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My Everton #20: I Ran Away For A Day And Fell For Everton

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The circumstances around my first Everton match seem utterly implausible now. I went with my best mate Tommy Morris. We were both football mad and completely blown away by the whole occasion.

So far, so normal.

But as I flesh out the details, I understand why one of my most memorable days finished with one of the tellings-off of my life.

Tommy and I were nine years old and lived in Hoole in Chester.

On the first day of the 1957/58 season – it was 27 August, the date is imprinted on my mind – we decided we should go somewhere to watch a ‘big match’.

I can’t remember why but we chose Everton.

I didn’t ask mum and dad’s permission for no other reason than they wouldn’t have let me go.

We met at Tommy’s house and, feeling very excited and grown-up, caught the train from Chester to Rock Ferry. From there, we hopped on a connection to Liverpool Lime Street. This was all free, my dad worked on the railways so I had a pass.

From Lime Street, it was on to a soccer bus to Goodison Park.

Fast forward to that evening and mum came to Tommy’s house and asked where I’d been all day.

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing and whisked me off home for a severe dressing down from Dad.

I didn’t regret a thing, though. How could I after such a magical day? Everton were playing Wolves, a fabulous side who would win the title that season.

We paid to go into the Boys’ Pen and I remember climbing the steps between Gwladys Street and Bullens Road, then emerging on to the terrace and being transfixed by the colour and atmosphere.

The noise when the teams came out of the tunnel was deafening, like nothing I’d ever heard.

The sights were spellbinding. The clear blue shirts of Everton and Wolves’ bright gold. The pristine green of the playing surface.

I was mesmerised, completely in awe of the whole thing, this little boy from Hoole in the Boys’ Pen with all these streetwise lads from the city.

In those moments I became an Evertonian. I was completely hooked. I don’t think the result could have changed those feelings, they were too powerful, but I was ecstatic when Jimmy Harris scored our goal. We won 1-0, adding to the sense of a perfect occasion.

Many years later my eldest son Stephen managed to acquire a programme from the match and, although I’ll never forget the whole experience of that day, it somehow keeps those memories alive. It is one of my most treasured possessions.

There are a few questions I can’t answer; mainly, How did I get the money I needed to pay into the ground? Whatever means I used to scrape together the pennies, it changed my life.

I've had my Season Ticket since the early '90s when I stopped playing and my wife Ann and I have forged enduring friendships with so many people. Some are no longer with us but those who remain will always be close.

Everton has the power to create unbreakable bonds, founded on shared experiences, the feelings of elation and adulation you couldn’t begin to explain to ‘non-football’ people.

My Everton hero is Dave Hickson. I was instantly captivated by his blonde hair and robust style.

I went on a stadium tour with Ann and my youngest son Chris 20-odd years ago.  When the door to the players entrance opened, Dave was standing in front of me.

I was suddenly a little boy again.

He was an oracle on the Club and such a lovely bloke. Dave Hickson epitomised Everton, for me.

My inner child resurfaced at Elland Road during the 1995 FA Cup semi-final. When Daniel Amokachi was standing with his arms outstretched, grinning and manically nodding his head after his second goal, me and my mates were right in his eyeline. I was convinced he was looking straight at me.

It feels pertinent talking about that goal 10 years after we lost Gary Ablett. The way he bombed forward from left-back to slide and send in the cross, with no thought of protecting a 3-1 lead, showed great spirit and bravery. I love that in an Everton player.

The most precious memories of all, though, are the sights of my youngest son Chris and grandson Phillip following in my footsteps at their first matches.

I took Chris to his first game, a 1-1 draw with Chelsea in January 1996, when he was six. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as we walked up the steps to our seats in Upper Bullens.

It was exactly the same with Phillip for a game against West Bromwich Albion four years ago.

Both times I looked at the awe on their faces and thought, ‘That was me all those years ago’.

Football gives you common ground, you are never short of things to talk about.

When it’s with your family, it makes it more important.

There were some really tough games when Chris started going and you soon find out if they are genuinely interested or just doing it for dad’s benefit.

We’d walk back to Kirkdale Station, soaked through, and I’d tentatively ask if he was all right.

The answer was always, ‘Who are we playing next?’ I was so pleased.

I wouldn’t miss the match for the world. I just go. It is what I do.

Everton is in my blood. Part of me since Tommy and I went on our ‘big match’ adventure nearly 65 years ago.

By John Jones, Evertonian