Red or Dead (64 page)

that was all. No more work to be done. Here.

Bob Paisley walked down the corridor. The Anfield corridor. Bob Paisley walked up the stairs. The Anfield stairs. Bob Paisley stood
before the door to the office. The door to the office of Bill Shankly. And Bob Paisley listened. Listened for the sound of hammering, listened for the sound of talking. Bill Shankly talking on the telephone, Bill Shankly hammering on the typewriter. But Bob Paisley heard no hammering, Bob Paisley heard no talking. Bob Paisley knocked on the door. The door to the office of Bill Shankly. And Bob Paisley waited. Bob Paisley knocked on the door again. The door to the office of Bill Shankly. And Bob Paisley waited again. Bob Paisley put his hand on the handle. The handle of the door to the office of Bill Shankly. Bob Paisley turned the handle. Bob Paisley opened the door. And Bob Paisley stepped into the office. Bob Paisley looked around the office. The clock on the wall. Ticking, ticking. The pictures on the wall. The history, the memories. The shelves of books. The books of names, the books of notes. The filing cabinets and the bags of mail on the floor. The bags and bags of mail. The bags and bags of mail for Bill. The desk and the chair. Bill’s chair. The typewriter and its keys. Bill’s typewriter, Bill’s keys. Silent and waiting. Bob Paisley stepped towards the desk. Towards the chair. Bill’s chair, Bill’s desk. And now Bob Paisley heard footsteps in the corridor. Footsteps Bob Paisley would recognise anywhere. Bill’s footsteps. Bob Paisley turned around. And Bob Paisley saw Bill Shankly. In the doorway to his office. In his suit and in his tie. His red tie. His Liverpool Football Club tie. Bob Paisley smiled, Bob Paisley laughed. And Bob Paisley said, Morning, Bill. Morning. I was just wondering where you’d got to, Bill. I was just about to call the police. About to ask them to send out a search party for you, Bill …

No, said Bill Shankly. No, Bob. You can’t be doing that now. You can’t be worrying about me now. You’ve enough to worry about now, Bob. You’ve Liverpool Football Club to worry about now …

Bob Paisley shook his head. And Bob Paisley said, I didn’t want the job, Bill. I wanted you to stay. For things to stay the way they were, Bill. That’s all I wanted. You know that, Bill. But when they asked me, when they offered me the job, it was the proudest moment of my life, Bill. I would have accepted any job, any position they offered me. Anything they wanted me to do. But I took this job because I want to stabilise things for everyone. For Joe and Reuben, for Geoff and Tom. And for Ronnie. We have all had a big shock, Bill.
We were all very worried. About who was going to come in, about what would happen to us. But I thought if I accept the position, if I take the job, then your departure won’t upset things too much. Because you know I believe in the same principles as you do, Bill. And you know I’ll try and run the club on the same lines as you have done.

I know, said Bill Shankly. I know that, Bob. And that is exactly why I wanted you to be my successor. And why I was so relieved when the board and everyone agreed with me. That you should be my successor. And so I could not be more pleased for you, Bob.

Bob Paisley said nothing. Bob Paisley just smiled.

And you know I’m always here to help you, said Bill Shankly. Anything I can do to help you, Bob. To help you get run in …

Bob Paisley nodded now. And Bob Paisley said, Thank you, Bill. Thank you. I mean, I feel like an apprentice riding the favourite in the Derby. Or being given the
Queen Elizabeth
to steer in a force-ten gale. Because I’m finding there is a lot I don’t know, Bill. A lot …

Yes, said Bill Shankly. There’ll be a great deal, Bob. It’s a big job managing Liverpool Football Club. A very big job, Bob.

Bob Paisley nodded again. And Bob Paisley said, Well, to be honest with you, Bill, I’m just trying to keep things the way they were. The way they are. For now. Just trying to take each day as it comes.

Yes, said Bill Shankly again. That’s good, that’s best …

And Bill Shankly put his hand into his jacket pocket. Bill Shankly took out his diary. His diary of dates, his diary of fixtures –

Yes, said Bill Shankly. But the days come thick and fast when you’re the manager, Bob. I’ll tell you that. There’s no stopping, Bob. No respite. I mean, we’ve got the trip to Germany …

Bob Paisley said, Well, I know that’s something you won’t miss, Bill. All the travelling. All the trips abroad. At least that’s one thing you won’t be sorry to miss, eh?

And then there’s the Charity Shield, said Bill Shankly. Bill Shankly still turning the pages of his diary. The pages of dates, the pages of fixtures. And it’s at Wembley, too …

Bob Paisley said, But you’ll be coming to that, won’t you?

Oh yes, said Bill Shankly. Yes, of course, Bob. Thank you very much. That’s very kind of you, Bob. I’d like that. I’d like that a lot, Bob. It would be a great honour. Thank you, Bob. Because there will
be a great crowd there. With it being at Wembley, Bob. All the Kop will be there, I’m sure. All the boys from the Kop, Bob. Be a great chance for me to show my appreciation. Pay my thanks to them, Bob.

Bob Paisley nodded. And Bob Paisley said, Of course, Bill. Of course. I mean, from what Mr Smith said, from what the board told me, you don’t officially retire until Monday 12 August. Is that right, Bill? Is that what you agreed with Mr Smith? And with the board?

Well, yes, said Bill Shankly. But then of course there’s the testimonial that night. For Billy McNeill, up in Glasgow. I should be there, Bob. I want to be there. If that’s OK with you, Bob?

Bob Paisley nodded again. And Bob Paisley said, Yes, of course you should be there. You don’t have to ask me, Bill.

No, said Bill Shankly. No, Bob. I should ask. I must ask. Because the last thing I want is to be accused of sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted. Where it’s not needed, Bob …

Bob Paisley smiled. And Bob Paisley said, You could never do that, Bill. That’ll never happen. I can promise you that now, Bill.

Well, said Bill Shankly. I don’t want to be getting under your feet now, Bob. But I thought I’d just pop in and pick up some of these letters. If you don’t mind, Bob? I’ll just take a few home with me.

Bob Paisley laughed now. And Bob Paisley said, Of course I don’t mind, Bill. I don’t know how you deal with them all …

It does take time, said Bill Shankly. I won’t lie to you, Bob. Reading all these letters, then answering them all. It’s a big job, Bob. And a big part of the job. But it has to be done, Bob. When people have taken the time and trouble to write to you personally, then the very least you can do is take the time and the trouble to reply to them.

Bob Paisley looked at the bags and bags of mail on the floor. Bob Paisley looked at the typewriter on the desk. Bob Paisley shook his head. And Bob Paisley said, Well, I can’t even type, Bill. I’d have no idea how to work that thing. Not a clue, Bill. Not a clue …

So you don’t mind if I take it back home with me then, asked Bill Shankly. You wouldn’t object, Bob? If I took the typewriter home? So I can answer all these letters at home, Bob? So I’m not in your way. I’m not under your feet …

Bob Paisley laughed. And Bob Paisley said, Be my guest, Bill.

Bill Shankly walked around the mountain of bags and bags of mail. And Bill Shankly picked up the typewriter from the desk. Bill Shankly put it under his arm. And then Bill Shankly picked up a bag of mail from the mountain of bags and bags of mail –

Well, I best get going, Bob. Get out of your hair. And get cracking on all these letters. I mean, they won’t answer themselves …

Bob Paisley nodded. And Bob Paisley said, OK then, Bill. But don’t you be overdoing it now. With all those letters …

Bill Shankly stopped in the doorway. The doorway to the office. Bill Shankly turned back to Bob Paisley –

So we are agreed then, Bob? That my last day will be Monday 12 August? My last official day. And that is OK with you, Bob?

Yes, Bill. Of course it is. Anything you want is fine with me, Bill. As I say, you don’t have to ask …

How old are you, asked Bill Shankly. One foot in the office, one foot in the corridor. If you don’t mind me asking, Bob …

Bob Paisley said, Fifty-five, Bill. Why do you ask?

I was just wondering, said Bill Shankly. I mean, we’ve worked together for a long time now …

Bob Paisley smiled. And Bob Paisley said, Yes. Fifteen years.

Yes, said Bill Shankly. Fifteen years. But all that time I never knew how old you were. I mean, I don’t suppose it really mattered. I don’t suppose it does. I mean, once you stop playing …

Bob Paisley nodded. And Bob Paisley said, But it can still catch up with you. With the best of folk.

Yes, said Bill Shankly again. But how old were you then when you stopped playing, Bob?

Bob Paisley smiled. And Bob Paisley said, I was thirty-five. March 13, 1954, was my last game. Here at Anfield. Against Charlton Athletic. We lost as well. Three–two. And you, Bill?

The same, said Bill Shankly. Thirty-five. But I felt I could have gone on, Bob. I felt I could have gone on forever.

Bob Paisley nodded. And Bob Paisley said, We all did, Bill.

Aye, Bob. But we were young then. And we were wrong, Bob. We were all wrong. No one goes on forever, Bob. No one is immortal, said Bill Shankly. And Bill Shankly glanced around the office. At the shelves, the shelves of books. The books of names, the books of notes.
At the pictures on the wall. The history, the memories. At the clock on the wall. Ticking and ticking. Bill Shankly smiled. Bill Shankly turned away. And Bill Shankly said, See you later, Bob. See you now …

And Bob Paisley watched Bill Shankly walk down the corridor. The bag of mail in one hand, the typewriter under his arm. In his suit and in his tie. His red tie. His Liverpool Football Club tie.

In the hotel, in the room. Bill paced and Bill paced. Bill had travelled down to London with the team. Bill had checked into the hotel with the team. Bill had eaten dinner with the team. Steak and chips. Tinned fruit and cream. Just like always, just like before. And then Bill had said goodnight to the team. And Bill had come up to the room. His hotel room. And Bill had started to pace. Up and down the room. The hotel room. Two hours later, Bill was still pacing the room. The hotel room. But now Bill stopped pacing. And Bill picked up the telephone. The telephone beside the bed. His hotel bed. Bill dialled a number. And Bill listened to the telephone ring. And ring and ring –

Hello, hello? Who’s speaking? Who is it now?

Hello, Don. Hello. It’s only me, Don. It’s only Bill. I just called to wish you good luck for tomorrow, Don. For the game tomorrow. And to say I’ll see you tomorrow, Don. In the tunnel …

Oh no, you won’t, said Don Revie. Because I’ll not be in the tunnel, Bill. Brian will be in the tunnel. You won’t see me tomorrow, Bill. Not unless you’re planning to sit in the Royal Box. Because that’s where I’ll be sitting. In the Royal Box. Where you should be, Bill.

Bill laughed. And Bill said, I hope you’re having me on, Don. I hope you’re pulling my leg. What the hell would you be doing sitting in the Royal Box? You should be in the tunnel, Don. With your team, man. Where you belong, Don. In the tunnel …

They are not my team now, said Don Revie. They are Brian’s team now. He’s the manager of Leeds United now. Not me. It’ll be his privilege to lead out that team tomorrow, Bill. Not mine.

No, Don. No. You won the Championship, Don. You won the League. Not Brian. It’s you who should be leading out your team
tomorrow, Don. Not Brian. And I’m sure Brian feels the same …

To be frank with you, Bill, I couldn’t care less what Brian feels. All I know is that it is his team now. And so it is his job to lead them out at Wembley tomorrow. It’s Brian’s job now. Not mine.

I can’t agree, Don. I can’t agree. And I’m sorry you feel this way, Don. I really am. I was hoping we would both be leading out our teams tomorrow, Don. Saying our goodbyes together …

I’ve said my goodbyes, said Don Revie. And now I have moved on. I am the manager of England now, Bill. Not Leeds United. But I’ll be there. I’ll still be there, Bill. And I’ll be watching.

Bill laughed. And Bill said, Aye, Don. So you say. From the Royal Box. Well, I hope you have a nice time, Don. I hope you enjoy the view. And be sure to give my regards to the men with their brass and their wives with their jewellery. Goodnight, Don …

Bill put down the telephone. And Bill began to pace the room again. The hotel room. Up and down the room again. The hotel room. And then Bill stopped pacing. Bill took off his suit and tie. His red tie. His Liverpool Football Club tie. Bill put on his pyjamas. Bill went into the bathroom. The hotel bathroom. Bill switched on the light. The bathroom light. Bill walked over to the sink. Bill brushed his teeth. Bill washed his face. Bill dried his face. Bill dried his hands. Bill turned off the light. The bathroom light. Bill went back into the bedroom. The hotel bedroom. Bill switched off the light. The bedroom light. Bill got into bed. The hotel bed. And in the dark and in the silence. Bill stared up at the ceiling. The hotel ceiling. In the dark and in the silence. Bill could hear people in the street outside the hotel. Bill could hear people in the corridor outside the room. And in the dark and in the silence. Bill sat up. Bill got out of the bed. The hotel bed. In the dark and in the silence. Bill began to pace again. In the dark and in the silence. Up and down the room. The hotel room. In the dark and in the silence. Up and down. Bill paced and Bill paced –

Round and around, round and around –

Until night became day, until this room became another room. The dressing room. The Wembley dressing room. Bill pacing and Bill pacing. Round and around. The Liverpool dressing room. Buttoning his jacket, unbuttoning his jacket. His mouth dry and his palms wet. Bill paced and Bill paced. Round and around …

In the dressing room. The Wembley dressing room. Bob Paisley put a hand on Bill’s arm –

Do you want to say something, Bill? Are you going to say a few words before the game?

Bill shook his head. And Bill said, No, Bob. No. In fact, I think I’ll go and wait outside. Until you’re done, Bob. In the tunnel. I’ll be waiting outside, Bob. In the tunnel. Until you’re done, Bob …

Bill walked over to the dressing-room door. The Wembley dressing-room door. Bill opening the door. Bill listening to Bob. Bob speaking to the team. The Liverpool team –

To be honest, Bob was saying to the team, I’m a bit worried about this game, boys. It’s a bad time to have a game like this. Far too early in the season for a game like this. Of course, we want to win. And to put on a good show. But just go out there and knock the ball about a bit and try to enjoy yourselves …

Bill closed the dressing-room door behind him. The Wembley dressing-room door. And Bill stood in the tunnel. The Wembley tunnel. Between its high, bare walls. In its long, dark shadows. Bill waited for the team. The Liverpool team. In his grey herringbone suit. His red shirt, with the yellow stripes. And his dark tie. His loud, dark tie. Buttoning his jacket and unbuttoning his jacket. Bill waited and Bill waited. And then Bill heard the buzzer. The Wembley buzzer. And Bill turned. And Bill saw the Leeds team come out of their dressing room. And Billy Bremner shook his hand. And made a joke, a joke Bill didn’t quite catch. But Bill smiled. And Bill laughed. And Billy smiled. And Billy laughed. And then Brian Clough shook Bill’s hand. And Brian Clough said something to Bill, something like –

This must bring back some memories for you, sir?

Bill nodded. And Bill said, Oh yes. It does.

And then Bill saw the other dressing-room door open. The Liverpool dressing-room door. Out of the corner of his eye. Their boots in the tunnel, their studs on the concrete. Bill heard the team behind him now. The Liverpool team. Up and down his spine. In a line, in the tunnel. The Wembley tunnel. The two teams waiting, watching. In the shadows. The Wembley shadows. Bill felt Brian Clough watching him. But Bill tried to avoid his eyes. The thoughts in his eyes. But Bill could not avoid his words. The thoughts on his lips.
And Bill heard Brian Clough saying something else, something like –

So what are you going to do with yourself all season, Mr Shankly? What on earth are you going to do with yourself, sir?

And Bill said, Oh, I’ll be busy enough. Don’t you worry –

And then Bill nodded. Nodded to himself. And Bill started to walk towards the end of the tunnel. The Wembley tunnel. The light at the end of the tunnel. But someone put a hand on his arm. Someone stopped Bill. And asked Bill to wait. And so Bill waited. In the tunnel. The Wembley tunnel. In the shadows. The Wembley shadows. Another joke with Billy Bremner. Another joke he didn’t quite catch. Didn’t quite get. Another word from Brian Clough. Another word he didn’t quite catch. Didn’t quite hear. Buttoning his jacket, unbuttoning his jacket. Mouth dry and palms wet. Bill ran his tongue along his lips. Bill wiped his hands together. And then Bill saw the signal. At last, at last. And Bill nudged Brian Clough. Bill pointed to the end of the tunnel. The light at the end of the tunnel. And Bill began to walk towards the light. His shoulders stooping, his head bowing. Bill led out the team. The Liverpool team. Into the light, into the stadium. Still not sure if his jacket should be open, not sure if his jacket should be closed. Brian Clough still watching him, Brian Clough now applauding him. The stadium applauding him. The Wembley stadium. The supporters chanting his name. The supporters of Liverpool Football Club. And the supporters of Leeds United. All chanting –

SHANK-LEE, SHANK-LEE, SHANK-LEE …

In the light, the mid-afternoon light. In the stadium, the Wembley stadium. Across the pitch, across the turf. Bill walked. His shoulders stooped, his head bowed. Bill stared down at the grass. The Wembley grass. The weight of the wood. The wood on his shoulders. One foot in front of the other. Bill kept walking. Head bowed, staring down. Down at the grass, down at the ground. One foot in front of the other. At the bottom of the ocean, along the seabed. Bill kept walking. Head bowed, staring down. With feet of stone, in boots of lead. One in front of the other. Walking. And walking. Head bowed, eyes fixed on the ground. The Wembley ground. Bill walking on, Bill stamping down the memories, Bill treading down the fears. The voices in his head, the whispers in his heart. The wasteland and the wilderness. Under the ground, under the sea. Buttoning his jacket and unbuttoning
his jacket. At last, at last. Bill reached the halfway line. The Wembley halfway line. And Bill stopped walking. And at last, at last. Bill looked up. Up from the ground and up from the grass. And his eyes met the stands. The supporters in the stands. And Bill raised one hand. His right hand. In salute and in thanks. To all four sides of the stadium. All sixty-seven thousand folk inside the stadium. And to the millions at home. The millions watching on television at home. And then Bill lowered his hand. His right hand. And Bill walked from the halfway line to the benches. The Wembley benches. One foot quickly in front of the other. And Bill sat down. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Between Brian Clough and Jimmy Gordon. His shoulders forward, his head forward. The wood across his back, the lead upon his feet. His raincoat across his knees. His left arm on his raincoat. His right elbow in his left hand on his right knee. His shoulders forward. His head forward. His chin in his right hand. His fingers stroking his chin.
Since I made my decision to retire, our front door has been besieged with people.
The whistle now. Thompson passes forward. Clarke keeps his foot in. The skin ripped from Thompson’s ankle to his knee. First free kick to Liverpool. Now Jordan. Cherry. Giles. Clarke. Tommy Smith’s tackle on Clarke. It’s a booking. Number-ten Giles with the free kick. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Bill sat back. Bill crossed his legs. His right leg over his left.
I have received hundreds of letters and telegrams.
There’s too much pace on it. Hall. Callaghan. Heighway. Thompson. Cormack saw that all the way and then took his eye off it when it arrived. But here’s Hall again. Heighway. Hunter. Not a good tackle. Keegan. Good header by McQueen. Corner. Thompson coming up. Clarke almost deflecting that past Harvey as he came out. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Bill uncrossed his legs. Bill crossed his legs again. His left leg over his right.
Thousands of fans have written to me, pleading with me to stay.
Gray. Reaney outside Lorimer. Clarke and Jordan in the middle. Gray. Good blocking by Smith. Joe Jordan. Beautifully off the outside of his boots. Lorimer being forced wide. Reaney again on the overlap. Hughes in two minds. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Bill folded his arms across his chest. His right hand over his heart.
Everybody seems to be affected. I have had letters from Australia, New Zealand, Canada and Scotland, as well as from Liverpool.
Boersma. Keegan behind him. Heighway in the middle.
Here’s Keegan. Trying to nick it in by the near post. Eddie Gray. Another good header by Cormack. Bremner. Hughes is a bit short. Thompson. Cormack. Keegan now out on the left. Only a crack on for him at the moment. Cormack coming up. He was unbalanced. But at least he saw that Keegan needed help. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Bill let go of his heart. Bill unfolded his arms. Both arms at his side. Bill uncrossed his legs. His left leg and his right. Both feet on the ground.
Two young men came to my house with a card signed by two hundred customers from the Derby Arms Hotel, wishing me well for the future. And almost all of the couple of hundred of signatures were signed in red ink. But there were three signed in blue. That is amazing to me. That even Everton boys said they were sorry to see me go
. Free kick to Liverpool for a push. Keegan. Good save. But it’s going to go in. And it’s gone. It’s in. He was unlucky, David Harvey. He made a very good save from Keegan. It ricocheted around. It was Keegan’s shot. But it may well have flicked off Phil Boersma. A goal out of nothing. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Bill sat forward again. His left arm on his raincoat again. His right elbow in his left hand on his right knee. His shoulders forward. His head forward. His chin in his right hand. His fingers stroking his chin again.
And I feel very touched. This makes me feel I have possibly achieved something at Liverpool.
Beautifully played, Keegan. There’s another chance on here. And it’s blocked. Boersma’s shot. Corner. Reaney on the near post. Boersma with the back-header. Hunter. Leeds not quite themselves since that goal. Bad sort of goal to concede. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Bill sat back again. Bill crossed his legs again. His right leg over his left.
The tributes that were paid were wonderful, astonishing, emotional and touching.
Jordan on his own. Now he has Gray out to the left. Did well there, Joe Jordan. Bremner. Lorimer. Through the back, nicely. Clarke, unlucky. Appealing for a handball that never was. McQueen coming forward. Leeds’ second corner of the match. McQueen stays up. Aimed for Reaney but too high for him. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Bill uncrossed his legs. Bill crossed his legs. His left leg over his right.
I know there is even an idea to change the name of Bold Street to Shankly Parade. It’s all news to me. And anything that is in Liverpool that has my name to it I would be proud of. But I do not want anything to do with any controversy.
Leeds
have got three back now. Reaney making it four. Keegan. Heighway in the middle. Marked by Cherry. Hughes. Jordan now back behind the ball for Leeds. Lindsay. Hughes. Brian Hall striding his way through. Well saved again, David Harvey. Superb stuff from Brian Hall and a good save by David Harvey. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Bill folded his arms across his chest again. His right hand over his heart again.
I came to Liverpool just to manage a football team. But the fact that these actions come from ordinary men and women in the street means more to me than money.
Giles. Bremner. Interesting. Jordan to his left. Clarke further over. Good leap by Clemence. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Bill let go of his heart again. Bill unfolded his arms again. Both arms back at his side. Bill uncrossed his legs. Both feet back on the ground.
They came from people my wife and I know. And from people we don’t know. And they came from people in high places right down to the rank and file. The working men, just like me, who go to Anfield.
Now Boersma. Heighway. Good save again. Timed it superbly. But there are times when this Leeds defence is looking a bit short of pace. Cherry. Giles. Clemence gets there first. Keegan. Boersma to his right. Good early cross. Reaney’s header. Cormack. Callaghan. Boersma. Hughes. Off the crossbar. Emlyn Hughes. A thunderous effort. On the bench. The Wembley bench. Bill sat forward again. His left arm on his raincoat again. His right elbow in his left hand on his right knee. His shoulders forward. His head forward. His chin in his right hand. His fingers stroking his chin again.
I class myself as one of them. I’m a working-class man. I used to work down the pit. I have no airs and graces. I might be better off now than some of them. But it has not altered my outlook on life or how I feel.
Giles. Lorimer finding Giles again. Reaney. Four to find. Here’s Clarke. From Reaney’s cross. Allan Clarke all alone. Bit wild by Giles. Another free kick. Lindsay to take. The whistle. And half-time –