It is a feeling that can only be compared to Christmas mornings when I, as a child, was handed a mysterious gift. It was usually only one gift but this didn’t feel like hardship – the anticipation, the excitement of unwrapping, eyes lit by the joy of discovery. I have been reliving that experience for the past four years.
The photo archive I work with, kept in an aircraft hangar-sized room at DC Thomson’s East Kingsway Works in Dundee, is an Aladdin’s Cave. There is gold on one shelf, precious gems scattered among another set of boxes. Looking through these photos, reliving Christmas every day, has become my full-time job.
All flavours of nostalgia can be tasted in the archive – photos of tramcars and trains, the high glens in the 1930s, or city streets in your grandfather’s day. My interest, however, is football grounds.
Scottish games were, and still are, covered by a focus (the collective term) of photographers. They sit hungrily behind the goals, long lenses like crows’ beaks waiting to gobble a juicy morsel. They have long since gone digital. But in analogue days each photographer shot off a couple of spools of 35mm film. Perhaps 70 photos, often more. Back at the picture desk, one or two would be printed up for the sports pages. The other 50, 60, or 100 were folded into envelopes and sent to the archive.
Hundreds of negatives, game after game, decade after decade. No one ever looked at them again – why would anyone want to plough through 50 pictures of Falkirk v St Mirren, 1964? I did. Over the past four years (while also working on other projects), I have painstakingly sifted through tens of thousands of these negatives. I’d spread them on a lightbox like a miser spreads banknotes, and examine each with a magnifying glass.
There was dross aplenty: out-of-focus views of the photographer’s shoes and lots of static footballers gazing aimlessly into the middle distance. But there were also works of art here and there. A photo that captured grace and movement, or a pivotal moment in Scottish football history. The ones I was looking for, though, were views of a long-gone terracing or a now-demolished stand.
To open a box that hasn’t been opened for six decades is an adventure. You don’t know what wonders lie inside. Best of all are the glass negatives from the 1950s that show views of football from a disappeared, slightly alien world. There is a resemblance to grounds and players as we know them, but also great differences. These 1950s pics became my favourites. Give me Broomfield before Section B got a roof; show me Cathkin Park with the barrel-roofed stand. I’ll always prefer the old bowl-shaped Ibrox to the modern, lofty stands.
My holy grail became the unearthing of a picture of a hero of yore in front of a terrace or stand that is no longer with us – and packed to the rafters because that’s how we experienced the place. Freddie Glidden with a roofless Tynecastle terrace behind him filled shoulder-to-shoulder; Johnny Whigham at a rain-sodden, tight-packed Cappielow; Jock Stein playing before the Jungle masses.
I’ve put the top 700 that I found into two books. Every club is given a chapter, and there are further chapters on dugouts, tunnels, floodlights, the weather, the outside of grounds, things you don’t see any more, and a chapter each on segregation divides and violence at football grounds. The years covered are, mostly, the 1950s to 1980s. Some of the more surprising images are in the chapter on grounds used for purposes other than football. There is a look at Junior and Highland League grounds, and even a 20-page diversion south to the old grounds of England.
Sometimes, however, I found conundrums. Some of those old negatives were packed away in a hurry, with little or no information attached. Perhaps the office boy had neglected his duties. I’d find great photos, but had little idea who was in them. At times it was difficult to work out even what ground I was looking at.
To help with this, I assembled a crack team. A Scottish football brains trust. They were recruited in an unusual way. Since my first Turnstiles book was published in 2018, I have been privileged to be invited to speak and give slideshows to Football Memories Groups around the country. These are run by volunteers and are for people in the early stages of memory problems. The groups do fantastic work.
When I spoke to these older fans it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t me dispensing information. They told me much more than I told them. I’d put up a slide and a discussion would start. I had to hurriedly take notes and used a lot of that information in these new volumes. I’d take the contact details of the most knowledgeable gents, or sometimes details of their sons or carers. When I was stumped, I’d send a photo to these experts and we puzzled out who, when, where, and what was the score. Why is Hibs hero Tommy Younger wearing a Hearts shirt? Why did an Edinburgh Select team exist? Who did they play?
I wouldn’t like anyone to think I was taking liberties, though. My team of experts thoroughly enjoyed the job. I’d get requests to send more photos and assertions that “dad came back to his old self” when looking at and talking about the photos. I am proud of that. With all my heart I wish there had been Football Memories groups when my own father was afflicted with vascular dementia towards the end of his life.
The greatest store of football knowledge in this country isn’t in any book or on any website, it is held within the memories of those who saw it happen. A way should be found to record all those collective centuries of football experience because when these guys go, their knowledge goes with them.
Which is the best photo in the books? It is an unanswerable question. I’m amused to say that no two fans would choose the same. The definition of the best football ground photo depends upon who is viewing it. Some of the photos I have are wonderful compositions that satisfy all the technical specifications of what a photography expert would term “great”. They obey the “rule of thirds”, or have cleverly subtle “vanishing points” (whatever those phrases mean!). Others are definitely not classic photos. But they all have power.
A supporter judges beauty with a sense of loyalty and tribalism rather than on aesthetic principles. I’m not kidding when I say you will find many guys who would rather look at a photo of Stark’s Park or Boghead than a photo of the Taj Mahal.
You’ll have seen the proof of this yourself when arguments arise over which team’s ground is “the best”. Every fan picks his own, no matter if it is a Saintee arguing with a Celt or a Doon Hamer disputing with a Dandy. Does anyone think a Hibee would concede that Tynecastle is a better ground than Easter Road? (Not that I’m saying it is, I hasten to add. This is an illustrative point only.) I have heard endless arguments over whether Dundee derbies have a better atmosphere at Tannadice or at Dens. But never one that reached an agreed conclusion.
Just as fans unselfconsciously use “we” when saying “we scored a good goal”, they think of their club’s ground as their own family home. To complain that a section of a grandstand has a terrible view carries the same venom as saying “your child is ugly”.
And this love of the subject matter is one of the two main reasons why these type of books are successful. The other reason is the heady power of nostalgia. You don’t just remember the game when you look at a photo of a ground, you remember the good times you had, the people you celebrated with, the sheer enjoyment of those youthful days. You were there when you were happy, exalting, cheering, crying and living. These 700 photos take you back there again.
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