Category Archives: social history

Bomb Sight – mapping the blitz in London

This fantastic website was launched yesterday. It maps every bomb – high explosive, incendiary, parachute – that landed on Greater London during the Blitz, from 7 October 1940 until 6 June 1941. Produced by the University of Portsmouth (my alma mater), the National Archives and JISC, it’s a great example of geography and history working together.

Researchers used the WW2 Bomb Census in the National Archives, and painstakingly plotted the site of every bomb onto a map of London. From this we can see obviously the hardest hit areas. Whilst an overall look at the map shows an overall spread, when you zoom in closer, the Docklands – in particular the area around the Royal Victoria and Royal Albert Docks – were hard hit. Whilst the Luftwaffe were bombing London in general to attempt to subdue the civilian populations morale, and for this indiscriminate bombing across the whole city would suffice – bombing the important docks also seems to have been a priority. There are two reasons for these dual approaches – firstly, they probably lacked the accuracy to actually pinpoint small targets inland, however the docks were relatively easy to find as all the bombers had to do was fly up the Thames Estuary.

I’ve always been fascinated with the use of geographical plotting to give context to historical events. Data that sits in a chart or a spreadsheet comes alive when interpreted onto a map. I’m very interested in the thought of using similar techniques to plot war dead from Portsmouth. It could really help us to understand not just the impact of losses in Portsmouth’s communities, but also the nature of Portsmouth Society in general – for example, blue dots for sailors and red dots for soldiers.

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Filed under social history, World War Two

The Home Front during the Great War

In hindsight, maybe one of my (self) criticisms of Portsmouth’s World War Two Heroes is that I didn’t look enough at the social factors behind some of the stories, in particular, I maybe should have added a chapter on Portsmouth society leading up to 1939-1945, to give some kind of background to the inndividual stories.

So while I’m beginning to write the chapters for my next book, I am also doing a fair bit of research into the social history of Britain – and Portsmouth – at war between 1914 and 1918. What can we find out about Portsmouth society in 1914 that sheds light on the more than 6,000 people from Portsmouth who were killed? I think it’s something that a lot of military historians tend to ignore, but it is crucial if we are to understand unique institutions that are the British Army and the Royal Navy in the Great War, then we need to grasp an understanding of the broader society that these soldiers and sailors came from; how it shaped them, and how it dealt with their losses. Surely if you’re going to look at the war diary of a Pals Battalion on the Western Front, you need to give due credence to the local Newspapers from around the time that it was formed?

The standard text for looking at the Home Front during the Great War is still Arthur Marwick’s The Deluge, almost 50 years after the first edition was published in 1965. And there are a plethora of other books that are pretty interesting on the subject too. It’s a rather intriguing sense of de-ja-vu, having done a lot of research on social history and war whilst at University. Of course, on the flip side, social historians tend to snigger at anything that strays too much into the military sphere. One lecturer at my alma mater thought that the most significant thing about the First World War was that women began smoking and riding motorbikes. Apparently the millions of men killed weren’t too significant.

I must confess I had never really thought about the home front during the First World War. We think of the Home Front and we think of 1940, the Blitz, and Roll out the Barrell. Yet social phenomena that are usually associated with the Second World War – such as rationing, aerial bombing, war socialism, government intervention, welfare, registration to name but a few – first occured over 25 years earlier during the Great War.

Just a stab in the dark, but I actually suspect that in terms of social change, the Great War had a much bigger effect on Portsmouth than the Second World War. Not only from the more than twice as many men who were killed, but the disruption and dislocation to communities changed Portsmouth forever from what had been more than a century of constant development centred around the Royal Navy and the Dockyard. Portsmouth in 1914 was remarkably similar to Portsmouth in say 1860, or certainly after the Great Extension of the Dockyard. Yet the Portsmouth of 1939 was very different indeed.

To paraphrase Churchill about Alamein, it might not have been the end, but it was certainly the end of the beginning.

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Filed under portsmouth heroes, social history, Uncategorized, World War One

The officer class of Southsea

Researching Portsmouth’s Great War dead has thrown up some pretty interesting findings. It’s always occured to me, that for a naval and military town, Portsmouth never really seemed to contribute that many officers, to either service – particulary when you consider Pompey’s size and heritage. As I’m nearing the end of compiling my WW1 database, I’m starting to get a pretty good idea of where in Portsmouth the various officers and other ranks came from. And it’s a pretty intersting – albeit predictable – conclusion.

The vast majority of officers from Portsmouth came from Southsea. A leafy, fashionable nineteenth century seaside resort, Southsea had been started by Thomas Croxton earlier in the 1800’s, before being susbstantially developed by Thomas Ellis Owen in the mid-century. Owen built many well-adjusted villas, and shaped Southsea with sweeping, curving terraces, crescents and groves. Unsurprisingly, Southsea become home to wealthy professionals, and a not insignificant number of the officer class. Remember, aside from a premier naval town, Portsmouth was also the most heavily fortified place in Europe in the mid 19th Century, and home to a sizeable military garrison.

70 Officers from Southsea were killed between 1914 and 1921 – 10.5% of all of its 663 war dead. That’s significantly more than the usual officer-other rank ratio in either service. I should stress as well that my research into Southsea’s war dead is ongoing – in all probability, both numbers will be higher.

  • Twenty two were  2nd Lieutenants in the Army. Notably, only 5 were in Hampshire Regiment suggesting that officers did not necessarily join units with regional loyalties in mind. Occupation wise, we know that one was a Solicitor and another a Surveyor. One was the son of a knight of the realm, another was the son of a vicar, and a sizeable number were 0ld boys of either the Southern Grammar School of Portsmouth Grammar School.
  • Eighteen were Lieutenants in the Army. One man held the Distinguished Conduct Medal, suggesting that he had been commissioned from the ranks. Again, several were old boys of the Southern Grammar.
  • Ten men were killed serving as Captains with the Army. Only 1 Hampshire Regiment, and intriguingly, three were sons of Lieutenant Colonels – suggesting that military families did inhabit Southsea.
  • And on a more senior level, two Majors and two Lietenant Colonels came from Southsea.

It would be interesting to know how many of these were pre-war regulars, and how many were hostilities only officers. Also, how many of them were promoted from the ranks? The other thing that we need to bear in mind, is that the 1914-18 definition of Southsea included what we now know of as Somers Town, a predominantly working class area. If we were to limit our research to the area that we now know as Southsea, the officer-men ration would be much higher.

Interestingly, there were actually fewer naval officers than army officers from Southsea:

  •  Four men were administrative officers – one Clerk, and three Paymasters.
  • Four men were serving as Commanders, including three Engineer Commanders.
  • One man was serving as an Engineer Lieutenant Commander
  • Of the three men serving as naval Lieutenants, two of them were Engineers

It’s striking that out of the 12 naval officers, half of them were Engineers. Now, I’m sure that Engineering Officers did not consitute 50% of the Royal Navy’s officer establishment, so does it seem that Southsea was home to something of a naval engineering set, possibly? As a fashionable officer town, but also home to numerous professionals and intelligentsia, did this make Southsea an attractive home for Engineers?

With the Royal Marine Barracks at Eastney nearby, it is probably not surprising that several Royal Marines Officers were killed from Southsea. Two were Lieutenants, and the other was a Brevet Lieutenant Colonel  of the RM Light Infantry, who was killed commanding a naval Battalion of the RN Division on the Somme in December 1916. Southsea was probably a more palatable home for an RM officer than the more working class streets in Eastney.

By Comparison, only ONE man out of 450 who were killed from Landport was serving as an officer, an Army Captain. This represents a microscopic 0.2% out of the areas total war dead. It is not hard to escape the conclusion that Landport – an infamous, poor, working class neighbourhood, was exremely unlikely to produce naval or military officers, when compared with the well-off, educated folk of Southsea. It’s surprising the difference that a mile in geography can make, and I can’t think of many places where the difference is more pronounced between fashionable officers resorts on the one hand, and sailors slums on the other.

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Filed under Local History, portsmouth heroes, social history, Uncategorized

Birmingham Pals by Terry Carter

In the past year or so there has been a real increase in the number of military history books looking at the First World War. And refreshingly, many of them are focused on the experiences of the average guy caught up in conflict. Among them is Pen and Sword‘s series of books on the Pals Battalions.

In 1914 the British Army was relatively small – virtually an Imperial police force, and a continental role was never really envisioned until only a few years before the war began. As a result, the Army had to expand massively in order to field a sizeable expeditionary force in Flanders. The solution of the Secretart of State for War, Field Marshal Lord Kitchener, was to recruit masses of volunteers into a ‘New Army‘, or ‘Kitchener Battalions’. Many of these were centred on large urban areas, including Birmingham.

Birmingham eventually raised three Kitchener Battalions – the 14th, 15th and 16th Battalions of the Royal Warwickshire Regiment, Birnimgham’s local country Regiment. Of course, if we try to divorce units from their social history, and indeed their communities in general, they make much less sense in history. As raw recruits, the Battalions spent much time in England training before embarking for France. Like most of the Kitchener Battalions, the Birmingham Pals first action was on the Somme. The fate of the Pals Battalions on the Somme has really struck a chord in British military history, probably due to the grievous losses combined with the fact that it was the first time that Britain had truly fielded a citizen army.

But this isn’t just a narrative, ‘1914 to 1918 what happened’. Terry Carter grounds his work with a chapter on the social and economic context of Birmingham’s history, and the events of August 1914 which saw mass volunteering amid a wave of euphoria. It is impeccably well researched, and generously illustrated. It contains a roll of honour of all members of the three Battalions who fell, and a list of gallantry medals – a real bonus for anyone wishing to look up their ancestors. Overall it is very well handled, and at no point does the text stray into the oft-heard stereotypes about the Pals, and instead wisely focuses on sources and events.

I found this a very interesting read indeed. Not only will it interest Brummies, but also those of us from further afield who are interested in this kind of research, with the 100th anniversary looming in 2014. Terry Carter has definitely put down a marker here, and I hope I can do half as good a job when it comes to paying tribute to Portsmouth’s own pals.

Birmingham Pals is published by Pen and Sword

 

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Filed under Book of the Week, social history, western front, World War One

Playing the Game: the British junior officer on the Western Front 1914-1918 by Christopher Moore-Bick

Much has been written about British senior officers in the Great War – the so called ‘Donkeys’. With popular cultural references such as ‘Oh what a lovely war’ and ‘Blackadder goes forth‘, it became an orthodoxy for many years that the British General Staff between 1914 and 1918 were Victorian and incompetent. In recent times, there have been a number of reactions to this. Firstly, attempts have been made to ‘rehabilitate the donkeys’, with varying success. And in a more refreshing manner, much effort has been put into uncovering the experiences of the rank and file on the Western Front, particularly poignant with the passing of the Harry Patch generation.

But somewhere in between those two appraches, we are missing something – an understanding of the lives of the junior officers of the British Army, those who commanded platoons and companies, whether regular, territorial or volunteer. And that void presents us with an opportunity. Not only to understand the middle level of the British Army in 1914-18, but also to take a closer look at the society that created them. And that’s what Christopher Moore-Bick has done very ably here.

In many respects the Great War heralded the end of the Victorian/Edwardian society in Britain. The title of the book is indicative of this – to young officers, everything was akin to a game, played on the public school playing fields. Baden-Powell encouraged his Boy Scouts to ‘play up, play up, and play the game!’. Portsmouth’s supporters, around the same time, encouraged their team to ‘Play up’. It could well be argued that the loss of so many young, educated men harmed British society irrevocably – how many future generals and politicians perished in Flanders fields?

It would not be enough to simply confine a look at the BEF‘s junior officers to their activities during the war and on the front line, and this book does not disappoint. Moore-Bick takes a broad view, examining Education and Upbringing, Training, the psychology of fear, responsibility and personal development working relationships with seniors and juniors, class factors, social activities and leisure pursuits, morale, bravery, identity and the relationship between war, dying and the public school ethos. No historical stone is left unturned.

A glance at the endnotes and bibliography gives an impression of just how hard the author must have worked on this project. Prolific use has been made of primary sources, in particular testimonies of junior officers. Great use has been made of a wide range of secondary published sources also. It is always impressive to see the reading that has gone into an authors approach and conclusions.

The only reservation I have about this book, is the manner in which Winchester College is mentioned profusely throughout. It transpires, reading the authors biography, that he is an ex-pupil of Winchester College. I’m sure that old-school tie is inspirational to people who didn’t go to the local state school, but it is slightly over-present here. I guess in a way that is an example of the class loyalties shown by junior officers during the Great War – the only school that existed was the one that you went to, and the only and by far the best Regiment in the British Army was the one that you joined. Tribal loyalties did breed healthy competition.

This book is a godsend to those researching the social history of the British Army in the First World War. For a first book it is a very credible effort, and I can only marvel at the time and effort that it must have taken to research. I’m going to find it invaluable during my research in the months and years to come.

Playing the Game: The British Junior Infantry Officer on the Western Front 1914-1918 is published by Helion

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Filed under Army, Book of the Week, social history, Uncategorized, western front, World War One

Tattoos – a quick social history

I went with someone to go and get a tattoo done the other day. And no, before you ask, it wasn’t on me! I actually found the process quite interesting, much nicer than having a blood test or an injection, no doubt because the environment is much nicer…

Anyway, while there I got talking to the tattooist. Much like taxi drivers and barmen, they see all sorts and hear all sorts. And we got onto the subject of how tattoos are perceived by society. We came to the conclusion that although tattoos have gone a lot more mainstream nowadays – thanks to people like David Beckham, Robbie Williams et al – there is still a stigma attached to them. People still assume that if you have a tattoo, then you must be either a criminal, a sailor, a biker or a prostitute.

Maybe it’s because I come from Portsmouth – the home of the Royal Navy – or that I’ve got a lot of friends into heavy metal, but I’ve never understood the fuss about tattoos. Someone once described it to me thus… some people go out and buy a painting and hang it on the wall. Some people, however, like to wear the ‘painting’ on them. It’s a form of expression, albeit a very commited and lasting one. And gone are the days when the black ink turned manky and green – you can see some really impressive tattoos now, it really is an artform.

It’s not surprising that Royal Navy sailors picked up the art of tattoing. It has been going on in some parts of the world for thousands of years, in particular some of the Pacific Islands. And on their travels, sailors picked up these kind of customs and made them their own. How else do we think that curry was eaten in Portsmouth, well before Indian restaurants? I would argue that in actual fact, tattoos have been part of the mainstream in Portsmouth society for hundreds of years. Many young men in Portsmouth would have had tattoos, in fact it was probably the norm, especially for sailors. And what Portsmouth’s families don’t have a sailor or two down the line somewhere? Ironically my great-grandfather, Thomas Daly, had more tattoos than any of his descendants, to my knowledge. According to his service record he sported a cross on his right forearm and dots on his left. George Cross winner Reg Ellingworth had tattoos on both arms. Colour Sergeant Frederick Bird of the Royal Marines had two dots on his left forearm. Chief Yeoman of Signals George Pankhurst had an interesting tattoo on his right arm – a bird on a branch. Apparently there were complex conventions about what tattoos represented what in the Navy – often where a person had served or what they had done.

A few years ago the Royal Naval Museum held an exhibition on the naval history of tattoos. Sadly I did not get to see it, but I’m sure it must have been pretty interesting. I’ve read plenty of stories about how young sailors would get taken to a tattooist by their ‘sea-daddy’ whilst on a run ashore, not having any choice in the matter. No less a person than King George V was tattooed in this manner – although these were never seen in public, the Steven Poliakoff drama the Lost Prince alludes to them.

So in conclusion, I think the stigma about tattoos is completely unwarranted. They have been a part of life on earth for thousands of years. Having a tattoo does not make anyone less of a person. If anything, I think that judging someone for something so trivial is, subconciously, a way of putting yourself on a pedestal by putting them down. Very sad, and very 19th Century.

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SAS Trooper by Charlie Radford, edited by Francis Mackay

I really enjoyed this book, and probably for different reasons than intended. And probably for what some people consider to be the least glamorous parts of this story!

Charlie Radford grew up in Devon. Joining the Royal Engineers just prior to the start of the Second World War as a boy Sapper. We follow Charlie to North Africa, where he was in action with an RE Field Company in Algeria and Tunisia – one of the least known campaigns of the war. Volunteering for Special Forces, Charlie then joined the SAS. The SAS had been formed only a few years before in North Africa, and Charlie Radford joined just in time to take part in operations behind enemy lines in German occupied France, immediately after D-Day. After returning from France, his unit were then sent to Italy, to link up with Partisans in Northern Italy.

The SAS in 1944 was still in its infancy, and although the modern Regiment traces its lineage back to this time, the early pioneers were still very much finding their way by trial and error. Trained to parachute into action, the SAS had much success operating in North West Europe behind German lines, with heavily armed and mobile Jeeps. It was a tactic that had worked in the Desert. By contrast, when Radford and his comrades parachuted into Northern Italy, they seem to have struggled for equipment and supplies, and were dependant on local partisans – a slightly precarious position, one feels.

After leaving the SAS, Charlie had to serve out his service with the Royal Engineers, his parent unit. He didn’t do this quietly, for he was sent to East Africa as an NCO in an Engineer Squadron, working with African natives, in particular the Askari tribe, in Kenya, Tanazania and Somalia. These were interesting times, and Radford’s recollections of life in 1940’s British Africa are fascinating. In fact, to consider this just another  Special Forces memoir is to do it a diservice.

The stories of SAS raids are exciting, and I suspect why the publishers felt Radford’s memoirs deserved to make it into print. But for me, it is the human elements that make this story so interesting. The memories of a young man from Devon joining the Army and going through basic training, life onboard troopships, liaisons with women during wartime, Army food, and things like that. For example, Charlie felt that Winston Churchill lost the General Election in 1945, as his generation were more educated and more independently minded than their forefathers in 1918, and did not want to be controlled or talked down to any more. Interesting stuff for the social historian. In particular I was rivetted by his experiences in East Africa, certainly not a part of the world that many young men from England would have known much about in the 1940’s.

But all throughout, Radford sounds like a very normal, down to earth young man – something that is very endearing to the reader, and very important in keeping our sense of perspective that these men were young men, the same as we are today. The more of these kinds of memoirs that make into print the better – we will be very glad of it in years to come.

SAS Trooper is published by Pen and Sword

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Filed under Book of the Week, social history, special forces, Uncategorized, World War Two

Cricket: The Empire strikes back

The British Empire in 1815, aka the Cricket World

The British Empire in 1815, aka the Cricket World (Image via Wikipedia)

Cricket. Now theres a sport that stepped in history, heritage and culture. From the evocative names such as Lords, Headingley, The Oval and the ‘G, to the origins of the game itself, Cricket is literally dripping in tradition and history.

Look at the teams that play Test Cricket – England, Australia, India, South Africa, West Indies, Sri Lanka, New Zealand, Pakistan, Bangladesh. All former British colonies. Cricket was exported as a genteel game for the well-to-do by Brits abroad in the mid Nineteenth Century, during the height of the British Empire. In the same manner, Polo became popular in the Indian-Subcontinent, and Rugby in South Africa and the Antipodes. Fine example of sport having strong cultural roots.

Empire History is even evoked in song: ‘Captain Cook only stopped for a shit’, ‘You all live in a convict colony’, and even ‘we come with rucksacks, you came with a ball and chain’. The banter even goes into national stereotypes – one Barmy Army t-shirt has on it ‘Your nation has been found guilty of being a barbecue-obsessed, Olympic-whinging, rugby-choking, mullet-sporting lazy bunch of convicts. I hereby sentence you to another 200 years of having a chip on your shoulder’. Classic.

Cricket tends to remember and cherish its history better than most games. While most Pompey fans have no idea who Jimmy Dickinson was, all English cricket fans will know hallowed names like Grace, Trueman, Cowdrey, Boycott and Botham. Stands at Cricket Grounds are almost always named after ex-players. The Pavillions hark back to the old days of the sport, reminding us of roots long before newer larger steel and concrete stands. Lords in particular is a cricketing world all of its own – the Long Room, old father time, the Museum, and even the new media centre.

The other thing about Cricket is that due to the way its played – and its long history – its a statto’s wet dream. Virtually every match sees some record or other being broken, be it individual, team, partnership, or batting, bowling, fielding or whatever. There’s even a Society of Cricket Statisticians out there. I don’t think it would be inaccurate to say that players play with one eye on their statistics – their averages and their place on the honours boards, for example. And even in a moral sense, events such as the miracle of Headingley in 1981, the infamous Bodyline tour in the 1930’s and even the story of the little urn itself… they hang over the sport like some kind of mystical cloud.

The Culture of Cricket is also legendary. Hence the phrase, ‘its just not Cricket’, implying that certain things are just not on. Such as claiming a catch when you know it didnt carry, or staying at the crease when you know the ball took a nick. These sorts of values encapsulate the old-fashioned British sense of fair play, and for many people transcend the sport. Sadly these have been less in evidence in recent years – Australian arrogance in success and bitterness in defeat (see Ricky Ponting, also see ‘worlds worst loser’), and numerous ball-tampering, match-fixing and spot-betting allegations. But there are still examples of sportsmanship – how Adam Gilchrist used to walk of his own accord, and Freddie Flintoff consoling Brett Lee after the second test at Edgbaston in 2005, for example.

Thats not to say that I agree with all things to do with Cricket. The ‘old boys club’ part of it does make me feel like projectile vomiting – especially at Lords when you have the wonderful spectacle of row upon row of portly gentleman sat in MCC Blazer, who couldn’t chase a ball across the outfield if their life depended on it. I abhor snobbery in all its forms, and especially in sport. The snobs who criticise the Barmy Army for standing up and daring to support their team should just go home and listen on the radio. They’re the same ilk who years ago held that batsmen were ‘gentlemen’, and bowlers were ‘amateurs’. Pathetic.

But yes: to cut a long story short, I’m looking forward to watching England knock the Aussies all over Sydney again, it will be particularly sweet.

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The Taylor Report unpicked: the terracing debate

Fans of Borussia Dortmund support their team e...

Dortmund's Westfalen Stadion (Image via Wikipedia)

In 1989 virtually all football grounds in Britain contained a sizeable portion of terracing. In fact, terracing was so synonymous with football, that it would have been impossible, prior to 1989, to imagine football without it.

Originally earth or cinder banking, rows of railway sleepers were placed on top to give a firm footing. Some earlier stadiums had had scaffold-like stands, until a collapse at Ibrox in 1902 killed many spectators. Gradually earth was replaced by stepped concrete. The wide expanse of these concrete terraces were broken up by metal crush barriers, which prevented surges and crushing – and also gave fans something convenient to lean on! Far more fans could be packed into an expanse of terracing than the equivalent area of seating, so the advantages to the clubs was obvious – more people, bigger crowds, more gate receipts.

Terraces were particularly popular among working class fans. It became traditional for a clubs most vociferous fans to stand on the terrace behind one of the goals. Standing is pro-active, whereas sitting is passive. Some terraces were covered and some were open, but no-one was particularly bothered if they got wet – it was all part of the experience. End terraces became held with great affection by fans – the Kop at Liverpool, the Holte End at Aston Villa, the North Bank at Arsenal and the Stretford End at Manchester United for example. At Fratton Park of course we had the famous Fratton End. There was also an area of the North Stand Terrace known as the ‘boilermakers hump’, where dockyard workers would gather (back in those days going to Football was a legitimate reason for leaving the yard early!).

During the boom years immediately after the Second World War thousands would crowd onto the terraces: one had to turn up at lunchtime to get a good spot for a three O’clock kick off. Clubs even employed crowd packers to move the fans around and get as many people in as possible. Footage exists of small children being passed over the heads of the crowd down to the front to get a better view. At the time few fans travelled to away games, but those that did could travel around the ground at will, moving from one end to the other at half time.

It is strange indeed that the Taylor Report outlawed terracing, especially after Taylor had stated that terracing is ‘not intrinsincally unsafe’. Terracing did not cause Hillsborough – bad policing of terracing caused Hillsborough. Sadly, it does all support the conclusion that Taylor was given a brief by the Government to ‘sort out’ football. Part of gentrifying football was the attack on its working class roots, and the terrace and its inhabitants were the most visible target for ‘cleaning up’.

Most German Football Stadia have what are dubbed ‘safe standing’ areas. One, the Westfalenstadion at Dortmund, houses almost 30,000 behind the goal. Usually one end, or a couple of blocks in one end, are terraced. This is highly safe terracing, with wide steps, a crush barrier for every couple of rows, and a sensible capacity so fans are not jammed in. FIFA and UEFA games must be all-seater, so clubs get round this by the simple expedient of either having ‘hybrid’ terracing, or terracing that is easily converted into seating. The Olympiastadion in Munch has terracing that gives each spectator a designated spot, and there is a seat built into the crash barrier behind that can be used if necessary. Even for standing games, this is convenient for half time. The Espirit Arena in Dusseldorf has terracing, with basic seats covered with a metal panel – this panel can be easily removed by ground staff. Dusseldorf is a particularly interesting example, in that when the stadium was completed in 2004, it was completely all seater. Terracing was retro-installed in 2010, due to pressure from fans. This shows that terracing CAN be retrofitted into modern all-seater stadia.

Given the Germans penchant for efficiency and health and safety, do we really think they would have terracing if it was that unsafe? I doubt it very much. I have felt far more safe standing on terraces in Germany than I do seated in England. Terracing is much more safe than having seating, but where fans stand up throughout the game anyway. If people want to stand up, why not just have terracing anyway, but do it properly?

The terracing of 1989 and Hillsborough cannot be judged against that of 2010. The perimeter fencing, excessive capacities, barbaric pen arrangements, poor policing and stewarding, lack of turnstiles, few crush barriers, poor crowd distribution and non-existant emergency procedures are light years away from the terracing I have seen in Germany. All of the aforementioned problems can be remedied without recourse to seating.

Terracing, with a sensible capacity, plenty of crush barriers, and well managed, is perfectly safe. I doubt very much whether there is any will to re-introduce terracing in English football – not from the clubs, the football authorities or the Government. Not only because it would restore football to its working class roots, but also because clubs have spent so much converting to all-seater, few would want the additional lay-out of bringing back terracing.

Have English football fans gone soft since the introduction of all-seater stadia? All the evidence would suggest so. It would have been unthinkable, years ago, for fans to complain about noise, or the lack of legroom, or if their seats aren’t nice and comfy. It was just part of the game. I have said it before and I’ll say it again, the move from standing to seated is along the lines of conscious to comatose; from supporter to consumer.

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The Taylor report unpicked: the effect on stadia

Entrance to Fratton Park football stadium, Por...

The Entrance to Fratton Park (Image via Wikipedia)

 

Since 1989 – and the Taylor report specifically – Stadium design in English football has changed beyond recognition. Far more time, thought and money has been invested in accomodating supporters than ever before.

The earliest football stadiums in England were rather basic affairs. A main grandstand might be built to seat directors and well-off patrons, as well as dressing rooms and offices. Along the front of the main stand might run a paddock for standing spectators. Another more basic stand would run the length of the pitch on the other side, and both ends were usually of uncovered terracing. In the early days this consisted of cinders with railway sleepers dumped on top, but in latter years terracing was constructed out of concrete. Such a stadium configuration is still known around the world as the ‘English style’. Typical examples are the Estadio Alfonse Henriques at Guimaraes, the Stade Felix Bolaert at Lens, or the larger Westfalenstadion at Dortmund.

Between the turn of the century and the Taylor report there was little incentive for clubs to improve conditions. Most working class supporters were happy with their lot and not worried about having gold plated crash barriers or doileys in the toilets. The only ground improvements might be to build a bigger stand to fit in more people, to extend a terrace maybe, or perhaps to put a roof over an open terrace. But in their way, the old grounds had character, in particular those that had the old style Leitch lattice work along the front of the main stand.

The 1985 fire at Bradford City’s Valley Parade Stadium led to a new impetus for ground safety. 56 people were killed on the final day of the 1984-5 league season when rubbish underneath the old wooden main stand caught fire. It is believed that a match or cigarette was dropped through a hole in the wooden floorboards, and that rubbish had for many years accumulated in the void underneath. Fire swept through the stand within seconds, a horrific spectacle that was shown on live TV. Many exits were found to be sut or locked, condeming fans to their fate. The fire took hold so quickly that when the Fire Brigade arrived four minutes after the alarm was raised, nothing could be done.

The Bradford fire led to the Popplewell Inquiry and subsequent report. Safety in stadiums was improved: wooden stands were condemmed, and fire exits were added in many places. Yet the Popplewell Report did not go far enough – many grounds still had perimeter fencing to counter pitch invasions. The stand at Valley Parade did not have fencing, but if it had, hundreds would have been killed. This should have posed a salutory ‘what if’, but instead, the Government and English football – inexplicably – fudged the issue by only looking at the risk of fire, not of other scenarios such as crushing. Remember also that Heysel took place a matter of days later. The overall safety emphasis of the Taylor Report came four years – and 96 lives – too late.

Fast forward to 1989, and the Taylor report ushered in all seater-stadia for the top and second flight divisions in English football. Taylor had originally proposed to make all football stadia all-seater, but this was later scaled back by the Government. To aid building work the Government waived a proportion of VAT on Football Pools, and this was ploughed into stadium work via the Football Trust. Suddenly clubs HAD to act and were forced out of their laissez-faire malaise.

Taylor ordered that the capacity of all terraces should be instantly cut by 15%. This immediately cut into the capacity of most stadiums, in particular large grounds with big terraced ends. The Capacity of Portsmouth’s Fratton Park fell from 36,000 to 26,000 overnight. In 1949 the same ground had held 51,000 people, with exactly the same stands – such was the effect of successive legislation following first the 1985 Bradford fire and then Hillsborough.

Seats take up far more room in a stadium than a terrace. Therefore, the prospect of simply bolting seats onto an old terraced Kop was an inefficient and unlikely prospect. The bank would need re-profiling, and sightlines would not be ideal. Faced with the prospect of losing huge swathes of spectators – and income – clubs were faced with no alternative but to either radically redesign their grounds, or look at building completely new stadiums altogether. A boom in Sky TV money also made building work more feasible. Between 1991 and 1997 a total of £507.8m was spent on football stadiums – £371.3m from the clubs, and £136.5m from the Football Trust.

Yet amidst all the talk about relocation, Scarborough moved to the new Glandford Park in 1988 – the first English club to build a new stadium since 1955. Since then, many clubs have moved grounds – Sunderland, Middlesborough, Stoke, Manchester City, Wigan, Arsenal, Bolton, Hull, Reading, Derby, Southampton, Leicester, Chesterfield, Oxford, Coventry, Cardiff, Swansea, Millwall, Huddersfield and Doncaster to name but a handful.

Although plenty of money has been spent on English stadiums, in my opinion they are on the whole disappointing. Compare the cheap identikit meccano stadiums of St Marys, the Riverside, the Walkers Stadium and Pride Park with Munich’s Allianz Arena, Arnhem’s Gelredome or any of the stadiums designed for the 2002 World Cup in Japan and South Korea. Of new English stadiums perhaps Arsenal’s Emirates Stadium warrants a mention, as does Old Trafford – simply for the way in which it has been built to a logical all-round plan rather than having different stands constructed haphazardly on each side. But on the whole, most English football stadia are lazily designed and characterless. They could have been designed by a 5-year old on the back of a fag packet.

I suspect one of the major problems that has inhibited stadium architecture in Britain is the difficulty of long-term planning. Unlike many parts of Europe Football Clubs in England tend to own their own stadiums, unlike in Germany, for example, where many stadiums are owned by the municipal authorities. Thus if the club is strapped for cash it cannot be bothered to invest in the stadium, and even if the club has funds, it is likely to try and get away with spending as little as it can get away with. Any attempts to rebuild or relocate stadiums have to go through planning permission with the local council, which can take years or legal wrangling, consultation, and struggling with narrow-minded NIMBY’s. Ambitious and wealthy owners are sometimes able to force things through.

Lets take a look at the example of my local team, Portsmouth. 1989 found Pompey playing at the inner-city Fratton Park, hemmed in on four sides by houses and a rail goods yard. The main south stand dated from 1929, the North Stand from 1934 and the Fratton and Milton Ends were basic open terraces. The capacity fell from 36,000 in 1989 to 26,000 after Hillsborough, and then – due to a high level of terracing – just over 10,000 in 1994. For a club that was in the second tier at the time this was unacceptable.

Plans were made to move to a purpose built 22,000 seater stadium at Farlington, until the plan was scuppered by a few local residents and geese. With a new apathetic owner, the club remained at Fratton. Then Terry Venables took over and built a new all-seater Fratton End, raising the capacity to 20,000. The only problem was, that the club did not actually have the money to build the new stand, and almost went bust as a result. The rest of the ground and its facilties were essentially the same as in 1939.

When Milan Mandaric took over various plans were advanced to first build on Fratton Goods Yard, then rotate the stadium by 90 degrees (with an odd design that envisaged keeping the 1929 vintage south stand), then move to Hilsea Gasworks, King George V playing fields and a host of other sites. Lots of ideas, but no real work. Once Sacha Gaydamak took over, a plan was announced to build on reclaimed land at the Hard (this time an imaginative design by the architects behind the Allianz Arena), and when this was ruled out, a more realistic plan was made to build on Horsea Island. This plan, however, was dropped when Gaydamak lost interest (and his daddy pulled the plug on his millions), leaving Pompey right back where they started.

That said, there is something romantic about Fratton Park and its inner city location. Walking to the ground from Goldsmith Avenue is a stirring experience, that is somehow lost in the multitude of out-of-town stadiums nowadays. True the facilities are not great, but does that really matter to those of us who used to stand on the terraces? Its football, not the opera. And the old mock-Tudor house that greets visitors in Frogmore Road is still a sight to behold. There are plenty of pubs in the local area, the railway station is a ten minute walk, and the city centre is not far away. Would this matchday experience be anything like the same if the ground was housed on an industrial estate?

But if we must have new stadiums, why do they have to be soul-less constructions of mecanno and prefabricated concrete? A stadium with landmark design and with a character all of its own is more likely to engender identity, loyalty and pride. For example the ‘lifeboat’ design of the Allianz Arena, the new Wembley Arch or the old Munich Olympiastadion’s eyecatching perspex roof.

There has been no disaster in any English football ground since 1989. No lives have been lost, but what about the soul of English football, and the character of English Football Stadia?

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The Taylor Report unpicked: the shadow of hooliganism

The Leppings Lane end after the tragedy

The Leppings Lane End after the disaster (Image via Wikipedia)

The term ‘hooliganism’ originated from the Irish diaspora who populated British towns and cities in the late Nineteenth Century, and in particular young Irish lads who would run about town making a nuisance of themselves. The term ‘hooligan’ – derived from the Irish surname of Hoolihan – has since been used as an umbrella term to describe any kind of violent disorder.

The Hillsborough disaster was caused overwhelmingly by poor facilities and poor policing, which led to catastrophic overcrowding. There is no evidence of hooliganism on the Leppings Lane End that day, and no more misbehaviour than you might expect from any high-spirited football crowd at a major game. Yet inexplicably, Hooliganism features centrally in the Taylor Report. Why was this?

We need to be careful of falling into the trap of thinking that Hooliganism suddenly appeared on the terraces in the late 1970’s – there are plenty of recorded incidents of violence at football matches, going back to the turn of the century. It is a complete myth to think that before the 1970’s everyone went to football wearing a cloth cap and a rosette and had a jolly good time. It is a common fallacy to think of the ‘old days’ as some kind of halcyon age, almost like a stick to beat the present with. And crowd disasters happened way back in time – Ibrox in 1902, Wembley in 1923, and Bolton in 1946. Why was nothing done then?

Several high-profile incidents took place in 1985 which brought matters to a head. Rioting fans invaded the pitch at a televised Millwall-Luton FA Cup Quarter Final tie. On the final day of the league season a 14 year old boy was crushed to death under a collapsing wall at Birmingham, after police had charged hooligans. At the European Cup Final between Liverpool and Juventus at the Heysel Stadium in Brussels crowd disorder led to the deaths of Italian Fans. The Bradford City fire – although not caused by Hooliganism – also directed attention onto crowd safety. If ever there was a time for the Government to get tough on Hooliganism, it was 1985 – and few in Britain could have objected if Thatcher had taken football to task. Yet aside from lobbying UEFA to ban English clubs from European competitions, nothing happened. It could be argued that by shirking the issue in 1985, the Government made Hillsborough all the more possible.

In the interim period between 1985 and April 1989, the football authorities and clubs carried on with their laissez-faire approach to safety and facilities, while also strengthening anti-hooligan measures – most grounds had strong perimeter fencing, usually with an overhang, and some even with barbed wire or spikes on top. Terraces resembled Prisoner of War Camps more than sports venues, with their pen-like construction. These measures made disasters even more likely. Policing remained as rigid as ever, herding fans around like sheep, and with poor command and control. Hooliganism should have improved policing and crowd control, yet it seems to have remained as archaic as ever. Policing on the day of the Hillsborough disaster was pretty clueless, and there might have been an even bigger disaster if there had been crowd disorder.

Reading Taylor’s Interim Report, which dealt specifically with the causes of the disaster, time and time again senior officers from South Yorkshire Police spoke with a virtual paranoia about crowd trouble. The operational planning for the match on 15 April 1989 was solely focussed on preventing or dealing with hooliganism, with virtually no planning for crowd safety problems. This paranoia about hooliganism actually paralysed police action on the day – PC’s had had it drilled into them not to open gates, to the point where one said that he ‘expected a bollocking’ for opening a gate to allow fans to escape the crush. Even when it was clear that people were dying, some officers were more concerned about spectators being on the pitch – never mind that they were escaping a fatal crush. And even as the dead were being pulled out of the Leppings Lane End, Police reinforcements drew up a blocking line on the pitch to prevent Liverpool fans from reaching the Nottingham Forest fans at the other end of the ground. Whilst this was sensible in theory, did the Police divert too many resources?

It is quite inexplicable that having fudged the issue of safety at Football Stadiums for so long, the Government then went way over the top in 1989. Avoiding the issue had led to the deaths of 96 people. The ever-present thread of hooliganism in the Taylor report is a mystery. There is not necessarily a link that all football ground disasters are caused by hooliganism, something Taylor would have stressed if he did not have a pre-conceived agenda. Reading the Taylor Report, it is probable – at least in my opinion – that Taylor ‘lumped in’ high-spirits, hot dogs and a few beers as one and the same as hardcore hooliganism – a typical top-down, class based misconception. Kind of the same attitude that would lead a Victorian middle class investigator to irrationaly link a working man having a few beers in an inn with serial killers.

The introduction of all-seater stadia, more professional crowd control and policing has undoubtedly led to a rapid decrease in football hooliganism in Britain. It is more expensive to go to football now – cutting out many young male working class supporters – and seating is not conducive to rioting. A preponderence of CCTV makes it nigh-on impossible to commit crime and get away with it. Hooligan firms still exist, but any violence is low-key and takes place away from the stadiums, even in car parks and industrial estates.

But even though football has become safer for the majority, something has been lost along the way. All-seater stadia were an excuse to hike ticket prices. Atmosphere is non-existant compared to the old terrace days. Football crowds have got soft, complaining if seats are too hard, if somebody stands up or if there is too much noise. This has all contributed to the supporter becoming a customer – disenfranchised and exploited. Watching football is now more akin to going to the theatre.

Could hooliganism have been eradicated without the draconian measures of the Taylor report? The primary causes of football hooliganism in the 70’s and 80’s were sociological – bands of disafected working class young men, many unemployed or in low paid work, grouping together and showing their disdain for authority. More intelligent policing would have paid dividends – not just erecting bigger and stronger fences, or deploying more police horses, Herding people around and penning them in like animals, it made it all the more likely that fans would behave as such. Police should have engaged more with fans, and thinking more strategically about how to manage large crowds rather than the same old route one policing.

By its illogical obsession with hooliganism, the Taylor Report was the wrong sledgehammer, used to crack the wrong walnut. And thus the Thatcher Government gentrified what was our national, working class sport. A failure to understand the causes of and nature of football hooliganism has had a lasting effect on the game, and those who follow it. I would like to advance the argument that all-seater stadia and the gentrification of football was not the only way to clean up the game.

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The Taylor report unpicked: Class bias

Liverpool fans desperately try to climb the fe...

Liverpool fans climbing on to the pitch to escape the crush at Hillsborough (Image via Wikipedia)

Motivated by my recent trip to watch German football matches, and my long-term interest in Football Stadia and Football culture, I have been taking a historical look at the pivotal Taylor report into the Hillsborough disaster of 1989. I’m starting with a look at the class bias of the report, and following on with a look at hooliganism, the terracing debate, and stadium architecture.

On 15 April 1989 a crush at an FA Cup Semi Final at Hillsborough resulted in the deaths of 96 Liverpool fans. The subsequent report into the disaster, the Taylor Report, led to all major football stadiums being all-seater. This meant the end of terracing at football stadiums, and along with the introduction of Sky TV at around the same time, has probably done more to shape English football than any other development.

Although the report was supposed to be focussed on the Hillsborough Disaster, the recent history of football in England had a chequered past. The 1985 Bradford Fire had led to the Popplewell Report into Fire Safety at Football Grounds. In the 1970’s and 1980’s crowd disorder had culminated in English clubs being banned from European Football after the Heysel Disaster in 1985.

Yet, reading the Taylor Report, you do not have the feeling of a Lord Justice trying to investigate the causes of 96 deaths. Taylor goes much further, almost as if he has been given a tacit remit by the Thatcher Government to ‘sort out’ English football, even elements that had nothing to do with Hillsborough and didn’t need ‘sorting out’. In short, was the Taylor Report a sledgehammer to crack a walnut?

Taylors remit from the Home Secretary was as follows:

“To inquire into the events at Sheffield Wednesday Football Ground on 15 April 1989 and to make recommendations about the needs of crowd control and safety at sports events”

The ‘and’ is important. Previous inquiries had looked into the specifics of a disaster. The Hillsborough inquiry was different – Taylor was instructed by Douglas Hurd to go further than the events of 15 April 1989, and to report on the state of the game in general. The inquiry took place from 15 May to 29 June 1989, and heard evidence from 174 witnesses, as well as much written evidence. 31 sports ground were visited, including in Holland and France, and other sports grounds such as Rugby, Cricket, tennis and golf. Part I considers Hillsborough; Part II wider safety at sports grounds; Part III crowd control and dealing with Hooligans; and Part IV the proposed national membership scheme.

The Taylor report was the NINTH such report into saftey at football grounds. In 1973 the first Green Guide on safety at sports grounds was published, largely prompted by the 1970 Ibrox disaster. That Hillsborough happened, after such scrutiny, does suggest that the Government, football authorities and clubs had failed to take safety seriously enough. Measures that would have prevented Hillsborough had been proposed as early as 1924. This was due to a combination of cost, a laissez-faire attitude, and a pre-occupation with dealing with hooliganism. Taylor stated that ‘there is no point in holding inquiries or publishing guidance unless the recommendations are followed diligently’.

Taylor states that when touring grounds after Hillsborough, the inquiry encountered an attitude amongst football clubs that ‘it could not have happened here’ – this was exactly the kind of complacency that allowed disasters to happen in the first place. What is most sobering, is that Hillsborough was regarded as one of the best and safest stadiums in the country. These are all sobering and salient points.

Yet in his section ‘A Blight on Football’, Taylor belies his intentions:

“Football is our national game. We gave it to the world. But its image in our country has been much tarnished”.

There was indeed a malaise amongst football clubs before 1989. Ground improvements were minimal, as there was no pressing need to improve. In the 1980’s most clubs occupied the same grounds as they had at the turn of the century, and many stands were almost just as old. Any changes were half-hearted or not motivated by safety. In this respect, Taylor DID bring about a change in focus on the part of football clubs, and a willingness to demolish, build and improve that was not there before.

In terms of facilities, Taylor laments the poor condition of football grounds, from a spectators point of view. He describes the terraces as ‘squalid’, yet I doubt that many people who stood on the terraces in 1989 thought of it that way. Going to the football on the saturday afternoon was different to going to the Opera. In classic victorian terms of social control, Taylor states that ‘it directly lowers standards of conduct’. Unbelievably, Taylor sees fit to comment on the quality of the Burgers available to fans – ‘on sale from shoddy sheds’ – as if that really mattered. Was he comparing football to a day at the races or a night at the theatre, one wonders? The classic line, however, has to be ‘there is a prevailing stench of stewed onions’. How about if fans liked having onions in their burgers? I hardly think that stewed onions caused Hillsborough.

Taylor also mentions the lack of quality pre-match entertainment, which is pertinent. However, it is difficult to imagine what the football clubs could have organised – even nowadays, the usual pre-match and half-time entertainment is best filed under ‘cheese’ and is widely ignored by most fans. Taylor had clearly failed to grasp the attitude and background of the average football supporter.

Taylor recognised in his report that ‘football created special problems’ not to be found at other sports grounds – namely, the numbers in attendance and the atmosphere. Within two pages, football was being singled out for special treatment. Amongst the sports listed, it is noticeable that Football is predominantly the most working class sport, and the one that generates the most visible passion and support.

Conclusion

It is hard to escape the conclusion that the Taylor Report was a part of wider class issues in 1980’s Britain – the report is couched in ‘top-down’ class semantics. Clearly, Taylor was no football fan. The language is evocative of a victorian philanthropist investigating inner-city slums, holding firm to pre-conceived agendas and prejudices. Not just from a personal perspective, but we cannot expect a Lord Justice – instructed by a hard-line conservative Government – to be too bothered about understanding the culture of Football, THE working class sport. Thatcher had shown a willigness to ‘take on’ football earlier in the 80’s – it is believed that pressure from Thatcher herself led to UEFA banning English clubs after Heysel. For Thatcher and her Government, was Hillsborough part of the wider class struggle, much the same as the miners strike and the Poll Tax riots? It is hard to come to any conclusion other than that Taylor and the Government used Hillsborough – and the deaths of 96 people – as cover for gentrifying football and firing another shot across the bows of ordinary working people.

 

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The decline of English football: a German perspective

Dietmar Hopp

Dietmar Hopp, backer of TSG 1899 Hoffenheim (Image via Wikipedia)

Regular readers will be under no illusions that I have a very low opinion of the state of English football. In my opinion, it is far too commercialised, bloated, devoid of atmosphere and passion, weighted far to far in the direction of the wealthy few, inaccessible to ordinary working people. Its virtually at the point of eating itself. Its not even as if the overpaid, overhyped players we are told to idolise are really any good – witness South Africa earlier this summer.

By contrast, I’ve been to a few football matches in Germany over the years, and the contrast is striking. 90 minutes spent on the terraces at Borussia Monchengladbach is like going back 20 years to the uncovered, terraced Fratton End. Not just in terms of architecture, but in terms of the culture, and the experience. Why is this so? How has our national game declined to such a pathetic level, whilst in Germany it is thriving?

Ownership and Management

Lets just take a look at the ownership of the 20 Premier League clubs – the vast majority are owned solely by wealthy foreign oligarchs, people who have little or no understanding of football or English society. Rich person’s playthings. By comparison, the majority of clubs in Germany are just that – clubs. Not only football clubs, but full blown sporting clubs, with amateur, junior and womens teams, athletics, basketball, and all kinds of other sports – Unterhacing’s logo is a bobsleigh, as the club also has a winter sports heritage. Bayern Munich, the biggest club in Germany, has 162,187 members. The football part of the club is run by a spin-off company, of which 81.82% is owned by the Club itself, and 9.09% each by Adidas and Audi. The club is not listed on the stock exchange, so is therefore a private company controlled by the members of the club.

There are several German clubs that do not follow the club principle. Bayer Leverkusen are supported heavily by the Bayer pharmaceutical company. Although the club started as a social club for Bayer employees in the town, many fans of other German clubs consider Bayer Leverkusen to be an ‘artificial’ club. Ironically, however, perhaps the most prominent example in Europe of an artifical club is that of 1899 Hoffenheim. A fifth flight club in 2000, Hoffenhiem made a remarkable rise to the top rung of the Bundesliga ladderr in 2008, helped along the way by the wealth of software magnate Dietmar Hopp. The club only turned fully professional in 2007-08. Hoffenheim and Hopp have been roundly criticised in Germany, even being referred to as 18.99 Hoffenheim. The village of Hoffenheim only has 3,000 residents.

Schalke 04 were once known as perhaps the most down-to-earth, working class club in Germany. Hailing from the heavily inustralised Rurh city of Gelsenkirchen, in recent years Schalke has evolved into a slick business operation, with a brand new 60,000 stadium. Disturbingly, in in 2006 Schalke announced a link-up with the Russian energy giant Gazprom, who also own and sponsor Zenit St Petersburg. Gazprom apparently intend to invest up to 125million Euros over 5 years, something that has been seen as an attempt to gain political influence in Germany. It’s sad indeed for such a proud, cultural club to turn its back on its roots.

Although FC St Pauli are often held up as an example of a working class club with a strong fan culture, this reputation has almost become a victim of its own success, with thousands of random people around the world deciding that they are St Pauli fans. Whilst it is OK to go along with the ideals and the culture, I cannot help but feel that an English person randomly deciding to support St Pauli ‘because everyone else does’ is like a Londoner supporting Man Utd. Why St Pauli? Pick a different team!

But these examples aside, German clubs are overwhelmingly exactly that – clubs. Clubs are viewed by the size of their membership. The differences with English football are not just in ownership. In German football Clubs are often run by former players (it is not hard to come to the conclusion that English footballers, on the whole, are too intellectually challenged to run a hot dog stand, let along a football club). Figures such as Franz Beckenbauer, Karl-Heinz Rumenniegge and Uli Hoeness, and more recently Jurgen Klinsmann and Rudi Voller moved not only into team management, but also club management. Club boards are also larger, and made up with a far more balanced membership, from a wide range of backgrounds. Not just the rich owners handpicked flunkies.

Fan Culture

Not only is German football different in terms of the bigger issues. I have often felt that English football has sold its soul and fogotten the very people who made it so special – the gate-paying, ordinary working fans. Now, you have to sit down and shut up. Even at Portsmouth, ‘fans’ (no doubt called Norman or something like that) complain about the noise of the singing and the drums, or when someone stands up in front of them. A club with any bollocks would tell them to stick their season tickets somewhere uncomfortable. When did English football get so soft? (see Taylor report). Fans are no longer supporters, but customers. Fans have no real stake in the club, and are there only to be exploited and taken for granted. Clubs do nothing to encourage atmosphere, or stimulate passionate support. Spectators of English football are as removed from events on the pitch as a cinema goer is from the film on the screen.

I would like to see somebody complain about standing or excessive noise on the Nordkurve at Monchengladbach. At a German football match atmosphere is appreciated and encouraged. Tickets are cheap. Huge flags and banners and singing are encouraged. Many fans will be full members of the club, so are not just spectators, but really are part of the whole club experience. No wonder they are more likely to get more involved and more passionate about events on and off the pitch. At Monchengladbach there is a Fan Haus (Fan House) a few hundred yards from the ground. Decked out in flags and memorabilia, it is essentially a hub for supporters, selling beer but also putting on live music, and surrounded by food and clothes stalls. I know of nothing like it in English Football.

In England, the supporters clubs are normally run by eccentric bearded gentlemen, often called Roger or Norman. Their most important contribution to the operation of the club is giving their opinion on the number of toilets, or the quality of the meat pies at half time. You cannot help but feel that the Football Clubs view them as a nuisance. At Pompey we have the Supporters Club, the Independent Supporters Club, and now a Supporters Trust. The next step will probably be a supporters club branch from the People’s Front of Judea.

Whereas in Germany, the Fan Club is a real powerhouse. Although independent from the clubs themselves, the supporters clubs have real influence over what goes on. Most German clubs also employ fans liaison officers, who play a significant part in looking after supporters, both home and away. When I worked in youth politics some time ago, I came across something called the ladder of participation. At the bottom of the ladder, you are standing there watching; powerless. Whereas nearer the top, you are in the thick of the action, playing a part in what is going on. No prizes for guessing where on the ladder I place English and German football respectively.

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Tracing your Legal Ancestors: A Guide for Family Historians by Stephen Wade

Reviewing this book posed one small problem: I don’t actually HAVE a legal ancestor (although there are possibly one or two illegal ancestors, but thats another story). I’ve done a little research and study into criminal history (check out the Old Bailey online for some good old crime reading), but this book looks very much at the other side of the coin – the judiciary and legal system.

The British legal system is horribly complicated and confusing – Quarter Sessions, Assizes, Magistrates, County Court, High Court to name but a few. There are lawyers, barristers, judges, recorders, registrars, clerks and coroners to name but a few more. Its hard enough to understand for those of us who have studied it for a while, so for the family history enthusiast finding that they have a lawyer in the family, it must be terrifying to know where to start. This book gives a good starting point.

I would go further however, and suggests that this is actually probably quite useful to read if you find that you have a criminal ancestor, as it gives a great description of the legal system. Therefore, you will be able to gain a much better understanding of the system that you ancestor will have gone through, and the people who would have defenced, prosectuted and sentenced them.

Never the less, this is a very useful book indeed. I must confess, it doesn’t sound like the most rivetting read, and its probably not something you would pick up purely for fun. But if you find thats one of your ancestors was a lawyer or judge or such like, this would be an ideal guide. As usual with the ‘Tracing your… Ancestors’ series there are plenty of useful resources listed, and – particularly useful in this case – a sizeable glossary of tecnical legal terms.

Its on my bookshelf just in case!

Tracing your Legal Ancestors is published by Pen and Sword

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Angry protestors attack Royal Coach… dateline 1795…

There have been a lot of historionics recently about the student protests, and in particular about the incident in which the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall were caught up in ‘the mob’ in Regent Street. This interesting article in the Guardian got me thinking, as well as this one on the BBC website.

One correspondent in my local newspaper even suggested that the protestors who harrangued the royal couple’s car were committing a treasonable act. Please… I thought we’d dispensed with the divine rights of Kings when we cut off Charles I’s head. Assault? possibly. Treason? no chance.

In fact, I would quite like to know what Charlie boy thinks, as the father of an ex-student, and another son who did so badly at A-Level he could never have got into Uni (even though he did make an officer in the Household Cavalry, but that is another class-based story for another day). Charles himself managed to get to Cambridge with very dubious A-Levels results, and hardly distinguished himself when he was there, so it would be interesting to know what his thoughts are – he’s got something to say about everything else that seems to happen in society.

Even well-thought-of national figures are by no means immune to protests. The Duke of Wellington, who ‘in retirement’ turned to politics, was more than once the target of the mob, including when the windows of his Apsley House residence were smashed by angry protestors while he was Prime Minister. It didn’t mean that they were ‘desecrating’ the Duke – many of the same protestors no doubt revelled in his victories and were tearful at his death – they were just mightily pissed off at that moment in time.

And for all the hysteria about students urinating on statues of Winston Churchill, it was the same kind of conservative Government that brought in the national curriculum years ago, which pretty much erased meaningful british history from education. No wonder people of my generation know so little about Churchill and the World Wars, they’ve not been allowed to learn about it. And… on a more biological level, if the Police cordon people off for hours at a time with no toilets, then maybe they might just go against anything that they can? Just a thought.

I’ve even read the usual opinions that we should ‘bring back national service’ to teach the wayward students a lesson in discipline. National Service was never about discipline, it was viewed as a necessary evil to plug a chronic manpower shortage while Britain slowly withdrew from its imperial commitments after the Second World War. It was unpopular, with the Government, with the armed forces, and with society. All it seems to have taught was how to drink and how to smoke, and a conscript military does not equal a professional military, which the modern age calls for. Britain has never really ‘done’ conscription, and an overblown moral panic is no reason to start now.

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