My Everton Aunties

Bloody Graeme Souness. First, he said things about Everton that resonated with me and now he’s swimming the English Channel for charity. In January, he referred to Everton’s plight as a ‘national football calamity’ and mentioned the sheer volume of coverage Everton were getting. Whoever goes down on Sunday will produce a mass of writing and opinion; these are three big clubs. But if it’s Everton, it will swamp the coverage that the other two get.

Why? What’s special about Everton? All supporters think their own club is more special than any other. Reasons given for ‘specialness’ amongst English clubs often include the following: these clubs are the oldest clubs, based in the industrial cities, rooted in working-class communities, and historically successful. Everton are not alone in this group. We are also amongst the 12 founder members of the Football League, so you can narrow down the group a little more, but that still doesn’t get to the answer.

For me, it’s the personal stories – the feeling, not the fact. I chose Everton because my older brother had chosen Liverpool, following my dad. Being an early member of the awkward little sod club, it was an easy step.

In fact, my dad watched both teams. He paid to watch Liverpool and sometimes got free tickets from work to watch Everton. (Some of the bosses were directors of Everton, he told me.) So it wasn’t a problem for him to take me along to Goodison when the time came.

My cousin became a follower by an unusual route too. My mum bought him an Everton pennant for his birthday. “He does support Everton, doesn’t he?” she asked, – too late, in the car on the way to his house. “No, Liverpool,” I replied. Being about 6 and anxious to please his auntie, he switched.

There was a whole host of uncles and they were almost all Evertonians. When they got together for family gatherings, the place to be was with them in the back room, just listening. The aunties were elsewhere. The talk was all about football, with the odd bit of politics thrown in.

They had seen great players: Dean, Lawton, Hickson. They had seen North Korea and Eusebio at Goodison Park in 1966. They had favourites: Billy Liddell was my dad’s. They talked about both teams without animosity and were genuinely proud of both of the city’s teams.

But they had one true calling in spite of that. So did the aunties and they were mostly Evertonians too. Their allegiance was of a different kind. They seldom knew who was playing, didn’t know who had won; if they had ever been to a match, it was only once… but they were firmly for Everton.

If we met up after a match, they would ask, “How did you get on?” and responded in one of three ways…

Won: “Oh, that’s nice. What would you like for tea?” 
Drew: “Oh, that’s good. What would you like for tea?”
Lost: ‘Oh, never mind, what would you like for tea?’

They weren’t prone to extremes of emotion.

Many of them lived in the streets around Goodison Park at one time or another: Ivernia Road, Woolhope Road, and I discovered recently that my mother was born in Fountains Road. I didn’t know – and I had been driving past the place to park on match days for years. I now nod my head at the empty space where the house used to stand every time I pass, and I will do so today.

This is what makes Everton special. It’s the histories, each unique and personal. There’s more of them and they run deeper in a club like Everton. This is why we’ll endure today and I will have an imaginary conversation with one of those aunties or with my mother.

“How did you get on?”

“We won, preserving our top-flight status and saving the club from financial meltdown and certain oblivion.”

“Oh, that’s nice, what do you want for your tea?”

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