Stairway 13

Stairway 13 After The Tragedy

There’s been quite a bit in the papers recently about three football disasters: Hillsborough where 96 people died in April 1989; Bradford, where a fire killed 56 people in May 1985 and Ibrox Park where 66 people died in January 1971.

The first two tragedies have been in the news because of their anniversary dates but the Ibrox disaster was in the news for a completely different reason – an American company, in an act of unbelievably bad taste tried to market a jigsaw of the disaster scene, whilst the Boston Globe newspaper , fearing trouble if Rangers and Celtic played a ‘friendly’ in their city in the summer, claimed, wrongly, that the Ibrox disaster was caused by unruly fans.

I remember seeing the events at both Hillsborough and Bradford unfold on television but unfortunately, I was directly involved at Ibrox and the recent revival of the tragedy in the news has brought back some disturbing memories.

I was 20 at the time, almost 21 and had gone to the Rangers versus Celtic game with my father-in-law to be, Leonard and his son Paul. Memories of the game itself are hazy. I seem to recall that, as usual and in order to avoid the heaving crowds leaving the stadium at the end of the game, Leonard and Paul left early but I stayed on, only to see Celtic score in the 89^th minute. Like many Rangers fans, I had gradually moved up the terracing to be near the exit when the game ended but when Celtic scored that late goal, there was a mass exodus – there was no way back for Rangers.

I had just started descending the steep stairway 13 when there was a huge roar and as the roar was from my end of the ground, it could only mean that Rangers had scored. In an instant, the rather crushed but orderly descent down stairway 13 turned into a heaving mass of bodies as those halfway down the stairs decided to turn round and try and get back into the terracing, which, when you think of it, was rather stupid given that the goal had actually been scored!

I remember feeling my feet leave the ground and being carried down the stairway without any control whatsoever. I remember my chest being crushed until I could hardly breathe. I remember thinking that if I didn’t keep upright and my head above the mass of bodies, I would die and so I did my best to stay upright as I was carried downwards.

Then there was an incredible silence. Despite 80-90,000 fans in the ground and hundreds of fans going down the stairway and a disaster unfolding, there was just this incredible silence. Then I heard moans and I felt people underneath me. I couldn’t do anything as I felt my feet dragging over their bodies. Then there were cracking sounds (this must have been the steel barriers snapping) and as I was dragged down the stairs, I knew I was standing on top of people who were dying.

About 30 minutes later, I was wandering around the foot of stairway 13 in a daze. I had lost a shoe and stupidly was trying to find it amongst the hundreds of shoes which were lying on the stairs. Then I saw the bodies. A couple were higher up the stairs but there was one young boy, maybe 14 or 15 years old who had just been left lying with his head crushed by a broken and bent steel barrier. I went over to him and felt for a pulse when a policeman came up to me and I’ll never forget his words. ‘Don’t bother with him, he’s dead’. It wasn’t said in any sort of mean or nasty way, it was just a professional talking in a practical way.

I was offered medical assistance but I was ok and finally decided to go home. I cannot recall if I ever found my shoe but as I got on the train to take me back to Leonard’s house, I was still shaking.

When I arrived at Ossian Road, the whole family was relieved to see me. The TV news had been showing the disaster scene, Leonard knew that stairway 13 was probably my exit route, I was very late and of course, they thought the worst had happened.

I was a very lucky boy.

Now some of you might be wondering why I would post this type of article on my blog. The simple reason is that I started my blog a couple of years ago to let my sons and wider family know what was going on in my life including some things from the past which I have never discussed with them. This was one of those things I never discussed.

Apple – Rotten To The Core ?

I’ve got an iPhone. It’s great. It’s saved me a fortune in newspapers. I got a sat nav application last week for an unbelievable €3.99 and I can wander around all day with Talksport radio blasting into my ears whilst I carry out my daily chores. I can now buy, buy, buy or sell, sell, sell in the bar at lunchtime. It’s probably paid for itself already despite the fact that I’m only 7 months into a two year contract.

But I don’t really like Apple as a company. I don’t like the fact that they refuse to use Flash Player so I can’t play videos on my iPhone. I don’t like their protectionist attitude towards other software and hardware manufacturers. I don’t like their patronizing attitude to the market place. I just don’t like them and I’m struggling with my principles because we must have 5 or 6 iPods in the house along with 2 iTouches and of course my iPhone.

The recent problem about a ‘lost’ iPhone 4G (or whatever they’ll call it) epitomizes the company’s ‘big brother’ attitudes.

A few weeks ago, an Apple software developer dropped or left a prototype iPhone 4G in a bar. It was picked up by a guy (a blogger - Brian Hogan) who realized what it was, despite the fact that the device had been heavily disguised to look like a 3G iPhone, and he offered it to some techie websites. Eventually, he found a buyer (a Mr Chen) in Gizmodo.com who paid him $5,000 to get hold of the hottest new device to be launched this year – and that includes the iPad.

Of course, Gizmodo ran a few articles on the 4G and within nano-seconds, Apple was on the phone demanding its property back which Gizmodo was happy to do – if Steve Jobs, who personally contacted the website, would confirm that it was indeed, a 4G iPhone. He refused, despite the fact that the 4G is due to be announced on June 7^th and have already released details of its 4G operating system - and that’s when the trouble started.

Apple contacted the police saying that the device had been stolen which, in turn led to Mr Chen’s house being controversially raided by members of California's Rapid Enforcement Allied Computer Team.

Police seized four computers and two servers along with cameras and an iPhone, using a warrant issued by a Superior Court judge on suspicion the property was "used as the means of committing a felony".

The case has raised concerns about the close ties between the technology industry and the little-known task force that was created to fight crimes against technology companies. Apple is a member of the technology crime task force's board but the company said it didn't use its influence to pressure it to investigate, however documents detail a meeting just days before the raid on Chen’s home, between police and Apple executives.

An Apple spokeswoman said: “We reported what we believe was a crime, and the D.A. of San Mateo County is taking it from there.”

No charges have yet been laid in the case but Apple have had such a lot of bad publicity that their June 7^th announcement has already been overshadowed by events.

A Bit On The Wild Side

Over the last ten years or so since I’ve been here, I’ve been shown by various people, all the herbs and other ‘edibles’ which grow wild on the terraces and in the woods.

Wild thyme grows in great clumps on the quieter terraces. Rosemary is virtually everywhere and one of my favourite ground-covering plants is Sage which spreads like a weed and which has the most beautiful lilac flowers in late spring, early summer.

Mushrooms can be found in the woods and if you’re unsure about eating what you find, you can apparently take your haul into a Pharmacy where they are supposed to identify the edible varieties for you. Then of course, there is the exquisite truffle which I had high hopes that Shadow would develop a nose for, but as he can hardly find his food in his bowl these days, it’s highly unlikely he’d ever find a truffle buried in the woods! Buying a small jar of truffle butter (the size of those hotel breakfast jam pots) is about €10 and although it lasts for ages, I’d still like Shadow to do the business and find me one – the size of a small football will do my doggy friend.

There’s the ubiquitous mint which takes over any patch of ground you introduce it to and which I was trying to eradicate until J found some cocktail recipes which call for mint.

And then there’s wild garlic (Allium Ursinum - pictured). It takes quite a bit of finding. There’s no chance of recognizing the leaves on their own but once it flowers it’s easier to spot on the terraces.

In past years, I’ve only come across it on our land very occasionally, so rarely in fact, that I always take time to stop and admire the beautiful small pink flowers and rub them between my fingers to release the smell of garlic.

This year however, it’s everywhere. It’s even growing in plant pots on the terrace and as I planted those pots, know what went into them and haven’t introduced anything, the fact that we now have wild garlic growing in them, and flourishing, is a mystery.

The wild garlic bulb is not like the cloves you get in the shops, the bulb is more like a shallot onion with its skin removed. It’s small, round and white with tiny seeding bulbs clustered around it. I’ve not tried cooking it yet although apparently you use it just like you would ‘normal’ garlic but the leaves and even the flowers are supposed to be an amazing addition to a green salad so maybe when I stop being a ‘salad dodger’ as they say in Scotland, I’ll try some.

In the meantime, I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, Shadow has been rooting around looking for truffles and has inadvertently spread the garlic all round the garden? Good boy Shadow.

London for Lunch

Yes, I know it sounds a bit poncy flying 1000 miles to London for a lunch but it’s an annual thing which we’ve been doing for quite a few years now and it allows me to buy that essential for all British ex-pats when I’m there - tea bags. I managed to stuff 720 of them into my case, although by the time I’d walked for two hours to try and find a station which had trains running to Gatwick, I’d wished I hadn’t. I must get one with wheels – a case that is.

Anyway, the first thing to say is that in the time it took me to travel from central London to Gatwick airport on Saturday, a total of three hours and 28 miles, I’d travelled over 1000 on the Friday. Of course, what goes around, comes around they say and the fact that on the Friday, the plane left Nice early, arrived in London 30 minutes early, the train was waiting at the platform at Gatwick and once in London the tubes were arriving within seconds – all this was cancelled out by the shambles of the stations and trains on the Saturday – see yesterday’s blog if you want all the gory details.

But I’m not one to let these crappy travel problems ruin what was, again, another marathon and highly enjoyable lunch with my ex-IBM colleagues.

One of the problems I have, is that as the organizer I have to get to the restaurant at mid-day otherwise the place will let go the two special tables which hold our group which can number up to 20 or 30, although I think there were only about 16 or so on Friday.

Holding over 200 diners, The New World is a mammoth place and if those two tables of 10 each, were given to other diners, the IBM reunion group would be split up all over the place. And that just wouldn’t do.

Now, arriving that early, I know I should drink water but a glass of wine or two doesn’t hurt anybody but by the time six o’clock comes around, I’m pretty well gone which is unfortunate for those ex-IBMrs who arrive after that time and find me slumped on a table in a corner.

And so it happened once again last week. John Norman was first to arrive as he is every year and we had a great chat about his cathedral organ work. Mick and Mandy were next and just as I was speaking to them, Neil Gent arrived. After that it was a bit of a blur with old colleagues arriving in a steady stream. J of course was nowhere to be seen as she’d gone for a shopping fix, but I assume she turned up at some stage as I think it was she who bundled me into a cab later in the evening.

Anyway, the person to blame for my downfall was a certain Mr Sanjay Saxena who, in addition to telling me about his burgeoning career in Big Blue (are they still called that?), invited me outside for a cigarette or three – and that was that. Anything past six o’clock was a blur. I vaguely remember seeing Frances Fane, whom I hadn’t seen for about 10 years and a mutual friend of hers and J’s, and that was the end of The New World.

Later, I apparently, fell over a collection of luggage standing on the pavement outside our hotel and then found that I couldn’t navigate myself through the revolving doors leading into Le Meridien’s reception. Slumped in one of the quarter segments of the door, J would have been quite within her rights to leave me there but I suspect Frances and Clive who were with her, decided that my bedroom was a better place for me to wake up.

And wake up I did, 12 hours later as bright as a button and looking forward to watching the Cup Final – in a bar somewhere!

Five Stations and a Hissy Fit

So I leave our Piccadilly Circus hotel after a bit of a stodgy breakfast to soak up the alcohol consumed the previous day (lunch and dinner in the same restaurant without leaving!) and decide that as it’s a lovely day, I’ll walk to Blackfriars Train Station. J and I had decided to go our own separate ways – she heading for the Oxford Street shops (surprise, surprise) and me heading for Gatwick airport so I could find a bar and watch the FA Cup Final.

As I walked down through the Piccadilly streets, I had time to look at the beautiful architecture before I hit Pall Mall and then Trafalgar Square. Tourists were everywhere taking advantage of the sunshine and as I passed Downing Street, it was almost impossible to move. Next door, the poor Household Cavalry guards, ‘standing’ on duty on their horses outside their barracks were a model of patience as kids and adults alike got a bit too close to the horses and had their pictures taken despite the prominent signs – ‘these horses can kick’!

I looked to the right and there were the Houses of Parliament which were unfortunately being externally cleaned which was a pity for the tourists as they bent and crouched trying to take pictures which didn’t include the acres of scaffolding defacing the magnificent building. Turn left onto Embankment and wander along the riverside. The London Aquarium and The London Eye were crowded as was the whole of the South Bank. On my side, the boats were plying their trade on the River and I stopped to look at the Obelisk and the Sphinxes which had been damaged by a bomb dropped during the war. At that point, I took a moment and thought that I had been very lucky to work in London for some 26 years. It truly was a terrific city, much more compact in terms of the major tourist ‘hotspots’ – in the previous 30 minutes, I’d walked past most of London’s major attractions.

As I neared Blackfriars after a walk of about an hour I saw the dreaded wooden boardings. It did not look good. I crossed the road and tried to find my way into the station. Nothing! No posters saying the station was closed, no directions to where you could get a train – nothing!

Thankfully, my years in the City gave me a good understanding of where the stations are located so I walked the ten minutes or so to the City Thameslink. Closed – well actually it wasn’t. I saw a security guy sitting inside and I pushed the door . He was amazed when the door opened as he’d been thinking it was locked and then all sorts of alarms went off. As he tried to work out what the hell had happened he said I should go to Faringdon Station. Third time lucky?

Another 15 minutes with my heavy bag and I reached Faringdon where they had a notice - they actually had a billboard saying that there were no trains leaving for Gatwick Airport. Luckily the tube trains were still running so I hopped on one and managed to get myself to St Pancras International. It was the first time I’d been in it since it reopened and I stood and stared at the truly stunning arched ceiling, painted in its sky blue colour. People were thronging the champagne and lobster bar and the concourse was heaving with travelers – there’d been a problem with the Channel Tunnel that morning and thousands of people were delayed.

It’s an enormous station and it took me about 15 minutes to find a porter who replied to my question about a train to Gatwick with, ‘they’re not running mate – you need to go to London Bridge’. I nearly had a hissy fit. I did swear a bit but my issue was with the authorities, the train companies and the council who had not thought fit to put any notices on the first two stations about the fact that with major refurbishment programmes happening, the trains were actually starting their journey to Gatwick from south of the river.

It was at that point that I thought London was the pits. Thousands of people, just like me would be heading either north to Luton Airport or south to Gatwick and there was absolutely no information telling people what to do when they got to their chosen stations.

Luckily I had plenty of time but how many people missed their flights?

London’s a great city but they don’t half treat people like shit!