Stairway 13

Stairway 13, long before there was Heysel or Hilllsborough, with their grim television pictures, incongruous floral tributes and uncomprehending vales of tears, there was one Saturday evening in Glasgow on which a city’s mothers and fathers, wives and girlfriends, nephews and nieces, and heaven only knows how many friends of a friend, clung on anxiously to the hope that their loved ones would eventually stagger through the door and confirm they had escaped the terrible devastation wrought by the Ibrox Disaster.

Most of the them did come home, whether three sheets in the wind or as fu’ as a whelk. Others such as Walter Smith, Alex Ferguson and Andy Roxburgh clambered around the mangle of bodies and stricken souls, emergency workers and Old Firm volunteers on Stairway 13, and thanked their lucky stars in one breath, prior to collecting their thoughts in the next. But, for 66 other families, there was the spectre of a long night’s journey into day and the awful realisation that the catastrophe which engulfed Ibrox at the end of the New Year match on January 2, 1971, had snatched their sons and - in Margaret Ferguson’s case - daughter away forever.

Even now, almost 30 years later, the sepia-tinged pictures from the newsreels speak of mystification and bewilderment, accompanied by a sense of futile anger at the casual fashion in which so many lives were sacrificed. But, beyond that, there is also a numbing tristesse amongst those three-score-plus families, reflecting their feeling that hackneyed phrases in the mould of "time is a healer" and "they’re in a better place now" are cute platitudes for those fortunate enough never to have had to identify relatives with their faces black and the life squeezed out of them.

Talk to men such as Sandy Jardine or John Greig and you will not hear any easy sentiments, but rather the hushing of voices and stilling of laughter, followed by their own, particular, memories of a calamity which, all too fleetingly, tore through Glasgow’s intransigent sectarian curtain and saw Orangemen shed tears in the company of priests throughout the west of Scotland, yonder into Edinburgh and across the Kingdom to the little Fife village of Markinch, where Peter Easton, Richard Morrison, David Patton, Mason Phillips and Bryan Todd, five schoolboys who lived within a few hundred yards of each other, perished together on the same ill-fated stairway, which had witnessed earlier tragedies in 1961, and near-disasters in 1967 and 1969.

Sitting in his office at the refurbished Ibrox nowadays, Jardine cuts a blithe and dapper figure, his youthful countenance belying the fact that he will turn 52 this Hogmanay, a mere two days before Rangers unveil a bronze statue in tribute to the fans who died and in remembrance of the hundreds of others in the 80,000 crowd who suffered serious injuries and/or emotional scars which no amount of modern counselling will erase.

"In these days, this was probably the biggest fixture of the season, given that the Old Firm only met twice a year, but it was dreadfully ironic that what had been a fairly good-natured occasion, with neither trouble on the terraces or on the pitch, should develop into a waking nightmare for so many people," says Jardine. "Everyone knows the circumstances whereby Jimmy Johnstone sent Celtic in front with a minute to go, the ball got centred, we equalised at once, [through Colin Stein] and the referee blew full-time immediately. So you had Rangers supporters, who thought: ‘Oh, that’s the game over", when Jimmy scored, turning to go down the big staircase, then turning back when they heard the huge roar, and that coincided with a massive number of spectators making their way towards the exit and the subway. Then, suddenly, somebody fell, and the whole ghastly business began.

"The thing is, I was on the groundstaff, I had actually swept these stairways, and they were huge, really solid objects, so I could never understand how they could get mangled so badly by any number of human beings. But they were. Just think of it: the pressure of all those bodies cascading over one another, and the panic which must have spread...ach, there are no words in the English language to describe adequately what happened over those next few minutes.

"But you have to realise that we, as players, were completely unaware anything was wrong at that stage. We were in our dressing-room, fairly happy to have managed a draw, sharing a few jokes together before getting into the bath. Well, I was one of the last guys to climb out, but as I re-emerged the order came that there had been an accident and we had to leave the room as quickly as possible. It could have been a fire alert or anything, but while we started putting our clothes on as fast as we could, the authorities started to bring some of the dead bodies into the place, and we all turned grey at the sight of them.

"Yet even then, we had no real idea of the extent of the fatalities. As I drove back to my home in the east end of Edinburgh, I heard there were two dead, then the figures mounted up. It was 12, then 22, then 30, then 44 - I don’t know why, but that number sticks in my mind - and finally, it climbed to 66 as the news filtered out to all the parents and kith and kin of the folk who had attended the match and had gone to pubs or picture houses afterwards. I’ve spoken to hundreds of supporters since then, and they’ve told me how vast crowds assembled at all of the drop-off points for the buses to find out whether their loved ones were okay. The phone lines were jammed, Glasgow was in turmoil, and the hospitals were all packed to overflowing. Anxiety, terror, pain, sadness, horror...a blanket of all these emotions covered our whole country that night."

Amidst this maelstrom, Willie Waddell, the 50-year-old Rangers manager, somehow brought a semblance of sanity to the madhouse, he and his Celtic counterpart Jock Stein emphasising constantly the desperate need for entrenched communities to pull together and for religious tribalism to be discarded. Sadly, but perhaps inevitably, considering the basic illogicality of the extremists on either side, the "healing" process proved little more than a nine-day wonder.

But in the longer-term, Waddell, who died in 1992, was determined such scenes should never be repeated at Ibrox. "It’s strange what comes into your mind, but when I first went to the top of the steps and looked down on the pile of bodies, my initial thought was of Belsen, because the corpses were entangled as they had been in the pictures which came out of the concentration camps," said Waddell. "But, my God, it was hellish, there were bodies in the dressing rooms, in the gymnasium, and even in the laundry room. My own training staff and the Celtic training staff were working at the job of resuscitation, and we were all trying everything possible to bring breath back to those crushed limbs.

"Honestly, I will never forget the sight of Bob Rooney, the Celtic psyhiotherapist, with tears in his eyes giving the kiss of life to innumerable victims. He never stopped, nor did the Rangers doctors, nor the nurses and ambulancemen who flocked to join them, and we will never know how many lives were saved in there during that frenzy of activity."

Nearby, the Southern General Hospital was under siege, their switchboard of only 35 lines - and one police short-wave radio - incessantly jammed by a crescendo of panic calls from every corner of the city. But by midnight, a worse task was unfolding for the likes of Jardine and Greig. The funerals. The search for answers. And the quest towards apportioning responsibility which, despite lengthy inquiries, found little beyond the same tinder-box of ingredients which would bring death and destruction to the realms of Heysel, Bradford and Hillsborough as much as 18 years later.

"Willie was a tremendous influence on us, and when he instructed the players to report into Ibrox on Monday morning we accepted that we had to shoulder the burden and carry the load for those who had lost their lives," says Jardine. "As he mentioned, players come and go, new faces are introduced and old heroes waved goodbye, but the supporters have a lifelong commitment to their club.

"So we went to the funerals and paid our respects, but as you might imagine, it was a terrible experience, especially in cases such as those young lads from Markinch. What could you say? What consolation could you offer? In the normal routine, when you go to a funeral of somebody who has reached a ripe old age, the occasion can be treated as a celebration of that person’s life, but with these kids there is always the sense of unfulfilled potential, of existence snuffed away, and that is irreplaceable.

"I can’t remember now exactly how many funerals Greigy and I went to, but every single one left an indelible impression on both of us and, almost 30 years on, I still find myself wondering what it must be like to be in the shoes of the families. That’s why we are holding this memorial on January 2 - yes, ordinary Rangers fans can come along and pay their respects - but this is for the families. If nothing else, the new Ibrox, where safety is the paramount priority, stands as their monument, and we have already contacted 64 of the 66 families involved in this tragedy. Believe me, we genuinely want to handle this properly, with due dignity and decorum."

Jardine’s words, and the quiver on his lips, demonstrate the fashion in which recollections of 1971 can induce sorrow in the most hardened character. Greig, for instance, as coruscating and rumbustious a customer as ever wore the captain’s armband at Rangers, might shuffle uneasily under the newspapers’ gaze in his role as head of public relations at Ibrox, but there is nothing stiff or stilted when the Disaster is discussed.

"It will never leave me. Never a day goes by that it doesn’t pass through my mind. Indeed, I still receive letters from guys who have never been back at the stadium since that very day, and I can’t blame them," says Greig. "But while it is in my power, I will offer to take them around the new stadium to enable them to see what it looks like now. Because, in the trophy room, there is a beautiful picture of the old stadium up on the wall. And for me, it is one of the most important things in the room, and I make a point of showing it to the people who go there. It’s important, especially for the younger fans who have only witnessed the new Ibrox, that they know the history of the club, where we came from, and why we advanced from that point.

" No amount of mourning will yield solace to the step-sister of Margaret Ferguson, or dispel thoughts of what might have been amongst the minions of Markinch. But if next month’s ceremony brings re-union between those factions who combined for the common good in 1971, it surely won’t be a vain gesture.

The teams on that tragic day, January 2, 1971

RANGERS 1 (Stein, 90)

Neef Jardine Mathieson Greig McKinnon Jackson Henderson Conn Johnstone Smith Stein

CELTIC 1 (Johnstone, 89)

Williams Craig Gemmell Brogan Connolly Hay Johnstone Hood Wallace Callaghan Lennox

FANS DELIVER TRIBUTE TO IBROX DISASTER VICTIMS 02 January 2001

To the innocent passer-by it must have looked like a normal matchday at Ibrox as thousands made their way along the streets of Govan towards the famous stadium. But there all similarities ended as no match was scheduled for this afternoon and the only applause that was to come from the stands was more reminiscent of a piano concert than an Old Firm derby. For Rangers were paying tribute to those who had lost their lives there over the years, on the 30th anniversary of the worst disaster of them all. The years 1902 and 1961 were both marked by deaths of supporters on Ibrox matchdays, but it was January 2 1971 that will always be remembered in Glasgow.For that was the day when 66 Rangers fans were killed in a crush on Stairway 13 minutes after a derby with Celtic had ended 1-1.

Stairway 13 no longer exists of course and the Ibrox of 2001 is an all-seater stadium now. But where it used to be, where the Main Stand and the Copland Road Stand meet, a poignant memorial service took place. While the thousands filed into the stadium to take their seats, relatives of those who died gathered outside to take part in the service, which was conducted by the Reverend Stuart McQuarrie. Ibrox at 3pm is often a raucous venue, with the noise from the home fans an intimidating prospect for visiting teams. But on this occasion all that could be heard was a low murmuring of the Lord's Prayer, quiet, almost contemplative singing of Psalm 23 and the noise of seats banging together as the assembled were called upon to stand for prayers and a minute's silence.

John Greig was the home captain on that day 30 years ago and he and chairman David Murray unveiled a statue of the man voted the greatest ever Ranger. Greig, who had been flanked by team manager Dick Advocaat and Murray while Rev McQuarrie spoke movingly about the events of January 2 1971, which he had personally witnessed, and he went on to lay a wreath in front of the blackened, one-and-a-half-times life sized figure of himself.

Celtic were also represented, with chairman Brian Quinn and former captain Billy McNeill present. Minister for Sport Sam Galbraith, Lord Provost Alex Mosson and Chief Constable John Orr were also there. The service was relayed to those in the ground via the giant video-screens and when the pictures faded away at the end it was marked by polite applause by the thousands who had assembled, many of whom had not even been born when the disaster occurred. Most made their way outside to take a closer look at the statue and as they did so filed past a Celtic scarf that had been knotted to the railings outside the main entrance. For once, and perhaps for one day only, no-one minded ... or even noticed.

REMEMBRANCE… Craig Smith, 34, glazier, Livingston

My father, George, was heading off to the Old Firm match, and, as he put his coat on, I asked if I could go with him. But he laughed and, after pointing out that my two older brothers also weren’t going with him because it was too big a game, he waved us all goodbye. Well, at about ten to five, there was a news flash on the TV, reporting that there had been an accident at Ibrox, but the programme had no details of any injuries. My mother looked worried, but not too concerned at the start, but the longer the time passed, the greater grew her concern, because she and my dad had arranged to go to the golf club dance that night. The later it grew, you could tell there was something badly wrong by my mum’s expression, and she was constantly on the telephone. Then suddenly, the doorbell rang, my brother, Stephen, went to answer it, my mum screamed, then Stephen and my other brother, George, were standing together with tears streaming down their cheeks, and I couldn’t understand what on earth was going on. Eventually, though, we learned the truth. That while my dad had managed to push his brother John and his brother-in-law, Alex, over the fence, he himself was swept away with the force of the crowd, and, as John shouted at him, he saw him die, upright. The very life squeezed out of him on that terrible afternoon. At the time, we lived in house No 66 on the 14th floor, although you had to walk down to the living-room on the 13th floor. My father was born on the 14th August, was killed on the 13th stair, and was one of the 66 killed in the tragedy. Nearly 30 years after it all happened, I will never forget the scenes of that day.

Andrew Ewan, 53, head librarian, Dunoon

I always remember standing in the middle of Stairway 13 and looking at this pile of bodies, some of them black, some blue, lying like rag dolls on all sides of me, whilst people were desperately grappling on to whatever they could find to avoid falling into the carnage. I was there on my own, because my best mate was in Aberdeen with his parents, and with hindsight, I reckon that one of the reasons why I’m here to tell the story is that I was wearing slip-on shoes, and I lost them as hundreds of supporters were caught up in the crush. It’s strange, but I’m convinced that if I had been wearing shoes with laces, as I normally did, I wouldn’t have been able to wriggle out of the morass. But I was tall and skinny - in those days - and I somehow escaped. Yet, in retrospect, it always strikes me that any of us could have been killed, that this was an accident waiting to happen, and that you could drive yourself mad trying to rationalise why some survived and others didn’t. By the time the emergency services arrived and worked their guts out to rescue the injured folk, I was in shock and I remember a policeman approaching me and saying: "Go home, son, there’s nothing you can do here." That was the helpless feeling which engulfed us when we woke up the next day. It brought us all together, Rangers and Celtic fans together. But, sadly, not for long.

Maureen Anderson, 62, retired, Kirkliston

Every year when the festive season comes around, my mind harks back to the Ibrox Disaster, and the fact that my sister-in-law, Margaret Ferguson, earned the sort of fame which absolutely nobody looks for when she became the only female victim of the tragedy. Do you know, I learned recently that somebody actually wanted to make a feature film about the events on that January 2. Well, to me, that’s not entertainment, that’s sick. But to return to Margaret, she was the only member of our family who was really interested in football, and she was Rangers-daft. The week before Christmas in 1971, she had made a wee doll for Colin Stein, and the other lasses in the factory where she worked dared her to go to Ibrox and deliver it personally to him. So she did. That was just like Margaret. She was gallus, she was an extrovert, and...at 17, she should have had the rest of her life in front of her. Yet when the news filtered through from Ibrox on January 2, it was very, very difficult. Communities pulled together, religious divisions were cast aside, and our parish priest visited the house of my father, who was an Orangeman. Suddenly, these divisions didn’t seem relevant any more. I hope that’s the case when the tribute is unveiled at Ibrox in January. Let’s see the match pass without incident and the rival fans respect one another. For Margaret and the rest.

Bill Malcolm, retired TV executive, Glasgow

If you ever needed any indication of how much things have changed in 30 years, the Ibrox Disaster surely confirms the scale of the revolution. In these days, as the director of the Saturday-night football programme, Sportsreel, we had no idea of the catastrophe which was unfolding whilst we were filming the post-match press conference. Whereas, nowadays, you have Sky, News 24, CNN, Ceefax, Teletext, the internet...all manner of up-to-the-minute news technology. In 1971, we had the Green Citizen sports paper reporting that three supporters had died at Ibrox. Afterwards, some of us at the BBC were criticised for not having pictures of the disaster, but you have to realise that news and sport were entirely separate entities at the time, and there was no blurring of distinctions. All the same, there was never any question of us going ahead with plans to screen highlights and, let’s face it, on that evening a lot of people learned not to describe somebody missing a penalty as a "tragedy", because the game at Ibrox mattered nary a jot in the grand scheme of things once we began to grasp the scale of the carnage, and Archie Macpherson, who was on commentary duty, was mightily relieved the game wasn’t shown. But I was involved later on in the fatal accident inquiry, and I always remember the pressure which was put on my secretary to recall the exact moment when the disaster started on Stairway 13. Obviously, it was a very painful experience for everyone caught up in the search for answers and the job of dishing out blame. But, of course, we got off lightly, didn’t we? I mean, the fact is we were still around to be able to discuss the minutiae of what should and shouldn’t have been done on that Saturday.

The tragic games

IBROX, 1902 Ibrox Park had won the right to host a Scotland v England match thanks to their new west stand, but a partial collapse of the terraces there claimed 25 fatalities and left hundreds injured. With the eastern terrace full, many had flocked to the new structure. Six minutes into the game, a hole, 30 yards wide, appeared in the terracing. Most of the victims plunged to their deaths while the match continued.

BOLTON, 1946 A 65,000 crowd gathered for an FA Cup sixth-round tie, many of them to see Stanley Matthews play for Stoke City. But, after the gates were supposed to be closed, a further 20,000 streamed in. The late surge resulted in two crash barriers collapsing and many victims were trampled underfoot. Police ordered the match to be continued to avoid further panic, but the scenario had claimed the lives of 33 fans.

LIMA, 1964 The worst stadium disaster in football history unfolded in the Peruvian capital of Lima as the nation took on South American rivals Argentina. A disallowed home goal sparked initial unrest before a full-scale riot ensued. Police responded by opening fire on the fans, creating widespread panic as the situation deteriorated. The death toll reached 318, with a further 500 injured in the chaos.

BRADFORD, 1985 TV cameras were there to record the final day of the season as Bradford celebrated promotion to Division Two with a match against Lincoln City. Around 4,000 fans were in the Valley Parade main stand when fire broke out. Strong winds swept flames across the 1909 wooden structure as the roof collapsed amid clouds of smoke. Many scrambled to safety on the pitch, but 51 died in the blaze.

BRUSSELS, 1985 41 fans, mostly Italian, lost their lives, and more than 350 were hurt during the European Cup final between Liverpool and Juventus in the Heysel Stadium, Brussels. On a night of drunken rioting with bottles and cans serving as missiles, English fans charged their rivals, who had been throwing fireworks and other items. Some fell 40ft to their deaths when a wall collapsed as Belgian police struggled to gain control.

HILLSBOROUGH, 1989 Europe’s worst football tragedy occurred prior to an FA Cup semi-final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest. Police took the fateful decision to open a gate at Leppings Lane. Liverpool fans thrust forward on to the terracing, unaware that people at the front were being crushed against the perimeter fence. The match was stopped as ambulances arrived: 94 fans, some of them children, died.

HARARE, 2000 A second-round World Cup qualifier between Zimbabwe and South Africa brought the deaths of 13 spectators. With South Africa winning 2-0, angry home fans threw missiles, and over-zealous police created a stampede when they tried to halt the disturbance with tear-gas. The players had to lie down on the pitch to escape the shambles.