I must say I find it hard to understand how a father could deny his daughter a chance to pursue her dreams, but perhaps it was a different time when starvation and homelessness were real possibilities. Even so, I'm not entirely convinced that in her mind she accepts being financially independent as an acceptable trade off for not pursuing dancing.

Becky has a few Everton titles on there.

Locally she was quite high profile in the sixties. I can remember my mum saying something like 'that Pat Labone is in the Echo more than her bloody husband'

As Stan said, Pat's experiences were personal to her and not a general thing. If anything, families were more close knit and supportive, and the rules were a bit stricter perhaps but not generally repressive.

"The rules were a bit stricter perhaps but not generally repressive" is a good phrase that reflects that time, in my experience. The media tends to send out a lot of messages that amount to stereotyping and distorted perceptions of even the fairly recent past. Perhaps these messages influence some general conclusions that might be made, as inaccurate extrapolations from individual cases.

Now the same media treat that time as the root of all current evil.

She said he was one of the most charismatic people she had ever met and, like all Evertonians, she was really upset when he passed away.

I remember the Gladwys Street chant:

Labone, Labone, . . . . .
Labone, Labone, Labone.
Labone Labone . . . Labone . . . .
Labone, Labone . . . . . . . ad infinitum . . . . .

The punctuation doesn't quite cut it – you had to be there!

Andy # 8, 'I can understand why Labby got shot.'

Jesus, the guesswork, gossip and rumour on TW has reached Hilda Ogden levels recently (maybe she was having a thing with Ross?)

Let's be clear, him definitely giving her the elbow only happened in your head.

If you read Pat Labone's words, nowhere will you see..

"As a wife I had clearly failed Brian and as he took my arm and pushed me out of the front door, followed by two suitcases of my clothes, it was clear our marriage was over... and he had deffo given me the elbow and not the other way round."

She sounds bitter?

Sounds more like someone else is hurting to me...

Link

"I'd like to buy you all a drink – but don't all come at once."

Saw him in the bar in the Winslow after a game many years later. Thought for a second of asking for my free testimonial bevy, but thought again.

Brian Labone, legend. 1969-70 – That was enough.

I had a small pocket diary which had an Everton team picture in it so I ran over to Brian and asked him to sign it. He was obviously in a hurry and said "In a minute son, I just need to go for a wee wee"! and he disappeared into the main entrance.

I waited there for about 10 minutes, then his head appeared out of the door and he looked up and down the street. When he spotted me he came straight over and signed my picture. He hadnt forgotten me. What an absolute gentleman and a great centre-half and skipper.

He loved Everton and thought the reverse with Liverpool and wasn't shy in saying so, letting red fans know about it, always with a smile. The last of 'The Corinthians' – very true that.

Instead, use the Seven Dwarfs song "Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go" but just use the word "Labone".

Scotland road was fiercely catholic and Netherfield Road protestant with the lodge walking every year. We weren't allowed to watch, in fact we weren't allowed to go up the brow at anytime, such was the division. Mixed marriages were not racial, they were religious, much more difficult!

Its hard to imagine now, but 50 odd thousand people walking back into town on Scotland road every other week was a sight to see, not many had cars and by the time you got to the top of Rachel Street you could pop in the paper shop for the Football Echo to read about the match you had just been too...

We are coming to the end of days at Goodison Park, which is quite sad because the history of a people, a club will continue to live with those who can remember those special nights when the stadium rocked and the roars could be heard in Portland Gardens...

People say times were hard, but actually it wasn't that they were hard – they were different. No spare money, no credit cards, no cars, plenty of pubs, plenty of life and plenty of passion. There was and will always be Everton...

Pity you were not allowed to go up Everton Brow, I'd have brought you in for a cup of tea, as you say life was different then but in my opinion better, I'd jump right back to those days if it were possible.

Footballers then were part of the fabric of the society. They and the supporters inhabited the same world as the players. Nowadays, they are in a different universe.

Brian also came to the Collegiate to "coach" us before a game. He actually talked about Everton. Our captain, Geoff Bruchez, played for Everton reserves, and had asked Brian to come to a training session. I remember Brian saying that from his point of view, Dennis Stevens was the most under-rated player at Goodison, because he did so much unseen defensive work.

He was a likeable and humble star. His nickname, "The Last Corinthian" was so apt. A gentleman on and off the pitch.

I have to constantly remind myself that my perception of the past is (often) very different to the reality.

So I'm glad I just watched 5 mins of the film version of On The Buses on ITV 3.

It was a good harsh dose of reality, reminding me that even though in the past I was younger and Everton won stuff, it was also a time of flavour-free food, nylon knickers (bedspreads, pyjamas, dressing gowns, curtains..) institutionalised misogyny and racism and some of the most depressing, shite, humour-free TV comedy ever written.

Link

Type stuff.

But was everyday life as violent as it is now? You could even argue that there is more poverty now than then, that is all a matter of opinion.

I still maintain, for myself, I would jump back right to those days and not just to be young again.

The heart was ripped out of the community in the 60s too, and is really only just returning, but life was simpler, not easier especially when the only thing to look forward to was Saturday... when a ground season ticket was £5... or maybe thats in my dreams!

Going the match now seems sanitised, hardly many fans walk from the city or the Vauxhall area, relatively few people live there in comparison to then...

Walk past the Rotunda, jumping on a bus at the lights at Boundary Street... the sheer excitement of walking up the valley and turning left, not right... and racing home for William Hartnell as Doctor Who.

Watching my Grandad walk home from the docks in a coat that could hide a side of New Zealand lamb... a couple of Crunchies and a Milky Bar, salt fish and what was left of his pay packet... standing in that huge line waiting for his pay at the end of the week... looking for him in every pub between the dock road and Virgil Street... hard days indeed.

But the city was vibrant and in my eyes the only discrimination was if you were not of the faith; didn't matter if you where from any other part of the world or colour, just as long as you were Catholic (or Protestant!).

There was much humour borne out of adversity, absurdity and sadness, laugh because otherwise you would cry... so bad things were funny.

Good people, good humour, pride and passion with huge dollops of bitterness thrown in... and always Everton... once bitten there is no cure..

In those days the people in Liverpool were wonderful, both humorous and warm in the face of hard times. Liverpool itself was a wonderful place and in its own way tribal based on the many vibrant communities. Then there was relocation of the communities to places like Skelmersdale and Winsford, the city had the life drained out of it as a result.

My old man was a dyed in the wool Red and we regularly went in a van from Northwich to watch them but my Grandad and Uncle Harry were Blues and they guided me the right way. The only thing I held against them was the just popping in for a couple, wait outside and eat these crisps. they'd be locked up for child abuse now.

Liverpool was magic then, life was magic too but was it because I was young. I'd also go back to the old days and accept being poorer to be happier. Modern life sucks really.

The past is always attractive, and another country as they say. Rose tinted spectacles are powerful but they can't distort the memories of honest to God kindness that was more common, or the knowledge that civility was the norm and the f-word of choice was flaming or flipping.

People were 'soft' not retards, or suffered 'with their nerves' which was possibly the most common ailment in the 50s and 60s as far as I can recall.

My family were Catholic and my mates were Protestant. I went to the Orange parade and cheered King Billy without knowing or caring what it was all about... they are still my best mates 60-odd years later.

My parents were civilised enough to care nothing about such matters and the families were close throughout my growing years.

My family was blue and they were red. Still the same now. I went to Anfield one weekend with them, they came to Goodison the following week. Anfield was a dump and they were in Division 2. Then came Shankly.

There were clear social issues and we had the Scottie Road social engineering project in the late 60s and casual racism, and references to darkies and such matters. It wasn't malicious possibly but doubtless no less hurtful for all that. Maybe more serious racism too.

I had relatives living round Shaw Street where they had only gas mantles for lighting and an old fashioned range for everything else.

The kindness and civility were still the things I recall the best. But I hated my Catholic education.

The difference though is mine are real memories about real places and real people; they are good memories because they mean a lot to me.

I confess I have far too much time on my hands though... but then, in today's world, when do you get a real chance to reflect on where you came from, the people you have met, the things that have shaped who you are?

Pat Labone (indeed any of us) looks back with a fondness that airbrushes out the bad bits and the hard bits because they hurt – mistakes made, decisions chosen in error.

We may all have regrets we carry with us, it's called baggage... collected on a journey of many stops. I for one loved every minute of it and what a place to create memories?

Cherry pick your good bits and put them somewhere special. Goodison Park took my breath away as a kid, still does now...

Feel at one with all around you... You have found your family, you will have a little tear in your eye, you will cherish that moment for the rest of your life.

Congratulations... you are now an Evertonian, the custodian of exceptional memories. Welcome to the family.

The other reason was my first Everton game, the 8-4 , twelve goal feast, which several hundred games later I've never seen repeated.

My first actual match had been at Anfield to see Stanley Matthews when Liverpool beat Blackpool 5-2, My relatives thought Matthews would retire soon and that I ought to see him. Ironically I saw him frequently over the next few years, and remember Tony Kay putting him firmly on the cinder path that surrounded Goodison's pitch.

In those days, both clubs were basically awful. Liverpool couldn't get out of the Second Division and Everton regularly finished about 17th out of 22 clubs in the old First Division, dominated by Wolves and United.

Yes, there was a sense of community, but my Liverpool 7 childhood was cold. Frost inside the windows or a paraffin heater whose fumes wrecked my chest. Sharing a bedroom with my parents till I was 15. No bathroom or even hot water, an outside toilet. Trips to Alder Hey every three months to have my chest checked as I had a shadow on my lung. Yes, I played football (and cricket in the summer) all day on the 'oller where the bomb had wiped out four houses in our street. Like Chris Williams I knew people who still did not have electricity in their houses in the fifties and had cardboard boxes on the floor.

My paddock season ticket cost £4 5s 0d during the magical 1962-63 season.

But I think that my grandkids have something better and I want them to have a lot better. My grandson plays for a proper team, he's seven, with proper facilities, he doesn't get sent sprawling by a 14-year-old as I did at his age when playing on the 'oller.

Yes, I love Goodison and we try to visit four or five times a season, though my age and the expense make it more difficult to achieve, especially as it involves a 300-mile round trip.

Goodison's replacement is thank goodness on the way. We need it. I probably won't manage to see or get to the new ground, but it's the future and needs to be embraced. It's one of the things that frightens me about football is the demography of the modern crowd. In my younger days the crowds were young we weren't priced out of attending live games. Now the Sky generation sees football on television filtered through a plethora of ex-Liverpool and Man Utd eyes.

Rose-coloured spectacles are not needed, in that other country things were just different. Possibly not better or worse, but very, very different.

All of my relatives from parents back were from the City of Liverpool and I spent a lot of time there. I'm not a scouser although I was born there but I have fond memories from the 60s and to around the late 70s when, apart from watching Everton and sailing, I stopped going to the City.

My best memories were of the warmth and humour of the people. The humour seems to have diminished badly judging by your post and, for sure, more and more latter-day Scousers seem to want to conform to the negative caricatures that non-Scousers paint of them.

Regarding the Echo, there is nothing in it that I'd have interest in reading although my parents had it delivered to them in Cheshire until they died. Not surprisingly, they don't sell it in Horsham.

Can't remember our door in Upper Beau Street ever being locked, in fact I don't think it had one? However, now looking back it wasn't as good. Mam, dad and the four kids in the one bedroom under overcoats being eaten alive by the bedbugs.

Outside toilet. No kitchen though they took pride blackening the stove in the "parlour" every day.

Anyway not wanting to go on but now we look back it wasn't all good but rose-tinted specs are all we've got nowadays and as kids well we didn't give a shit really.

Oh yes, we'd walk along Great Homer Street to the match as my dad could get more ale inside him stopping at all the pubs along that way before getting to Goodison.

My parents had the Echo delivered. In mid-Cheshire? That's some round the paper boy had.

When you say "mid-Cheshire" do you mean Runcorn or Winsford?

It was when they came back around half seven that night when the trouble began, the men playing the drums in the band would start banging louder as they went up London Road, always seemed to stop a little longer by TJ Hughes facing the Bullring ready to face the barracking that they knew was coming to them, lots of boos with a few bricks, girls and women slowing them their green knickers.

The same would happen along Shaw Street when they got by SFX, there was a concrete cross in Shaw Street park, usually decorated in green leaves by the kids who lived around there, put up for the Lodge to look at on the day, again the drums would get louder and the barracking and bricks would come back at them.

There would be big gaps between the bands which showed that there had been trouble on the way home, I lived in Shaw Street at the time and one there was a huge gap and in between the gap was a Lodge supporter, a good mate of mine and massive Evertonian, Alan Hartley, he'd had a good day and what he'd made him happy, h was carrying a huge stick of mint rock and he was dancing along and throwing the rock up into the air like a caber, made even us Catholic laugh and he got a good round of applause. I think he broke the ice for the rest of the procession that night.

Glad to say that animosity has long gone and the Lodge's procession, although a lot smaller, passes without any trouble.

The next time I looked it read 'God Bless Our Popeye' with the YE painted in Orange.

There was also the time on the twelfth that there was a kipper on a pole with a sign saying 'cured at Lourdes'.

It was funny at times for sure.

Nowadays, the police would insist the march went by certain routes but then I think it was all part of the days festivities!

We can laugh now, even laughed then, as people our family drank with wanted to fight us that day but have a drink the next. Thank God it didn't happen when we had our May Possession!!

My tulips were droopy anyway they would have been right wilted after ducking rotten veg and other stuff! Yes, tulips. Funny enough I'm sure we used to get them from John Bailey's granny who stayed in the Four Squares.

:-), Sorry the local news agents used to have it at one time. Maybe little demand now as the young Liverpudlians who made a new life here in the early '50's are mostly dead now.

My home town is Northwich. Winsford was too much of a hotbed of scouse fundamentalism.

Who ever said they were better? Everyone has theirs and that's fine.. we share them and remember!

The humour seems to have diminished badly judging by your post and, for sure, more and more latter day Scousers seem to want to conform to the negative caricatures that non-Scousers paint of them.

Nice dig, you can have the first one free... but I am no latter-day scouser, my family home is still there off Burlington Street... the bulk of the family all live within a stone's throw.

My goodness, Martin, they are memories... no better, no worse... and no sourness – in fact, just the opposite. Your response lacks perspective and class, it's arrogant and demeaning – but then one has come to expect that from you.

John's older brother Tony was a cracking fella, he died young, he was a rabid Red, he wouldn't budge an inch in an argument over Everton / Liverpool but as I say a very genuine lad.

The Four Squares were my playing fields growing up, always something going on there... card schools, dice schools and endless games of football, kick and move... if you didn't move you got kicked.

The Bullring was the same, loads of genuine people, famous for their toss schools on a Sunday afternoon, in the Bully they used three half pennies, so there was a result with every toss, two heads or two tails, a lot of money changed hands with these toss schools.

Where you moved to in Rokabury Street (most probably spelt that wrong) and the corner of William Henry Street or Willie Henny as it was known, they used two half pennies in their toss schools on a Friday night but it was slow and go on for ever with the cry of 'two ones' going on all night.

As I say happy and robust days, sometimes very robust but we all survived, by hook or by crook, as we used to say.

There is an old adage my mum used to say: "If you cannot say anything nice about a person, don't say anything at all." She wins my vote.

I was remembering my mum saying exactly the same thing only yesterday. Things like that stick although I've sometimes slipped from it over the years. I try harder the older I get.

"Tell the truth and shame the devil" was another that sticks.

I can't wait for the next article in the series. I hope it's Norma Vernon.

I learned a great deal of my politics from Alan Hartley. Champion of the working class. A boiler maker and union man to the heart. heard him described by a delegate from London as "that man is a firebrand".

In my experience that is doing him a disservice.
He was like a stick of dynamite when it came to supporting his beloved working class. The star still shines as brightly as it ever did. Both in matters Everton and union business.

I was born in Liverpool from wonderful scouse parents, I spent a large part of my formative years in Liverpool in the Aigburth and Dingle areas with my Nans and I have great memories of the area and the people from over 60 years ago.

I watched my first Everton game in 1957 and have been a passionate supporter since. You hurt me deeply in your dismissal of my personal memories of the city and people as somehow second grade.

Anyway, best wishes and hope that you can shed your grudge sometime.

Secondly you somehow infer that I view the people as second grade, for which I am deeply offended. I would never ever believe that and your inference is much contested. You have read something into my comments that are not there. I have nothing but the fondest memories of my home and its people. Mine to cherish.

I did not dismiss your memories, I did not make any comment or reference on them as I have not commented on others, there is no need, they are a patchwork quilt of who we are.

I have no grudge to bear against anyone, except maybe Margaret Thatcher and her ilk.. but no-one in or from the city of Liverpool.

If I offended you in anyway I apologise and by default for my final comments as well.

I haven't seen Alan for awhile; I see young Alan now and again so I know his dad is doing okay. He doesn't have a lot to drink now, but will still be good fun to be with.

Yes, I well remember the Baileys.

John was quite a few years younger than me but I remember we had a team from the Friary church almost all alter boys . We were short a couple one week and young John came and played. Bloody decked out in his red and white scarf! Anyway because he was good we let him play.

Another lad we had in that team was Tony Evans, what a great player he was and if I remember right he went on to play professional for Birmingham City and Plymouth. Good lad too.

But then, Dave, everyone from the Friary parish was good!

As you say, Liverpool suffered very badly with the tragic loss of its traditional industries and many of its communities. The cause I guess depends on which side of the political spectrum you are on from Thatcher to Militant to Unions but it has regenerated well now.

The garden festival and the regeneration of the docks and waterfront amazing. The area that I knew as the cast iron shore and the Gollies (I think there were old golf links?) is unrecognisable now from the wasteland it was and the River Mersey proud again after being close to dead.

My memories are of a happy childhood split very much between the place that became home and the City where my roots were.

Two great union men and two great Evertonians Alan and Brian. The stories they have over the Blues and on the sites and ship repair kept me enthralled for many an hour when I was a young man.

As you say, great company and great teachers in influencing how you carried yourself through life.

I have to ask Michael/Lyndon, was a post removed?

A post from Christine along the lines "Oh fuck off Martin your memories are shite compared to mine!"

If not, Martin's opening to his post # 41 is just fucking...weird.

All good players from the friary, John? If I heard the phrase once, then I must have heard it at least a million times, when I was growing up in Norris Green. "Captain of the Friary" was Dave's favourite shout, whenever he saw me kicking a ball, and considering I used to play it in my sleep in those days, then maybe I was just dreaming it!

One Sunday afternoon he came in, the day after he scored his own goal at Anfield. Auld Billy Livo, a great character and a Red, said to John, "I saw you on The East Lancs last night." John said, "You never saw me, I was in town all night." Livo said "Come on, John, don't be at it. I saw you heading for Liverpool." The own-goal was a header; John took it in good spirits as always.

John G (#58), yes, I still see Brian now and again – he's still a season ticket holder in The Lower Bullens. I also see Mark Alan's son, another great Blue.

As we live 20 yards from the Clock, that's where we drank, Betty Wright the landlady used to get good groups on Sunday afternoon.

If we decided to "travel" it was the Garden Lane, Coffees or now and again the Goblin, though that was a bit close to SFX.

Overseas trips took us to London Road! Not a bloody pub around there now, in fact the nearest is London Road. Unbelievable!

I recall a very funny lad used to drink around them ways. Mickey. Any relation?

We used to play there Sunday morning then go into The Goblin until 2:00pm, then round to John McPoland's, bottom of Page Street and William Henry Street. John would let us out around seven o'clock, while he had a blow. We'd go back to The Goblin or maybe The Clock; we very seldom got a stay-behind off Betty Wright.

Loads of good pubs around there then, The Dart, Gildhart Street; The Falkland, London Road; The Fort, Prescott Street;.The Lord Warden, London Road... along with The Swan and Legs of Man in London Road... Ma Edgies.

As you say, not many good pubs left around there now except The Warden and strangely enough not many go in there now. But Liverpool being Liverpool we will always find somewhere to drink without being too fussy.

No relation I'm afraid. There were so many characters around there, crazy days! Changed days now I'm afraid.

A few years ago, my mam had gone down to Morris's for something or other and was away ages. I told the missus I was going to walk down there to see if she was okay.Just as I opened the front door, a cavalcade of top-of-the-range BMWs and Range Rovers stopped, all black, all tinted windows.

Out gets my mam helped by about 10 lads all sheepskin coats dripping in gold, telling my mam if she ever needed a lift to Morris's just to give them a call and they'd pick her up. Off they went.

I asked my mam what was going on and she told me that I knew all their families, dads and uncles and cousins and that I'd gone to school with them. I didn't have a clue about half of them though they were all locals.

But my mam said it was a shame and she felt sorry for all the lads in the BMWs and Range Rovers cos they were all in their thirties and none had been able to get any work since leaving school !

I was flabbergasted and told her what they were up to, she just called me an arsehole and said they couldn't be cos they'd all been altar boys.

Yes, changed days 'cos, when I was a kid, they'd have pulled up in Ford Consuls!

This disingenuous "no disrespect but..." has got to be the most idiotic caveat in common usage as it's so obviously a precursor to something that is by definition disrespectful – if not, then why say it at all???

And Christine responds accordingly, ignoring the facile attempt to preclude the inevitable disrespect she rightly felt.

Incredibly, Martin (with no apology) then flips it right around with "You hurt me deeply in your dismissal of my personal memories of the city and people as somehow second grade." – and then gets Christine apologising to him!

But at a deeper level, why on earth would Martin feel the need to challenge Christine with childish "mine's bigger than yours" nonsense regarding whose memories are better? Does the clue perhaps lie in his declaration of how miserable his modern life is?

More money, but nowhere near as much togetherness. The kids don't even have to go out the house no more, to be able to all hang around together; they're either online playing FIFA, or on the phone, and most of them wouldn't be able to collect bommywood, cos they wouldn't be seen dead in old clothes!

Martin, who says himself, that he very rarely visits Liverpool, has probably mis-understood Christine, and "no disrespect mate" but it's gone now!

Michael, I didn't say that my modern life is miserable. My life is incredible by modern materialistic standards: I'm financially independent with no debt, I have a lovely house in the beautiful south, wonderful wife, kids and grandkids and I am very content. What I believe I said was that I'd swap it for days gone by. This is based on a quality of living then compared with the standard of living that I have now.

Thanks ToffeeWeb for publishing this stuff it has not much to do with Everton but it really illustrates an era when players had a visceral attachment not only to our beloved club but also to the Tribal the Republic of Liverpool.

I said "no disrespect" because I wanted to answer Christine's point without any disrespect to her or her views. I used it in the way it should be rather than the way it is usually used.

All clear now, Eugene?

Apologies Christine that this has ridiculously become a topic.

I remember Bailey's own-goal that day. I was in the Anfield Road end. It came from a corner. It absolutely pissed down all day. One of the worst derbies I've ever seen in all the years I've been going.

Funnily enough, at the time, the two of them were struggling Well I know we were. I'm from the Italian blocks (Cavour House) and the lads used to pile out of Bents and the Tetley's and play on the square every Sunday afternoon. Some laughs there, I can tell you.

I'm 58 now and it seems like yesterday... great great days. And I'm still in touch with mates from that era even though we moved away when I was 12

You've started me, Dave... I'll get on YouTube now. And the usual, "Oh God, you're not still hankering back to the old times, are you? You sad man."

"Yes dear, I'm afraid I am."

Martin Mason (#41) Christine, no disrespect but your memories are no better than anybody's who were around at the time.

Whoever said they were better? . My goodness, Martin, they are memories... no better, no worse... and no sourness – in fact, just the opposite. Your response lacks perspective and class, it's arrogant and demeaning – but then one has come to expect that from you.

Okay, Martin, got it. No derision there... No disrespect given; none taken. Obviously all my error.

Eugene back at ya!

Let me know if you are coming up to Goodison for the Under-23 game because I can't wait to introduce you to all my mates!

I remember a John Hurley who lived in Lower Beau Street. I can't recall anyone named Brown, maybe you can recall them.

No disrespect from my side on return.. I still don't know what or why Martin felt I had dissed him, my references about the Echo were as a result of the previous post of buying an Echo after a match.. the following comment was a reply to the Ron Manager comment.. so for the world of me, I just didn't get it and thought the best way was simple to (and honestly) apologise (even if I didn't know what it was and still don't)

Sometimes its the easiest thing to do when you don't know.

No one cares if you live in frigging Cheshire or Timbuktu.

It's pretty clear what happened! Christine said:

"The difference though is mine are real memories about real places and real people; they are good memories because they mean a lot to me."

Martin misinterpreted that as directed at himself and felt miffed.

Chill out everyone, and happy bloody easter.

The Browns ring a bell somewhere. I'm just at the airport now going to Doha to do a job but when I get home I'll have a chat with my mam, she's 90 odd and sharp as a tack. She gets people from all over the world asking if she knew such and such from wherever that emigrated to New Zealand, USA, Canada etc after the war and she can reel off their family history! Guaranteed she'll know you lot!

I've met loads of guys around the world – usually in bars – that have families originating in Everton, usually there and then I give my mam a call and she just goes through every family member! Amazing really. I must ask her and let you know.

Take care

My mam worked there so after a good night out in the Brown Cow with my dad she could literally fall in to work the next day.

We used to play on the "oller" over the road which was caused by the bombing. My granny – nin – had a handcart selling fruit and fish that she bought from Paddy's market wholesalers and as kids we'd push it up to Netherfield Road and on she'd go herself out to her patch at Picton Road. Bloody hard life for her

As you said, still characters there but definitely not the same!

Link

I went to Labone's testimonial (I think it was 1971 or thereabouts), and he was held in such high regard that my red mates (3 of them) also went.

I recall a night game at Goodison, against Newcastle, about 1968, where the ref gave a free kick against Everton, and Labone, in frustration, threw the ball down quite innocently. The ref booked him, I think it was Labone's only ever booking. The players protested at the ref for booking him, but thing was, there were more Newcastle players protesting than Everton players! Another sign of the esteem to which he was held.

Thank you for that clarification and my apologies for misunderstanding.

I feel a bit of an impostor on this thread at a sprightly 55. I was really moved by your posts on this thread, they are touching, insightful and beautifully detailed so thank you for sharing them with us.

I was part of the great diaspora of the mid 60s being moved out from the City Centre to new towns but I can remember Islington, Erskine Street, Brunswick Road etc vividly to this day.

I can't believe the arrogance of a few on here who have the temerity to be critical of you.

Just like you, I have to stifle back a tear each time I'm at Goodison, if anything that gets more difficult as I get older, embarrassing really!

Harry Leyton had at one time played for Aston Villa and was Labby's uncle, Brian used to sometime visit the cafe where Harry introduced a star struck fan,

In those days 1963 Home & Away games were the norm as there was no crowd restrictions and it was pay at the gate, you could also wear your colours without fear of reprisal.

Long haul games London, Ipswich etc were Hitch Hike Jobs, and a lot of the players knew this and would come outside the players entrance and give their player allocation to the Evertonians outside, I received many from Brian, Colin Harvey, Alan Whittle and others; this made us in our minds part of the Everton family.

I introduced my son Andy to Brian outside the ground one day after a match; my son could not get over how enthusiastic and genuine this guy was, how he would give up his time to talk to the fans.

Harry Catterick hit the nail on the head when he said Brian Labone is The last of the Corrinthians. A great pleasure and honour to have watched and shared some small experiences with this wonderful man, the memories will last forever.

Regarding Pat's recollection he only scored twice for the club, I remember being at Main Road against Man City, Everton played in White shirts Black shorts, Jimmy Gabriel and to go off of stitches after a clash with Mike Summerbe not long after his return to the pitch Summerbe had to go off for medical treatment after some Gabriel retribution. If memory serves me right, Brian scored from a headed corner which was disallowed because the ref said he hadn't blown for the corner to be taken.

I remember Harry Leyton, he had a few cafes along the Dock Road. What a brain and memory he had; you'd give your order in and sit down; Harry would be taking the orders in by the second, sit-in and take-out... dozens of them – never got one wrong. It used to amaze me and I had a decent memory.

I seem to remember he had a cafe on the Dock Road by Alexandria Dock, which at the time (early 60s) was being used by Ready Mixed Concrete as a batching plant. Dad used to visit there often and I would be taken down to the cafe for the biggest bacon buttie I had ever had in my life.. Dockers doorsteps for bread and loads of butter (not Stork)

Ed (#93) Yes we got shipped off to Netherton, to Peterborough Drive in Marion Square (28 or 56 bus) and the Holy Ghost Annex and later Our Lady or Walsingham but in truth I still ended up splitting most of my time back in Virgil Street or Portland Gardens where the rest of the family where. (Remember the slide and the Wicthes Hat in the Simmy? Behind the bowling green) Regularly I would be pushing a pram full of washing to the Wash house at the top or Burlington Street for my Auntie or running errands down at Costigan's in Great Homer Street for my nan.

On a Saturday morning I would be a regular visitor at Paddys market as it was, behind the Fruit and veg Market in Cazneau Street (entrance at the city end of Great Homer street / Anne Street) where all sorts of thinks could be bought as people lay sheets on the floor and put clothes, radios, in fact anything you could think of that could be sold, was sold. My granddad would search through boxes of valves for radios, a flat iron for my nan (dangerous as it could be used as a weapon if he came home late or spent too much of his wages). The women in their black shawls carrying their bundles on their heads... different times indeed.

And then their was Clarkson's at the top of the road where I would get my yearly pair of sandals that had to last... or else!

It was a hard life but toughened her up and she lived a mostly happy and healthy life to the age of 88.

Back to Greattie Market on a Saturday afternoon, when has you say all sorts of stuff could be bought there and young lads could earn a few bob carrying Lino or carpets home for people.

Great Homer Street was a teaming mass of people from one end of the street to the other, from early morning to late at night right through the year.

Whenever I see the film ’Once upon a time in America’ and the camera rolls through the streets of New York showing all the venders selling their wares and the throngs of people buying off them in the 1920s, it reminds me of Liverpool and Great Homer Street in the forties and fifties, and it was probably more like that in days before that.

Wonderful stuff.

We lived on Scottie Road just behind the gap between Cookson's jewelers (pawn shop) and Coynie's funeral parlour. Strangely enough, we walked the other way for the bus, Although it meant going away from the ground, it meant that while we waited for the 44D we could stand and look at the crickets bats, the boxing gloves and the top class footballs which were always on display in Appleton’s window (facing saint Anthony’s, next door to Rooney’s fruit n veg).

We could never afford any of the gear they sold, but it smelled like a proper sports shop – all sorts of different leathers. I forgot what it was like to see the hordes walking back down the valley and on into town. I used to think 55,000 went the match and about half a million came home.

You took me back there for a moment. Your memories of that time and that place will always be welcomed by me.

Goodness me... in the mid 60's my Dad bought the once Rooney's Fruit and Veg shop next to Appletons from a man called Parker (I think). I worked in that shop for 3 years with my Nan, Kate Ruth (Hughes) the bus stop was right in front of it.. Sadly when all the demolition of Scotland Road and the area happened, trade disappeared.

I learnt how to bone a side of pig, slice bacon, serve tripe (rather than speak it) brawn, spam, learnt the different types of potato, make pot herbs... and set up the fruit and veg outside the front of the shop by the bus stop and (remember the Honkey Tonk pub?)

The savings bank opposite was Martin's, the car showroom that became Coyne's was Whitney's Used cars, next to Jacob's Biscuit factory, which later became the Prudential and then Vernon's Pools...

Different days.

The Honkey Tonk pub... don't get me started! I could write a very large book with stories from the days of the Honkey Tonk, that is if I had your skill as a writer. The laughs and good times I had in that pub, especially on a Monday night.

The Honky Tonk was some place alright, as they all were. Some fantastic names as well. "The Foot Hospital" at the top of Silvester street. I think it was really called the Grapes, but due to its close proximity to the Taff brothers surgery...

"The Widows" in front of Woodstock gardens.

The inappropriately named "Holy House" right facing your shop. Next to the church. (Small pub, massive card school.)

My favorite was when they dubbed The Europa "Heartbreak hotel" due to the marriage problems of the regulars – you didn't get divorced back then, you just drank in different places.

I remember School (St Anthony's) being so predominantly blue, as was Scottie as a whole. Events of the mid seventies definitely evened things up a bit though.

Dave Abrahams... What went on in The Tonk, stays in The Tonk :). The birth of mad Mondays?

You missed The Derby Picture House in that row of business premises you listed.