The Hillsborough Stadium

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Hillsborough - 20 years on By Stanley Lover
You'll never walk alone

Hillsborough Stadium, Sheffield

At exactly 3:06pm, on an infamous date in sports history - Saturday April 15, 1989 - football referee Ray Lewis felt a firm tap on his shoulder. He had just whistled a foul in the centre of the field. Turning to calm a dissenting player Lewis was shocked to be confronted by a tall helmeted officer of the South Yorkshire police force. 50,000 noisy fans at Hillsborough Stadium were hushed and not amused by this intrusion.

"We've got problems, Mr Lewis," stated the grim faced policeman, "Would you please take the players off the field?"

Two hours later a young man sat on the kerb outside stadium, crumpled grey sweater and shirt stretched up his back, revealing the top of his slip - in red and white stripes, the colours of the team he worshipped, Liverpool.

Sobbing bitterly, ginger head cradled in his arms, he tried to grapple with the aftermath of an enormous tragedy which had crushed the life out of 96 and injured 200 football loving folk from his hometown. He had survived but probably wished he hadn't.

"Why them, and not me?" - a touch of guilt framing the next question, "Could I have done any more to save at least one of them?" He will never know the answer.
While the young man wept, ambulances and fire tenders continued to race to and fro, sirens piercing the still oppressive air. The screaming and wailing of trapped suffocating fans had subsided into muffled whispers of small groups of survivors, huddled together to share private grief.

From a boyhood experience, trapped in a moving sea of fans, I had some idea of what they had seen and felt.
Inside the stadium every square foot of the pitch was littered with the debris of pain and death. Blood soaked cotton wool, strips of bandages, shirts ripped to pieces to cover wounds, odd shoes, scarves, red and white bonnets, bags, crumpled snack wrappings, cans and cartons: the weft and weave of a devil's carpet on lush green grass.

Crowd stewards, faces wet with tears, their bright new uniforms now dishevelled, torn and bloodstained, had witnessed horrifying scenes of screaming young and old, crushed against unyielding steel wire fences. They staggered in a daze, exhausted by frenzied attempts to rescue, comfort, and apply first aid. They, too, were victims.

Before the last sufferers had been removed, the debate had started. Police were everywhere, questioning colleagues, stewards, medics, club officials, any person who might throw some light on the development of the tragedy.

Eleven years later, a bitter litigation ground to a halt, clearing accused policemen of manslaughter charges but infuriating Liverpool families seeking justice. Even today, twenty years on, the bitterness and rage has not gone away.

The tragedy
It had all started on a warm sunny spring day; Liverpool about to play Nottingham Forest in the semi-final of The FA Cup. The prize - to meet Everton or Norwich in the final at the Mecca of football - Wembley Stadium.

The kick-off was scheduled for 3.00pm - the traditional hour of the sacred British Saturday afternoon love affair with football. Referee Ray Lewis, a brewery executive living in Surrey, arrived at noon with assistants David Axcell (Essex) and John Brandwood (Staffordshire), just as the turnstiles started clicking to admit a flooding tide of good humoured supporters. Already they created a joyful ambiance, chanting club favourites, waving banners and scarves.

The officials walked the pitch, going through routine pre-game procedures, while soaking in the highly-charged atmosphere of a big match. The surface was in superb condition, hardly needing a second glance. A slight breeze drifted the sweet perfume of damp newly mown grass from goal to goal. Line markings, goals and netting, touch-line flags, layout of subs benches, every minor detail ticked against a check list to ensure a perfect setting for the spectacle.

Without any special advice or instructions from The Football Association - or during a normal briefing with the police, which might have suggested extra precautions - Lewis led the teams onto the playing area at 2:45pm. He was unaware that, at that moment thousands of Liverpool fans, delayed by traffic problems, were swamping the Leppings Lane turnstiles.

Good humour turned nasty as ticket holders vented their frustrations on the too few stewards trying their best to avoid chaos. In situations like this fans become demonic - abandoning all civilities. They swear and rave, jostle and push, desperate not to miss a second of the action. Ingredients for disaster.

To ease congestion, nearby exit Gate C was either opened or forced. Hundreds poured in, rushing through a sloping tunnel to the nearest pens - already overfull.

Some lost balance, fell, or were carried along to press into the backs of others unwilling or unable to move forward.

Between the pens and the pitch high wire mesh fences prevented those at the front from escaping. Those fences were erected in the 'hooligan' era to prevent invasions onto the field. Only very agile young men could climb over. Some did and urged others to follow but those who not move, notably the elderly and children, were crushed to death or badly injured.

Television cameras filmed minute-by-minute live coverage of the carnage to stun a vast watching audience.

For referee Lewis the match was a highlight in an already illustrious career. Seconds before the kick-off he had noted some movement of spectators onto the cinder track near the Leppings Lane end but this was not uncommon in his experience. Police and stewards always coped without causing concern of the players or match officials. Only when tapped on the shoulder by the South Yorkshire officer did Lewis know that, this time, it was different - so very different.

Persuading the highly strung players to return to dressing rooms was difficult until the policeman said it might only be for ten minutes and Lewis assured them of a warm-up period before a restart. At 3:40pm the first fatality was reported with fears for many more to follow. The decision to abandon the match was made for the referee.

Ray Lewis speaks publicly for the first time. "The tragedy was all around us. Bodies were being carried away on advertising boards. Our dressing room was converted into a first-aid post and many injured were being treated in the corridors. The club gymnasium was used as a temporary mortuary."
With a lump in his throat Lewis recalls, "We moved among the injured trying to help the Saint John's Ambulance volunteers as best we could," adding, "It was difficult to comprehend the events at the time. Only the next day, when the death toll was rising, did I realise what I had witnessed."

Assistant referee Dave Axcell described the scenes as "mayhem, like a battlefield." Each following day revealed gruesome detail. He and his family needed counselling and for six weeks Axcell could not face refereeing another football game.
The referee team and their families had to cope with the intrusive clamour of high powered media - camped on their doorsteps like lip-smacking vultures - searching for juicy headline quotes.

Any reference to Hillsborough, and particularly every anniversary, saddens the hearts and minds of the three officials caught in the middle of the worst tragedy in football history. The 29 April, 2009, marks twenty years since that event but, as for the families of victims, the grief lingers on.

The inquest
Within three days an inquiry into the Hillsborough Disaster, headed by Lord Justice Taylor, was set up by the Government's Home Office. After a month of sifting through more than three thousand statements and fifteen hundred letters an 'Interim Report' laid the main blame on the police (a) for instructing that the exit Gate C should be opened, and (b) for inadequate preparation and supervision.
This report was welcomed by the grieving families and survivors but loopholes for police accountability were contested by lawyers acting on their behalf. A second report dealt briefly with Hillsborough and recalled repeated warnings after other disasters, spread over 80 years, which were ignored. It then detailed recommendations for crowd control and safety, stadium design, all seated accommodation and backup services.

The aftermath

Most of the second report has been implemented, with football stadiums in England having shed their 19th century image of neglect and disorder to become among the best and safest in the world. A positive legacy from the Hillsborough Disaster but little consolation for those who still weep for near and dear who perished in a stadium of dreams.
Liverpool won the replayed match and defeated Everton, their across town arch rivals, in what was called "The Requiem FA Cup Final." Football adopted hymns You'll never walk alone and Abide with me were rendered with choking pathos at Wembley and in many thousands of private homes.
Ray Lewis left the brewery industry to become Chairman of the Surrey County Football Association and is now the Chairman of The FA Referees Committee.
Dave Axcell, a print manager continued to referee soccer games into his sixties and run a local league.

A personal tribute
Among the bric-a-brac in my study is one of several souvenirs dear to me. I am looking at it now, heart muscles tightening, throat turning dry, near to tears. Just a palm-size golden bronze sculpture, it arouses deeply sad memories of those moments when the 'beautiful game' has worn a black shroud

The sculpture is of a figure; that young man seated with head cradled in his arms, mourning and praying for lost souls. Shaping the clay I relived the struggles, the screams and cries of suffocating fans - with a chilling sensation of compressing their emotions into such a tiny volume. As I study it I half expect it to explode, filling the room with horrific sights and sounds in stark repetition of the Hillsborough Stadium Tragedy, April 15, 1989.