So Paddy Got Up - an Arsenal anthology (4 page)

Of course by 1910, upwardly mobile proprietor and Conservative MP Henry Norris had taken over the club and recognised that, to survive the Darwinian jungle of Victorian football, the club would have to cast off its suffocating Kentish outback for pastures new. The relocation to Highbury in North London saw the club begin to shed its rough and ready origins. With superior transport links to the West End, the club could draw in support from Holborn, King’s Cross, Hackney and Finchley. When the great pioneer Herbert Chapman began to yield his guiding hand over Highbury’s upgrade in the 1930s, he was able to further alter the genome of the match-day crowd.

With the erection of the palatial East Stand in 1936, replete with Marble Halls, club restaurant, oak panelled offices and hat doffing commissionaire greeting entrants, the club were able to attract the great and good of London’s social coterie to match days. In the 1930s, Hollywood actor Buster Keaton was a regular in Arsenal’s corporate hospitality. The upper tier of the East Stand was even embossed with a concrete rendering of a theatre curtain. The allusions to class and stature were clear and Highbury threw its doors open to the upper middle-classes. Such luxury would quite literally have been a pipe dream to the munitions men who stood on the Southern Outfall Sewer pipe to watch Woolwich Arsenal games some 40 years earlier.

Following the conclusion of the Second World War and the resumption of League Football in the late 40s, fans flocked back to the Highbury terraces to find further change afoot. The crowd canvas was beginning to fleck with colour. As Islington began to experience an influx of Italian and Greek Cypriot communities setting up local businesses, so the Mediterranean influence began to embroider itself into the match-day experience. Philippos Anastasi is a Greek Cypriot immigrant who moved to Redbridge in 1955 and immediately became a regular at Highbury. He points to the inexpensiveness of watching Arsenal in the 1950’s as a main reason that he began attending games. “I could go and see a relatively successful team which wasn’t too far away from me and didn’t cost a lot of money.” Philippos also reasons that, despite the generally conservative outlook of 1950s Britain, Highbury was always welcoming to other cultures. “I never once encountered any hostility. Even though my English wasn’t very good, I always felt welcome at Highbury. The enemy was always the opposition.”

Singing on the terraces was a rare convention in the early 50’s and anathema to the stiff-upper-lipped Englishmen. But with the more expressive Latin and Hellenic influence at Highbury, the popular Arsenal ditty “Anchors Aweigh” began to make itself heard with greater gusto. Philippos concurs that the presence of more effusive cultures began to help the vocal element of the Highbury support along. “I would go with my friend Savvos and we would cheer the loudest, even though we didn’t know what we were saying half the time! I think the passion and the love those supporters brought to the game really added to the atmosphere.”

By the 1960’s, the custom of terrace chanting had become ingratiated into the match-day experience. With the screaming hysteria of Beatlemania, the copycat opportunities offered by Match of the Day, and the anthemic pop music proffered by the likes of the Stones and the Who, football crowds became more rumbustious. Highbury was no different and the terraces began to take on a more sinister edge as wide-eyed, amphetamine fuelled gangs such as the Islington Angels and the Finchley Boys began to roam the North Bank. The 60’s saw crowds drop at Highbury. The voracious appetite for football in the immediate post war era was not quite as conspicuous, but also largely because Arsenal were marooned in mid-table for much of the decade. Highbury’s more middle-aged clientele had been reared on the unprecedented success of the Chapman and Allison pre war era. They were beginning to lose hope that Arsenal could ever recapture those former glories. The Highbury crowd began to take on a much more youthful complexion.

Siphoned away on the North Bank and Clock End, away from the disapproving eyes of their parents, teenage boys were altering the fabric of the famous old ground; sometimes literally. Prior to the baby boomers, dark suits, cloth caps and rolled up cigarettes were the conservative uniform of the match going supporter. But by the mid-60’s, the wallflower element that had become part of youth culture was infiltrating football grounds too. Red and white rosettes and scarves were now de rigueur. Cherry red Doctor Martens, rolled up Levi’s and suede head haircuts were making their way onto the terrace catwalk. Fashion at the time dictated that red and white scarves were tied around wrists to complete the look.

The birth of rock ’n’ roll in the 1950’s fastened carefully groomed image to youth culture. With cultural icons such as James Dean and the landmark movie ‘Rebel Without A Cause’ and with British gangs such as mods and rockers identifying their allegiance through uniform, British terraces were soon peacocking to the whims of the fashions; and with it a more sinister edge emerged. With improvements in public transport, away support became more commonplace inside Highbury. Typically, travellers from Liverpool, Manchester or the Midlands poured in from Arsenal station at around 2.55pm and congregated on the nearby Clock End. Tension was starting to creep inside the walls of the famous old stadium and stadiums around the country. Coins with serrated edges were tossed between rival supporters, bloody retributions were exacted. Though Highbury was one of the more moderate grounds in this climate, it was clear to see it was no longer a place where working class men went to drink, smoke and swear. The release valve people would find by attending matches at Highbury was beginning to manifest itself more aggressively.

In the early 1970’s, the Arsenal crowd was about to find its first idol, reared as he was against this backdrop of 1960s Highbury. He would become an on-pitch avatar for the hopes and dreams for the fans; a young man who had attended games in drainpipe jeans and Doc Martens. Charlie George was probably the first Arsenal player who visibly reflected the voguish palpitations of the Highbury crowd. When George made his debut in 1969, his aesthetic typified those of the teenage rabble watching him from the North Bank; the cropped, suede-head haircut, the quiet air of moody nonchalance. By the early 70’s, Charlie had let the tight crop unfurl into a flowing mane. The supporters followed suit – though whether it was George, or bands such as Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd that influenced this follicular phenomenon is open to debate. But George also brought an air of disaffected, inner-city aggression onto the pitch with him. In an interview with the Daily Express in December 1970, George laconically summed up his outlook towards less-forgiving opponents. “If anyone thumps me, I just nut them.” With his cocky cockney swagger and Islington upbringing, George readily became an icon because the supporters identified with him. Had they been on the pitch, they’d have played like George did. There was a common expression at the time, that George had hopped the North Bank fence and onto the pitch. His connection with the supporters represented a sea change for the Highbury crowd. Though the team of the 30’s were revered and accessible; they were looked upon almost as apotheoses: untouchable figures of athletic perfection. George’s lank hair and cocksure snarl represented a severance with the polished Brylcreem boys of yore. George was Arsenal’s first rock star.

Charlie George would leave the club contentiously in 1975. But the umbilical relationship between the stands and the pitch remained. The area of Finsbury Park has long hosted a burgeoning Irish community. As such, Arsenal always had a sprinkling of green in its fan base, but by the late 1970’s, the stands began to slowly reverberate to the twang of Irish accents. This was precipitated in part by the fact that, under Ulsterman Terry Neill, the Gunners earned themselves the press nickname ‘London Irish’. With the likes of David O’Leary, John Devine and Frank Stapleton making up the Republic contingent, whilst Pat Jennings, Sammy Nelson and captain Pat Rice made up the Northern Irish quota.

The shining beacon from the Emerald Isles next invading Highbury was a young genius by the name Liam Brady, Highbury’s next terrace legend. Brady was a distinctively Irish sort of hero. Articulate and outspoken, he played like a scruffy artiste. The constantly un-tucked shirt and half-mast socks provided a striking contrast to the gracile quality of his play. If George was Jagger – snarling and pouting – Brady was Richards: perhaps slightly more introspective, but no less devastating. The Irish theme was quick to make its mark on the club. It was around this time that the Irish folk anthem ‘Bejesus Said Paddy’ began to resonate around the stadium. The club played to the theme too, when they released ‘Super Arsenal’, an adaptation of an old Irish folk song, as their 1979 F.A. Cup Final chart entry.

Brian Magorrian is an Arsenal season ticket holder who was born and raised in Belfast in the 1970’s. Brian contends that, whilst the Irish population of North London may have been flocking towards Highbury, the actual impact of the ‘London Irish’ team was not as culturally significant in Northern Ireland at least. “Arsenal were always popular in Northern Ireland and the Irish connection might have strengthened that. But we were still well outnumbered by Manchester United, Liverpool, Celtic and Rangers. At the time, Arsenal were the third most popular English club in Northern Ireland and I think that’s still the case.”

Of course, the concoction of Northern and Southern Irish players at Arsenal led to some mischief making in the press. Stories were rife of dressing room discord, with differences in religion and politics at the epicentre of the conflict. Terry Neill and the players have always laughed off such stories. This seems to chime with Brian’s experiences in Belfast, “I don’t remember any tension related to that. It certainly never affected me and I could always happily wear an Arsenal badge in Belfast.”

The adoption of cult heroes such as Brady and George began to demonstrate the sociological currency players could hold with supporters. Through the 1980’s, at a time when racial tension was at a threshold in British football grounds, Arsenal used notably more black players than most other teams. The likes of Viv Anderson, Chris Whyte, Raphael Meade, Paul Davis and the incomparable David Rocastle were regular fixtures in the side. Holloway and Finsbury Park have long boasted proud African and Caribbean communities. Once again, this began to reflect in the Highbury melting pot. At last known count, around 9% of Arsenal’s season ticket holders were non-white. Moving into the early 90’s when players like Kevin Campbell and Ian Wright were mainstays of the team, bringing contemporary reggae dances into their choreographed goal celebrations, a generation of young black men flocked to Highbury. Arsenal’s corner of North London has long seen migrant communities lay their roots into its soil – which has mirrored in the support. However, the sense of identity with the club’s multicultural playing staff is likely to have had as magnetic an influence.

Though not raised in North London, Ian Wright and David Rocastle (both from Lewisham) were gracing the side come the early 90’s. They were young, working-class black men raised on inner-city council estates, not dissimilar to the ones that populate the Islington horizon. Much in the same vein as Charlie George had won the affections of the North Bank with his devil-may-care demeanour; Ian Wright likewise became a conduit between the stands and the pitch. His expressiveness, his distaste for authority, and his brusqueness could all be seen to have their roots in inner-city culture. Wright was loved by Arsenal fans, regardless of creed, because he played with his heart on his sleeve.

I was between primary and secondary school in South East London when Wright was in his prime at Arsenal. To my recollection, nearly all of the black pupils at my school were Arsenal supporters and Wright was a big reason for that. He exuded charisma in a way that was rooted into hip-hop culture. The swagger and self-belief remained a constant, even when he found disillusion with the establishment. Nike cleverly exploited that connection with their early 90’s advertisement depicting Wright’s goal scoring feats against the strains of A Tribe Called Quest’s ‘Can I Kick It’.

With the arrival of Sky television and Internet technology, which allows games to be streamed all over the world, the relationship between a club’s fans and its community is no longer as pronounced.  Somebody in rural New Zealand is as likely to watch an Arsenal match in real time as somebody in N5. So whilst the supporter net has become wider and more diverse, these changes are more a wider symptom of the global village we inhabit. The reason Arsenal were greeted by thousands of excited Malaysian and Chinese fans in the summer of 2011is less to do with the fluctuations of the Islington community and more a result of instant technology and marketing.

It would of course be incorrect to paint Arsenal as having always been a puritanical liberal utopia entirely free of prejudice. The prevalence of the Jewish hamlet in Tottenham means that unfavourable anti-Semitic language has been commonly heard on Arsenal’s terraces through the years. Aggressively anti-Semitic songs are heard rarely in this day and age at Arsenal, yet use of the term “Yids” in reference to Tottenham fans is still part of the everyday lexicon at matches. However, in its 125 years, the club’s support base has vacillated. Different cultures have become implanted into the club’s identity. Maybe I am looking generously through the prism of club bias, but Arsenal genuinely strikes me as a club with a more dynamic tapestry behind it. The club’s status as that of liberal progressive institution has been furthered passionately by Arsene Wenger. Lest we forget, Mr Wenger is the only manager ever to name eleven different nationalities in his team for a Champions’ League fixture against Hamburg in September 2006.

The club and the supporters that breathe life into it have come a long way, baby. From the dirt underneath the fingernails of the munitions workers, who hauled the club up by its bootstraps through the jungle of Victorian football. The club became a migrant in its own right a touch under a century ago. The club’s nomadic history, from the Manor Ground to Highbury, and latterly to the Emirates, is a fitting indication indeed of the array of cultures that have enriched the institution ever since.