funny thing was that the cops then turned to the guy who I had punched over the car and said ‘Are you ok Frank?’ and he said ‘yeah, yeah I’m fine.’ The OB was an undercover cop who’d been deliberately provoking Celtic to fight. I thought he was a Hibs lad. So I end up in the jail, I’m sure the cells I was held in were up near Edinburgh castle. I’m sitting in this cell, totally pissed off. I’ve been nicked, fighting an undercover police officer, not only that, I was gonnae miss the match as well and whatever else was going to kick off at it.

Not long after kick off, shortly after 3 o clock, there were sirens going off everywhere. I thought, must be ambulances, a police car, an accident has happened or something. I didn’t immediately associate it with the match itself. From then on the sirens were continuous; they never stopped, not for ages. They bought a lad in, and I’ve heard them asking him before they allocated him a cell, where he was from and what team he was with. The boy answered, ‘Glasgow, and Celtic.’ About 5 minutes later there was another lad, same again. Celtic boy again. Then another and he was Hibs. I’m thinking, what’s happening here? The games just started! Then suddenly there seemed to be a rush on in the police station, loads of people coming and going, but lots of lads being brought in. I heard a cop saying ‘Listen lads, forget the names, and just answer Celtic or Hibs.’ That’s an indication of just how many people were being arrested and processed by the police. After that people just kept coming in. Celtic, Hibs, Celtic, Hibs, accordingly. I still didn’t know what the hell was going on because they’d get me in a separate cell to other football fans coming in.

At around 8pm that night the police decided to release me. I made my way down to Waverley station and got on the train. As I’m travelling back to Glasgow, there were 4-5 Celtic scrafers, completely drunk… They were sitting in the carriage talking about how disgusted they were at the casuals and things that had happened that day. I got off at Queen Street and headed for the Cellar Bar (under Ingram Hotel) where I knew most of the lads would be. As I was heading there I passed a newspaper vender, selling early editions of the Sunday Mail and that’s when I first found out that the gas bomb had been thrown into the Hibs end. I suppose getting the jail earlier in the day saved me from getting busted like many of the other lads after the gas bomb incident. It was one of those crazy circumstances, everything started off good, and then there was the downside. There was no danger to life, in the end. It was about who was number one. We were out to prove that Celtic was the number one mob.

A lot of the guys are married now, settled down and calmed down. Some have passed away since the 80’s and 90’s, all good lads that we still remember fondly. Big Tony, Gary, Sean, Cha, Martin, Big Peter. Tony was a really good friend of mine, we used to socialise together and always backed each other up.

One story I recall involved Aberdeen’s Casuals. The ASC were a good mob. one of the first casual mobs on the scene in Scotland, if not Britain. They used to bring a big firm down to Glasgow on the football specials. There was another pub called ‘Sundowners’. We’d gather in bars like Berlin and Sundowners, on days of home games, from early in the morning. The baby crew, who were mostly underage, used to hang around the amusement arcade. They would scout around the city centre, checking the bus station and train stations for other casuals arriving. They’d watch the specials coming in and let us know how many lads were coming off those trains. On one occasion Aberdeen have come off the train at Queen Street. One of the baby crew came to the pub and told us, ‘that’s Aberdeen arrived.’ There was one lad there with me who was there for the first time. Aberdeen had come off the train and headed straight for George Square. We came charging out of the pub and went running in a line at them. The two sets of casuals have met in the middle of the square, all I’ve seen is a hand holding a steaky, coming over my shoulder from behind me and slicing into an Aberdeen guy’s shoulder. The boy that was there for the first time, and thought he was quite bold and game went white, backed off saying ‘You lot are nuts, you’re crazy.’ I don’t know what he expected. Aberdeen backed right off. I don’t think they were expecting people to be tooled up, but it’s important to tell the truth, and on this occasion, there were some lads carrying weapons. It wasn’t a regular occurrence as far as we were concerned. If you want to talk about mobs that were always tooled up, you’d really have to talk about Rangers. For years we’d fight mobs like Aberdeen and Hibs toe to toe, fist to fist. Then Rangers started carrying tools, and blades. A few Celtic lads had been stabbed and slashed by them. We actually heard that Rangers lads were making bets with each other about how many Celtic fans they could slash or stab in one day. Turning it into a competition.

            In the early days, for a home game where we expected other mobs to come to us, we could easily bring together 400-500 lads. As John O’ Kane commented in his book in the 1980’s Celtic ran the city centre, there was no competition in our own city for most of that decade. In the 90’s, with the rave scene gaining popularity, the pills kicked in. People were getting into other lines of business and making good amounts of money from it. So for a few years the hooligan scene was pretty small. Everybody was too loved up to fight. There was also the situation of the gas bomb where hundreds had had their doors kicked in, or the early morning knock, to be arrested by the police. You can understand how ecstasy and the rave scene seemed like a safer form of entertainment than football hooliganism. It wasn’t just Celtic that was affected by that, it happened all over. Various clubs’ hooligans got into music and drugs. The whole scene was affected by it.

There’s a funny story about Big Shuggy. He used to go the games with us all the time and was a really game lad. We were in the Clyde Bar on Queen Street station and there’s 10 lads who’d already been sitting in the pub, who we eventually sussed were Hibs casuals. They came over to us and said ‘Look we don’t want any trouble; we’re just in for a drink.’ They were playing Rangers that day. So we ended up sitting with them, having a drink, sharing a joke and a laugh. We were actually there, waiting on the football special because we were heading through to Edinburgh to play Hearts that day. After 90 minutes of drinking, the Hibs lads wished us good luck against Hearts, but just after that one of the baby crew came into the pub and told us there was a 50 strong mob of Hibs outside the pub. It transpired that one of the groups of Hibs we were drinking with had sneaked out to another pub next to the station where this bigger mob of Hibs had been drinking. The two faced liberty takers had pretended to be friendly and drink with us, while they were trying to plan an ambush. We ended up a little mob of us, kicking it off with them in the square. What I noticed with this fight with Hibs, was some of their tactics. They used to have a manoeuvre that the Zulu warriors used years ago. They called it the Bull, I think it’s called. It was the horns of the bull, they used to clasp each other, like in an arm lock, and when you charged into them, they’d try to circle you so that they trapped a few of the opposition mob in the circle and then leather them. So anyway on this day, when we had this encounter. Some of us had said watch what you’re doing, because we were aware that Hibs had some good manoeuvres up their sleeves, Hibs had locked arms and tried the bull on us, to try and trap one or two of us. Then the next thing, this guy just appears – I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the film Quadrophenia with Sting as the bell boy and top mod Ace Face – well, that was my mate Shug.

He was the bell boy in the Copthorne Hotel. He charged out, still wearing his uniform and went straight into Hibs. He fought like f**k on our side that day, and for his troubles, he lost his job but it was total mental, having a hotel bell boy in full uniform fighting on our side.

Celtic were playing Man United, about 30 of us decided to go to Blackpool and commute from there to the game, at that time I was just married and, my now ex-wife decided that she was coming with me to Blackpool. She wanted a romantic weekend in Blackpool, but s**t happens, and she ended up with me, and all the lads. On the Friday we’d had a good night out, so early doors most of the lads decided to head through to Manchester.

Me, my brother James and a big fella called Hutchy from Irvine, in Ayrshire decided to hang back for a while and head for the promenade in Blackpool. We’re walking down the promenade towards the pleasure beach, and there are about 15 likely looking lads, in shell suits and tracksuits, came past us. They gave us the heavy stares as they walked by. I didn’t recognise anybody, didn’t know who they were. My brother turns and says ‘do you know who that was? That’s Motherwell!’ He says ‘I think they’ve clocked us as CSC.’ so we walked on a bit and my brother turned round just to check if they were still watching us, but they’d actually turned back and were now following us. My newly married wife became a bit concerned. To be honest she started to panic a bit. I was reassuring her, ‘don’t worry’, but also saying to my brother and Hutchy, ‘get ready’. I’d hardly finished the sentence, when big Hutchy had been punched by one of the Motherwell lads and went down like a tonne of bricks. Me and my brother we’re going punch by punch with them, while my wife is standing there, screaming. We’ve been backed off down the road a bit, but poor Hutchy is still lying there in a heap on the ground, completely out cold. I saw 5 Celtic scarfers across the road and I shouted to them that we were Celtic, and fair play to them, 2 of them came running across to help us, whilst the other 3 basically turned their back like it was nothing to do with them. It kind of indicates the split in the scarfers when it comes to casuals, half of them have got no problem getting stuck in alongside casuals, while the other half want nothing to do with us. So, we’ve been backed off down the promenade a bit and the police arrive. Hutchy was no longer there on the road, we found out about 30-40 minutes later, that he’s been taken by ambulance to hospital. With everything calmed down we headed for the hospital and were taken to a ward where Cutchy was still lying unconscious. What we didn’t realise was, that it wasn’t a punch that had felled Cutchy, he’d been hit on the side of the face and head, with a hammer and his jaw had been broken. I had been wondering at the time, why such a big lad like him, had gone down so easily after one punch… But clearly, it was the hammer hitting him that had knocked him out cold. That night when the other lads arrived back from the game, we told them what had happened and that Hutchy was in hospital. The lads were cracking up, Motherwell had taken liberties on us and they wanted revenge, but we didn’t know where Motherwell would be. We went to the palace nightclub looking for Motherwell, hoping they would be there, but instead of finding Motherwell, it ended up kicking off with Leeds lads, who we’d stumbled into out of the blue and it just went off. That was a bit of a night. Chairs and everything getting thrown. I remember being thrown down a flight of stairs at a nightclub, by a huge black bouncer. Next morning I’ve gone to a pub round from the hotel on the promenade. The rest of the Celtic lads came in. We’re all sitting there drinking and one of the boys comes into the pub and says, ‘Yes, we’ve found them.’ By that time, we’d been drinking, ‘Found who?’ and he goes ‘Motherwell, we’ve found Motherwell, they’re here.’ Some of them were hanging around their B&B breakfast bar with a Motherwell flag hanging out of the window. We decided, let’s have them. We went round and tried to goad some of them out of their B&B for a fight; then we just got fed up and steamed the B&B and smashed it up. The funniest outcome of that incident was when the next day’s local paper in Blackpool, claimed that it was Chelsea fans that had smashed up a local guesthouse. We surmised that the people in the hotel hadn’t understood our accents, and when we had been shouting ‘ Celtic! Celtic!’ they thought we had been chanting ‘Chelsea! Chelsea!’ So Chelsea got the blame for something that Celtic did. I suppose it makes a change for them, as they are always blamed by the Scottish press for whatever Rangers do. In conclusion though, Motherwell was totally out of order. They’d taken liberties. 3 lads on their own, one of them with his wife and those liberty takers attacked us. Not only that, they’ve put a guy in hospital by attacking him with a hammer. They had the numbers that they could’ve just slapped us and done us, but one of them had to take hammer to us. That’s taking the p*ss. We’ve also had some good rucks with Motherwell, away to them and in our own city when they’ve travelled through.

Carlisle Vs Wrexham:

A group of us decided to down to Carlisle for the Carlisle v Wrexham match. We had a good relationship with the Wrexham casuals. Guys like Neil, Pinch, Pun and a few others. We took 4 car loads down for that match. Shuggy had already gone to Wrexham 3 days before and travelled up with Wrexham for the game. A few more of our lot made their own way down on the train. We got to Carlisle about half 20 in the morning, parked the cars and went into a pub called the Red Lion, near to the train station. We were getting a few funny looks from people who were sitting in the corner of the pub. They didn’t look like anything, just regulars from that bar. I went into the train station to check on train arrivals. Just as I’m doing so, a train pulls in, and there, with his head out of the window, was Shuggy. Wrexham had arrived, or so we thought. Wrexham’s mob weren’t on the train; they’d decided that without the numbers to go on a football special, 40-50 of them only, would travel up by coach for the match. Shuggy had taken the train up by himself, knowing that we’d be at the station to meet him and expecting a mob of Wrexham to pour off the train with him! It was only shortly after Shug arrived at the station that Carlisle appeared, and kicked off with us. As we came out of the station, we’d seen a bus passing by a side street then go out of sight, then pass another side street, with about 100 Carlisle lads chasing after it. Some of the windows had been crashed in, so we thought Wrexham must’ve arrived. We ran up the hill from the station, turned the corner and Carlisle’s casuals are walking back towards us, but obviously baffled as to who we were. So we just steamed into them, our 20 CSC. Even during the fight with them, I can still remember the bewildered looks on their faces. They hadn’t put Wrexham and Celtic together and still couldn’t figure out what the fuck we were doing in Carlisle. Some of the Wrexham lads were jumping out of the smashed back window of the bus heading towards us as well. One of their boys, who knew us, shouted ‘It’s ok, they’re Celtic, and they’re with us!’ In the end we got herded onto their bus by the police, and we got a big cheer as we boarded the bus, from all the Wrexham lads. The police then decided that we were to be taken to the ground for the match, even though there was still 2 hours to kick off. We also found out later, that the Red Lion bar near the station in Carlisle is the English border crew’s main haunt. The police take us up to the ground 2 hours before kick-off, and put us in a terrace which I can only describe as, a cow shed with chicken wire and barbed wire across the front. We were bored in there, until people start arriving at the game. Then more and more of Carlisle’s firm have started coming in and making cut throat gestures at us, and telling us that we’re going to get done after the match. With Wrexham and the rest of the Celtic lads that had arrived in Carlisle, we decided to head into the city centre. It seems also that the lads from Glasgow who’d arrived by train had also immediately kicked off with Carlisle in the station. During that fight, Peter and Shug had been separated and trapped in the train station, when Carlisle turned on them, they ran into a cafe inside the station, grabbed as much as they could to fight with, weapons etc., and Carlisle just steamed in the cafe where people had been having a quiet drink before their trains. We didn’t see those lads that day again, but I think it went alright for them, as they emerged from it, pretty much unscathed. The police eventually caught up with us, we were surrounded and they bought in horses. There was no way they were letting us roam freely in their town centre that night. They put us in vans telling us they were putting us on the first train to Glasgow. Those of us who’d come by car, were taken to our cars and told to get into our cars and head straight home. To be fair to them, the old bill handled the situation pretty well. They were surprisingly well humoured throughout, joking and laughing with us, and asking us what the hell we were doing down there! A few of them were asking us what Celtic Vs Rangers games were like. They were curious more than annoyed with us and basically they just wanted us out of Carlisle and were quite happily to do it amicably, with a laugh and a joke. They told us laughingly, ‘get back across that border, and don’t come back!’

By HWS 30th December 2023

Holywell Street has been eager to catch up with Jim Cameron (JC) on all things Celtic, suede-head, skinhead, and the Glasgow gangs. All this with the political angle for our subcultures section. Connecting music, Celtic and threads, as it says on the tin. I have conversed with Jim for a while; he’s one cool chap, but it’s good to sit with him and get things on paper. We met in McChuills Bar in Glasgow’s Merchant City as we usually do.

Good to see you, Jim, how are things?

I’m doing good mate, taking each day as it comes.

Starting with terrace styles, what did you notice growing up was it the skinhead suede head scene you were into?

We were Skinheads, also known as Boot Boys. I often converse with some older folks on a web page called Mod to Bootboy: 1958 – 1974. They were original West Ham and Chelsea skins. We agree that Skinheads first appeared in London around 1967, although there weren’t many at the time. They started going to football matches in 1968, and by 1969, they were widespread in London. 1969 was the year it really came alive. The style was multicultural, they dressed very smartly, and the music was Ska and Reggae. I still discuss this with the older lads, and two of them, big Gerry and Robert Kelly, come in here often. They still wear the mod look. We all agree that the Skinhead look hit Glasgow around 1970, but it wasn’t as big as it was in London. Those who embraced the look were older than us, probably around 17 or 18 years old. I met a couple of these guys many years later in the ’80s. They described the look as sharp, with tonic suits, but also Harrington’s were worn with shirts and braces. As they were around 18 years of age, they started getting banned from pubs and dancehalls, and the police targeted them. Personally, I got into the scene around 1971. Robert Kelly describes a small group of smart Skins in 1970 from the Springburn area who were well ahead with style. They seemed to have friends in London and were able to keep updated with what was happening.

I have always thought a Skinhead was basically an off-cut Mod?

Yes. Although there were some arguments about it, one newspaper at the time described it as ‘hard mod,’ but the guys I knew and still do, never call it that. However, there is a picture from the 1967 FA Cup Final of around 30 lads, who I believe to be Tottenham guys. I ended up chatting with one of them years later. These guys had older brothers who were Mods, and they were growing out of that scene. So in this picture from the cup final, you can see them wearing braces and white shirts, mixed with Harringtons and desert boots. These North London chaps can claim to be the originals. They caused a bit of a reaction as there was a mystique to is as they certainly weren’t Mods, and some of them had the crewcut hairstyle. As I mentioned earlier, they grew in 1968, and by 1969, it was a massive subculture in London.

Did you Grow up in Royston or was it Springburn? We are all aware of the Shamrock Gang back then?

I grew up in the area between Possil and Springburn, which was essentially Keppochill Road. There were fields there that we called “the cuddies,” and they began building high-rise flats there around ’63. This area is now known as Sighthill. On the other side of Sighthill was the Garngad, where I eventually attended school. We moved into the high-rise flats on May 10th, 1967. I was still very young, but I remember the gang fights between ’68 and ’69. The older guys referred to themselves as “The Shamrock,” and they would come up from the Garngad. They weren’t trying to take over, but they were the gang in the area. When I eventually attended St. Roch’s school, I ended up running with The Shamrock. My mother was from the Garngad, and my father was from Blackhill, but I have always had a connection to the Garngad.

From the 2-Tone movement onwards the Skinhead took a change in politics for many. Moving then to more a punk connection with Oi etc? Strange also within in the two-tone scene as what it stood for. How did this happen?

This happened around 1979 with the Skinhead revival. The National Front was getting big in London, and they latched onto the violence and tried to hijack it. This lot were actually the polar opposite of what Skinheads were originally about. I liked the Specials and Madness, I liked Ska. I used to argue with a lot of them. Also, I felt a lot that their dress sense was one-dimensional; we never wore bleached-up jeans and bomber jackets, massive DMs, and shaved heads. I used to give up when I spoke to guys on building sites for years, trying to explain yer youth culture and what an original skinhead was but they couldn’t shift their opinion of us being nazi’s. I would say the right wing ruined it. Funnily enough, the Mod revival of ’79 was also off the mark. The cool Mods from the ’60s didn’t wear parkas with big patches; they were suited and booted, and Nick from here will also tell you that.  

Did you not contribute a book back then?

I am in a book called ‘SCORCHA’ with the DJ Paul ‘Smiley’ Anderson. He contacted me to do a section on the Skinhead style. It is more London-orientated, but it is well worth a look if you are into music, styles, and subcultures.

We have chatted about those original Skinheads and how smart they were, I spoke with Terry Farley a while back and he mirrors what you say about their style.

I should say as much as football casuals and the rave scene, skinhead was a massive subculture. It was just as expensive and hard to afford the Ben Sherman shirts, Levi Sta-Press and Crombie jackets. As I said earlier the original Skins were very smart probably the smartest subculture of all. We wore Ivy league and the Suedehead look wore Tassled Weejuns, Brougues with the Crombies. We still wore doc martins to the football though.

So, tell us about the terrace culture in the ‘70s.

I would describe our group at Celtic as Boot Boys, and we were handy. In England, Manchester United had huge numbers and were considered the top mob. Rangers also had a large following, but they had a reputation for wrecking places, such as in Barcelona and at Aston Villa. I always felt they were liberty takers. Between 1971 and 1976, I truly believe that Celtic was the top mob in Scotland. The groups that gave us the toughest fights were Hibs and surprisingly, the two Dundee teams. Not much is spoken about the gangs in Dundee, but they are quite capable. I never rated Hearts, as I always felt they were also liberty takers and wouldn’t hesitate in sticking you in ti the coppers. One time after a match there we fought them all the way down Gorgie Road to Haymarket, then we we left on the train back home the Hearts lot were attacking Celtic fans who were on their own not Skinheads but young guys who didn’t want trouble. I got the nick three times at Tynecastle, once at Easter Road and only once at Ibrox on Paisley Road West.

The scene back then wasn’t as organised as the casuals were, but there was a famous match in 1975 where we were to play Hearts at Tynecastle midweek. On the Saturday before, we were playing against Stirling Albion. During the match, we decided to plan for the next game. This involved the lads from the Shamrock and other Glasgow mobs teaming up. One of the guys suggested that we don’t wear scarves, not even round the wrists which was strange for that time. so we were going anti-suss. We also agreed to go over to the Hearts end in groups of ten separately and pay in at which was the old shed at the time. We got off at Haymarket and walked up in our small groups. Some of our younger lads were very apprehensive. By this year, we were still wearing certain Skinhead gear, but some had longer hair with a lot of Bowie haircut influences. When we paid to get into the Hearts end, we headed to the pie stall and gathered. By this time, the Hearts skinheads were all in and their full support was in song. One of the Shamrock lads carried a whistle, believe it or not. There must have been around 150 of us all in, and we made sure everyone was ready for this. So the teams came out onto the pitch, and one of our lot gave it “Hail Hail the Celts are here!” It ended up in chaos. The Hearts fans tried to attack, but we stood our ground. There was a big gap that appeared in the middle of the terracing, then we chased the Hearts fans onto the pitch. We chased them across the park. By this time, the game had just started, but the referee stopped it. I always remember Kenny Dalglish and Dixie Deans shouting at us “mon ae fuck boys!” We then jumped back into the Hearts end and waited for their fans to come back in. There was a big gap in front of us, and they didn’t want to come into their own end. They eventually started throwing bottles up at us. We then jumped out and charged at them again. After about 10 minutes, the game got restarted but, on the terracing, it was going back and forth. However, we stood our ground. We then did a massive charge on them, causing them to spill onto the pitch once again. As a result, the referee stopped the match and started taking the players off. I remember running past Danny McGrain, and he asked me “what’s happening?” I replied, “we’re in the Hearts end Danny!” His face was just in disbelief. After 10 minutes, the referee brought the players back out, and by this time, the police had it sussed. They wrapped us up and marched us around to the Celtic end of the ground. We had to stick together, and we were taking dogs’ abuse and spitting from the Hearts fans as we walked past them. but the Celtic end was cheering us, we were like peacocks. The police just wanted us out of the way and into the Celtic end. However, some of our lads kept jumping back and fighting the Hearts fans. That was a great night, and it was all organised.

The funny thing was, many years later, while working at Grangemouth, I met a guy who was a Hearts fan. He dressed like a lad, with a hint of the casual look, even though he was around my age. As we got talking and became more familiar, I mentioned the match in 1975. He stopped me and said, “Jim, I know what you’re going to say. You done us and terrorised us.” He said that nobody had done that before or since, not even Hibs at Tynecastle.

Can you recall your first Celtic match?

Apart from a match at Firhill where my Dad took me to I can’t recall too much about it I was five years old it was 1963. My first real game was the 1967 Scottish Cup Final, we beat Aberdeen 2-0. It was an amazing day, and the weather was beautiful. Willie Wallace scored two goals, and there were around 126,000 people at the game. Aberdeen had about 40,000 supporters.

It was a great atmosphere, and what stands out in my mind is the flags, banners, and chants like “Celtic OK.” I remember climbing up to the top of the terrace and looking over to the other side, where I could see more and more banners waving. This was just before the European Cup Final, and I remember going back home on the bus. I was only nine years old at the time, but I could hear my dad and his pals talking about how they believed we could win the European Cup.

My dad attended every game leading up to the European Cup Final. However, I discovered 20 years ago the reason he didn’t go to Lisbon was because we were moving to a new house and needed funds to buy new furniture and carpets. He had promised my mum that he would prioritise these expenses. He still regrets not going to Lisbon and I still tease him about it

I remember the Lisbon Final. It was a school holiday that day for some reason, and we were playing football in the Sighthill Graveyard. There were often gang fights there as well as football, it was out place to hang out. Any outsiders from the area thought this was a bit freaky and odd but it was the place we hung out and didn’t think anything of it. We played two aside in the cemetery one team Celtic the other Inter Milan. I think Celtic won 26-1 which was a good omen.

At around 4 o’clock, I remember the Caley factory coming out, where approximately 3,000 men worked. I recall the factory horn going off and the men rushing out in their boiler suits. However, that day was different as some of them were carrying McEwan’s Export and half bottles of whisky, and a lot were singing Celtic songs. We all headed back to our houses. We had a brand new high-rise flat in Sighthill. My mum agreed to let me have some mates over to watch the match in our new posh house which had an inside toilet, two bedrooms, a massive living room, and a brand-new TV. My mum’s pals and my aunties were in and enjoying a sherry or two whilst my Dad was still in the pub with his mates.

My wee pal Wullie Paterson, who was in the house, didn’t have a telly at the time. The game kicked off, and we were all singing the Celtic song, “We’ll be running roond Lisbon wi the Cup!” The game is kind of a blur, to be honest; much of my memories came later, watching again and again. At half-time, we were losing 1-0, and my ma told us all to pray to the rosary in front of the Virgin Mary statue. Into the second half, we were winning 2-1 and onto being Champions of Europe. The place had erupted, and me and my young mates with our Celtic tammies ran down to the bottom of the block where loads had gathered and were singing and waving flags and scarves; there were women doing Irish jigs. Lots of carry-outs had been bought, and I always remember the women in their polka-dot dresses and the men with the Celtic rosettes. We could hear the Glen Daly song and the Dubliners being played from the houses. I saw my Dad and his pals appear from the pub, and I ran towards him, and he threw me in the air. I could see the tears in his eyes, which was the first time I had seen him cry. We went back to the house and partied all night. I recall when I finally went to bed, I looked up at my wall, which was covered in Celtic pictures; I fell asleep smiling at the knowledge that my team, Celtic, were the Champions of Europe.

I suppose it’s that time, can you give us your five favourite bands?

As you may believe this could be tricky and change five minutes later but when pushed I will say:

The Clash

The Pogues

Bob Marley & Wailers

Talking Heads

Rolling Stones

That’s a good mix, what about the Skinhead music?

I am a big music fan and I enjoy a wide variety. One of the best concerts I’ve ever been to was Bob Marley at the Apollo in 1980. Although Ska was very popular in London, it wasn’t as big up here where we didn’t have a large West Indian community. But Symarip brought out an album Skinhead Moonstomp and I loved that and the Trojan label brought out some classics and the album covers well cool. There was a club on Buchanan Street round about where JD Sports is now called the Picasso Club and on a Tuesday night from about 8 till 10, it was the first of it’s kind and it was mainly under 18’s that went, this club played a bit of Ska but at the same time a lot of the Skinheads were actually into Slade believe it or not. Slade were massive in the ’70s and a lot of the terrace chants came from their music.

The shop Dee’s down the road, I admire the fact it is still there and never changed, did you visit there for threads?

Yes, it’s always been there, and I visited it a lot and still do. There was also another shop up in Charing Cross, which was a wee private shop, believe it or not. It wasn’t a shop for Skinheads. You had to look around for it, and this shop sold Ben Sherman’s as they were also popular with older guys who worked in offices. These were the ones that you famously had to get three fingers in between the collars.  I still wear it all [laughs]. My wife will tell you it takes me longer to get ready for a night out than it does her; I can’t drop it; it is bedded into you. There’s Nick in here, the same, always stylish.  I dabbled in the rave scene in the late ‘80s when I was down in Brighton and stopped dressing sharp and was into baggy stuff, but I wore Lacoste and loafers also. Unfortunately, I noticed that Lacoste was taken over by the Ned culture in later years, particularly in areas like Possil and Springburn.

Also, can you give us your five best stylish staples?

Ok, this could differ again in an hour, but lately, I really like the label “REISS.” For the last four years, I have been going through a phase of this just now. I have three daughters and every Father’s Day, birthday, and Christmas, they have bought me something from this label; it is quite casual, and I like it a lot.

“John Smedley” knitwear is another top one.

Aye, I was chatting with Jimmy Whelan last week. He likes that one; it’s quite a classic and hard to get these days. I owned one in the ‘90s.

You can still get it online. I like the Italian-style ones with the longer collar. Big Paul Murray, a pal of mine, and Jimmy believe they aren’t the same these days.

Fred Perry as always. I think I own about 26.

Ted Baker

Levi is the other staple that is always in my top five.

For us Celtic and good bands seem to be intertwined would you agree?

Oh, definitely, we seem to have many, and the other lot has next to none [laughter]. Even the manager of Oasis said we are cooler. I think it also has that working-class left-leaning thing that a lot of the Indie bans have. There’s Shaun’s brother as well – The Vaselines, another good band. I could go on and on. We are certainly the more creative; the Irish immigrant thing has a lot to do with it as well; they brought their songs, stories, and poetry.  That’s where you find the creative.

A question I’ve always want to ask: do you think there could have been a mixed overlap with the Celtic teams of the 60s and 70s that would perhaps make a better team than the Lions?

Yes, I do, and I have had debates about this with Nicky in here as well. He doesn’t think so. Definitely, for me, there’s Danny McGrain, who would walk into that team and Kenny Dalglish, but you would need to argue who you dropped, and there is also George Connolly. I have what I would call a famous five and Bobby Murdoch is probably my favourite ever Celtic player If I was to stick my neck out, but it is hard. So, it would go Murdoch, Jinky, Dalglish, McGrain, Connolly, and that’s the five out of the two eras. For me, Danny McGrain was a better right-back than Jim Craig, so he would be dropped but you would need to be ruthless. John Clark was very underrated but a great player but I think Connolly would be a better sweeper in there as he was a better player.

How do you feel about the present Celtic team and our manager?

I think Brendan Rodgers is the man for the job, and I don’t care what anyone says. They talked about the assistant guy at Man City and the Spanish chap, but we have the right man. He knows us, and I’ve spoken with some good football coaches. I believe Brendan Rodgers is one of the cleverest coaches in the business.  I think we are getting to see bits again. And I will say this, and it may sound stupid; I know we were humiliated in Europe, but as stupid as it may sound, some of the performances in Europe show we are getting there. We should have beat Lazio. Our possession fitba was great, and the first 50 minutes at Celtic Park against Athletico were fantastic.  So, we have this transfer window and summer, and he will start getting his own team together. We had some bad luck. Domestically, I am confident we can go on and destroy any myths of the world’s most successful club nonsense.  

Thanks for meeting us Jim

My pleasure.

By Phil Thornton

Graham ‘Kerso’ Kerr lived by the Holy trinity; HIS holy trinity that is: Motherwell FC, Detroit techno and casual clothing. It was the latter that brought his gang of mates together with ours. Kerso was friends with Alan’ Aldo Walls’ a Fife-born Celtic fan, Anthony Byrne, a Liverpool-based Notts Forest fan and Kevan Lowe. a Derbyshire-based Derby fan. We all got to know each other in the early days of the internet in the late ’90s and early ’00s. We were all regulars on the Terrace Retro forum and Ste Connor and I would organise a music night called Pow Wow in Liverpool. Kerso would travel hundreds of miles from his home in Bellshill near Glasgow to attend these nights.

One year Everton were playing Motherwell in a pre season friendly so a bunch of us decided to go up. Kerso’s home was modest semi on a council estate yet inside there were treasures. His collection of casual wear was amazing. In one bedroom There were racks of Massimo Osti designed coats and other classic garments. Then up in the loft was his huge collection of mostly adidas trainers. God knows how much his collection came to but K wasn’t into for the money. Unlike most serious collectors he was always a fan first and foremost, and was never aloof but passionate and humble.

Kerso was also great company; a mischievous bundle of energy who would add leats have his laptop and Bluetooth speakers plugged in to Underground Resistance at some hotel room we’d managed to jib into. As usual K would have his infamous Aquascutum wash bag handy with its various potions.

Kerso was respected not only for his knowledge and passion for casual clothing and culture but for being a force of nature. His tragic early death was met with many eulogies from far and wide. We will all miss his cheeky grin and anarchic energy

HWS managed to get a Q&A with my good pal Roo Oxley author of the book Clobber, model and Terrace Girl on her recent visit to Glasgow. It was good to get a sit down and chat on subcultures and put it on paper. We met in McCHuills Bar in the Merchant City as we always try to do. She is one cool lady and the Guinness did flow.

Ayup lass, thanks for meeting us, how’s things?

Ayup Chop, all sound thank you, hope you’re orate?

All good chick …

So, to kick off, I read that you were crowd-watching at Stoke matches and seeing what I would describe as a working-class catwalk is this where you started your love-in with casual labels?

Yeah it was at the matches in the late ‘90s but also spilled out into what the lads were wearing anyway. Stoke was a town of football casuals, so a lot of dressers were milling about.

I have heard you say ‘it’s how you wear it’ I believe that also, I think sometimes you need to mix it up a bit would you agree?

Totally. No one should wear such identikit boring uniforms, all rack-ready badged up. Be creative and just wear what you want to wear! I still pull out loads of old nineties’ pieces and mix it with new stuff, be it CP or Primark. Wear what suits your style, and if you haven’t worked out your style by now, then you’re fucked and clearly just don’t have any!

Agreed, I think it was Andy Weatherall that said ‘fashion is temporary—style is permanent’ fashion is just something you do until you find your own sense of style.

Well as Coco Chanel also said, fashion fades only style remains the same. Fashion is fleeting but you need to be aware of it so as not to be stuck in the same old sartorial hole. You need fashion to evolve your own sense of style. Fashion should enhance, guide and teach you what you already know- to have style is to know which bits of fashion suits and underpins your personal style.

We must do this one, can you give us your top five tunes?

I’m Only Sleeping —The Beatles

Gimme Shelter — Rolling Stones

Massive Attack—Unfinished Symphony

Rhythm Foundation—Let the Whole World Know

Oasis—Slide Away

Oh and top three thread labels?

Aquascutum

Tacchini

(Vintage) Stone Island

Do you have a favourite DJ from over the years.

I used to live and work in Ibiza so seen all the big ones from that era, like Carl Cox, Sasha and co, but my favourites are Stoke legends Pete Bromley and Daz Willott.

80s Casuals Classics shop has been in Glasgow for over a year now and is always worth a visit, I see you are wearing Gabbici, is that label you wear a lot of? I think it’s a quality thread and a decent price.

Yeah I love the mod vibe of Gabbici and Neil Primett has done a great job of bringing attention back to the label at 80s Casual Classics. What I’ve had recently has been really smart.

Do you think modern-day ‘soccer’ is part of the reason why a lot of us still wear Terrace clobber, as we feel it is perhaps a heritage thing that is being taken away from us?

I cover this in more detail in my latest book, ‘Clobber!’ but the football scene, and the terrace culture that went with it, is pretty much dead. People who affiliate with it, or indeed any subcultures such as mod, rave etc, will still wear clothes that represent the era that makes up such a big part of their identity. Modern football is so soulless that the last subculture that preceded this—the Casuals, is something that many cling onto, out of nostalgia, or just because it looked (still looks) cool as fuck.

What’s your opinion on Glasgow and McCHuills Bar?

It’s a pisser, great craic —I’ve been asked to come back. And if I don’t come back I’ll be kidnapped 😉

What has the casual scene brought to your life as a woman, and what do your female friends think of your involvement in it?

 That my friend, is all to be revealed in book number 2!

Can you give us an IN and an OUT for this week?

IN:

England in the euros

Tacchini Trainers

OUT:

Sambas

Sunak Vibes

What are your hopes and expectations for Stoke City next season?

Same as every season- hope for the best, expect the worst. Expect Stoke City!

Thanks for coming Roo x

No worries.

Thanks to Paul Kealy as always, also Neil Primmet, Nick from McCHuills and Richard Kelly for coming along and doing the photos.

 

* Roo Oxley is a freelance writer born and bred in Stoke-on-Trent. A football girl, Roo has long attended Stoke City football games both home and away. With a master’s degree in marketing and a successful career in marketing following this, Roo has written about subcultures, music, fashion and football but with a particular interest in terrace casuals. Dressed impeccably always, Roo ultimately knows her clobber, inside and out. One of the leading and most well-known female casuals today, Roo intends to continue to write about her one true passion:

Casuals@missroooxley

roo.oxley@oxleycontinproductions.com

Ourselves Alone, bold and green,
Stands a man of steel, a goalkeeper supreme,
Joe Hart, his name echoes through the roar,
In the heart of the faithful, forevermore.

From England’s shores, your journey began,
To Glasgow’s Paradise, as our anchorman
With gloves of grace and courage unbound,
You guard the goal, where dreams are found.

In the shadows of our towering stands,
You stand tall, another guardian of Celtic’s lands,
With every dive, a testament of pride,
In the green and white, you will never hide.

Through fierce battles and Celtic’s chant,
Joe Hart, the keeper, valiant and gallant,
A comrade in the storm, a beacon bright,
For victory’s glory, you’ll fiercely fight.

In Celtic’s tapestry your name is sewn,
Warrior in green, of the keeper’s throne,
With each save, a tale of triumph unfurled,
In our saga of heroes, you’ll be known around the world.

J.J. Whelan 2024

With sun ablaze and sky so clear
This day of dreams on which we cheer
The hallowed trophy pride of the land
The league is ours, our spirits grand.

The banners wave the crowd ignites
A sea of green our hearts delights
Our hoops we wear with pride so proud
Songs of victory we chant so loud

From early battles, fierce and tight
To final whistles, pure delight
A journey carved in sweat and tears
We raise the cup and dispel our fears

Legends past and heroes new
Together bind for me and you
In every heart, the fire burns
For every goal, the tide it turns

So on this day, we stand as one
Beneath the Lords blazing sun
The league is ours, the dream fulfilled
With passion pure our hearts so thrilled

The voices rise and joy takes flight
In Celtic Park, the magic ignites
The league trophy, bright and true
Belongs to us, the faithful through and through

For in this moment, time stands still
With every roar, our hearts are filled
The Bhoys have done us proud this day,
In victorios green, we’ll always stay…

J.J. Whelan 18/5/24

All Celtic Fans.

Let’s make Saturday special for this great guy.

As you know, we lost our dear friend Joop Sparkes. In honour of him and our team can we do a minutes applause for Joop on the 29th minute.

You will never walk alone 🍀