During the 1966 World Cup Tournament I had not yet turned 11, but like most of the other kids in Clarence Grove, Liverpool, I was mad on football.
During that summer we watched almost all of the televised games, mostly in Georgie Marsden’s house as his dad had the best ‘Telly’.
On the day of the final me and my 7 mates were bursting with impatience and excitement. We were obviously going to win especially over the Germans, cause they bombed our cowshed, so we were told, and besides we only needed 3 players, Gordon Banks, Bobby Moore and of course the great Jimmy Greaves. We had our own cardboard replica trophy courtesy of Mr Trail the Chandler and David Lowry said he was going to use his new case ball for our kick about in the street after the game.
As the time got near we knocked at Georgie’s door to pile in and watch the match. When he opened the door his face was all red with tears and clean for a change. I have to say that his sobs had little impact on us as he always found something to moan about, but this time it was real. The first bit of bad news was that Jimmy Greaves was not playing but some fella called Geoff Hurst, which was a blow so we would probably have to field a full team and secondly his telly had caught fire the night before. We got our telly from Radio Rentals whereby his dad got theirs off the docks. We all went into our own homes to watch the game with the agreement that we would all run out on the final whistle, well all except our goalie David Lomas, who wore leg irons and bottle end glasses and couldn’t see a thing with or without them. He just stood in goal with his arms out stretched. If he got hit with the ball he would just fall over like a duck in a shooting gallery.
As we know we won and this Geoff Hurst chap was the business. At the final whistle, with cup held aloft, I raced out of the house screaming to join the others. From the bottom of the street David Lowry hoofed his ball straight in my direction. It was perfect for a volley against Mrs Makin’s red stonewall. Although I was very short my legs were strong and I was known for kicking a ball very hard. A small thing and hardly worth mentioning was that I had a bit of difficulty with direction. Most of the balls that were ever lost over the roofs were normally down to me, but not today because I was Geoff Hurst. All the great goals ever scored happen slowly like in a dream and as the ball floated through the air, I composed myself for a wonder strike. Swinging my leg from behind in a large arc the ball connected with my deadly right foot so sweetly you could taste the laces. Oh yes! it left my foot like a cannonball at the battle of Waterloo and straight through the window of No 13 ( about 20 ft away from the red wall ) who were having dinner at the time. Not only did we ruin their meal, but we broke a valuable vase with Uncle Henry’s ashes in. I cost us all 2 weeks pocket money and David’s ball, which had been destroyed with a kitchen knife as a lesson.
They were not even watching the game.
Carl Gillam
Memory added on August 26, 2016
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