With the 30th anniversary of Forest’s European Cup double approaching, Gary Roe recalls the Annesley contingent’s trip to Spain…

Having broken down the Berlin wall (Dynamo Berlin) in the quarters, and wiped the floor clean with Ajax in the semis, my puns will now cease as we had queued up to get tickets for the Santiago Bernabeu Stadium and were set for our next and biggest European adventure, Hamburg of West Germany in our second European Cup Final.

The ticket showed we were behind the goals at ‘Entrada de Fondo Norte’, whatever that meant; oh and ‘Entrada Puerto 39’. As usual we left the organising to father figure Rube, he had got us a plane flight from Birmingham to Madrid. We had a few meetings in the Welfare to determine who was going and the line up was Rube, me, Cumbo, Pip, Bronc and his brother Stephen, Glen Lafferty and his young relation, George Peat, a non football fan, Stuart Sharpe and Kenny Elkington. A pretty mixed bunch but Rube stated anyone taking younger siblings were responsible for them, we weren’t doing any babysitting. It was bad enough with Rube having to look after us, ne’er mind any youngsters.

We hoped the English-Spanish dictionary and Rube’s couple of years Spanish lessons at Ashfield Comprehensive would get us sorted with transport and accommodation over there. Meanwhile it was time to hammer the Rest Days at work and put a slip in for five during the Cup Final week. It’s a good job they start in May and I had the full set of 8 Rest Days to go at.

I was lucky enough to have seen Hamburg before back in the mid sixties when a lively player named Uwe Seeler played for them in a friendly at the City Ground. He broke every rule in our teacher’s book and didn’t stick to his playing position (wherever it was). He covered every blade of grass and was obviously their star man. Later we saw him in the West German World Cup side. In more recent times England’s favourite son Kevin Keegan played for Hamburg. It was some port in Germany we were led to believe. In actual fact Hamburg is over 50 miles from the sea and is only a hop skip and a jump from Amsterdam. Our problem wasn’t Hamburg the city or even getting a Hamburger for lunch, but the team who had knocked out Real Madrid 5-0!

The papers were in full fling with this being the last game of the season at club level and it doesn’t get much bigger. The billing sounded like Keegan versus Clough and the bookies had Hamburg down as favourites at 5/4 with Forest at 15/8. Now all the League away match slip-ups had been forgotten and only the tenacious efforts by the Reds came to mind as we played a mind game with Europe’s press. Cloughie could handle anything they would throw at him but the week end prior to the match he was a bit out of the spotlight, no comments from him or Peter Taylor.

We arrived at Birmingham and we all put the onus on Rube to direct us to our departure area. A few of us now were pretty experienced in foreign travel and had passports and tickets ready as and when required. The rest including pestered Rube: “Do we need our passports?” “When shall I get my peseta’s out?” “Do you show your boarding card here?”

Eventually we settled in the departure lounge and Rube already weary sat near me admitting it was like having a load of kids with him and wished he hadn’t organised this trip. I was too excited about the forthcoming week to sympathise with him but dared not ask where our departure gate was just now.

We didn’t help by sitting around laughing if any of the lads came up with another problem for him. Once we got on the plane it was a lot better and with the experience of flights to the Spanish Costas it was pretty similar and smooth sailing (well flying) now.

I think Rube hoped that no one decided to bring a sombrero and a donkey back with them, that would have pushed him over the edge. Well that’s what’s expected of you when you listen at school instead of pratting about like us.

In turn a few of the young lads went into the cockpit to see the captain and gawp at all the dials on the dashboard. Cumbo went in for about the fifth time in his life and he was older than me; but like a kid he was asked to press a button over France and the plane changed direction. He told us all about it and since that day he is a hero of mine. “Come little boy, sit on my knee and press this button and see what happens to the plane…” Ah I could picture it, a hairy arsed collier and a pilot; let’s not go there.

On landing the problems started again. Rube now sounding like a school teacher giving instructions on how to get through passport control. We did as ordered and then unlike a package holiday there was no Holiday Rep to tick us off on their clip board and send us to bus number 35 (trente cinqo). Instead Rube had to fathom out which service bus ran into the centre of Madrid. He accomplished the task and we boarded the bus to Madrid. After only five minutes outside the airport we got the taste of the Spanish weather, it was warming up to shorts and flip flop weather but there was no beaches for us as we lugged bags onto the stone age looking bone shaker of a bus. I think I heard someone ask if they had to use Spanish money to pay the fare; so I ducked in case Rube flipped.

We got off on some sort of square/plaza and it was time for Rube to lead us on to the next leg. He found a telephone box and dialled a number he had been given while making enquiries on his works phone while the gaffer was out. The signor at the other end didn’t speak English. This was Madrid not Benidorm. We all congregated around the booth but let Rube enter on his own to sort us out some digs.

He had prepared some lines in Spanish to use as a guide, his first question would be ‘do you speak English?’ in the native language of course: ‘Esta able Inglaise¿’ or words to that effect. Each time the answer was ‘No’ which meant no in English and Spanish. After a couple of calls I poked my nose in and tried to assist. God knows why, I hadn’t got a clue and the only word I knew was cerveza.

Rube carried on undaunted and eventually got in conversation with a hotel’s receptionist. Non-English-speaking as ever. Then Rube asked for accommodation for eleven people for four nights, which sounded like ‘Onthez personas para quatre noches.’ I turned from the phone box and said, ‘What about that then, Onthez personas para quatre noches?’ and I repeated it in various tones, one of shock, one like a Mexican bandit and then opened the phone box door for Rube to shout, ‘F*** off Roey!’

I took the subtle hint. I knew when the fun was over. Just before we started to get worried and think about knocking on hotel doors he had a positive answer. I gingerly opened the door and listened in. The hotel had given us instructions which Rube had written down and we set off in a convoy to the hotel. It was quite a walk and along the way I realised I need some cigarettes; and ahead was my saviour, a booth selling magazines and tabac, which is Spanish for fags. I let the convoy continue as we wouldn’t get too far behind and asked for some cigarettes. The kiosk attendant looked at me as if I was a foreigner or something. I realised then that in Madrid it wasn’t going to be like the holiday resorts and they had no need to learn English.
I collared Cumbo who was always bragging about his Spanish linguistic skills. ‘How do you ask for fags? This woman don’t understand me?’ Cumbo told me if I wanted 20 Ducados brand then I should ask for ‘Vente Ducar-r-r-rdoss por favour-r-r-r’. I did and got a twenty pack thrust in front of me then she said something in Spanish of which I hadn’t a clue. I shouted for Cumbo to come back and translate the price for me and I thanked her in English and left a five peseta tip (big spender!).

I had to light one up before I moved along and we were now a good way behind the party, and as I huffed and coughed we ran along to catch up as the rest had halted. Good old Ducados, Spain’s equivalent of Gallaher’s Park Drive Plain. Cough!

We came upon an old looking building, but then again they were all old looking buildings, and entered through an oversized front door across a marble floor to a large reception area. No matter what order we marched, when it came to decision time we would let Rube get to the fore. We were led upstairs to the first floor which was equally clean and marble floor and oil paintings on the walls. It was more like a palace for some Don of somewhere or other and we all took stock of our surroundings. The sanctified atmosphere was enhanced by a figure occupying a large throne-like chair in some kind of indoor courtyard. She sat like Miss Haversham from Great Expectations only in black. At first sight she looked stuffed with a black veil over her hat and face; was it a widow in mourning, a nun, or a punk rocker?

Anyway Rube was greeted by a signor in a suit and taken around the corner to a reception. His orders to me were: ‘Keep this lot here and out of trouble, we’re abroad you know.’ I was now a Corporal in the Annesley Reds.

We slung our bags down after a pretty long route march and then hung around for some rooms. Meanwhile the younger lads were going up to Miss Haversham and staring at her, the next move would have been a poke if I had not pulled them away. ‘She’s flippin’ real.’ I said. ‘Leave her!’ But I didn’t use the word flippin’.

They backed off and then I had a closer look, out of arms reach, and she did look like she was about to be staged in Madam Tussauds! Soon the man came back with Rube and we were moving on again. Due to the little Spanish phrases Rube new, more like Spanglish, he did get some progress.

I expect the man thought it was ‘quarto persona para onthey noches’ instead of ‘onthey for quarto nights’ He could have thought Rube had got it jumbled up until we all congregated into his mausoleum of a reception. He was cheerful enough and led us away; I asked Rube what was going on and he says, ‘I think he’s taking us to another hotel’ ‘Think?’ I said challenging, and was soon put in my place as to who spoke the most Spanish here and if I wanted to take over, etc. I quickly unruffled my feathers, lit a Ducados, coughed and followed.

We traipsed the busy Madrid streets for a few hundred hot and steamy yards, heads on a swivel like a gambler in Vegas for the first time. Then among the large buildings was a restaurant, we took a small door away from the main area and went up to the second floor. This looked a bit more welcoming, the reception looked twentieth century and the Signor and Rube sorted the rooms out.

Quite a task for someone who could only ask where the railway station was in Spanish at school. Although a lot took him for granted, Rube was our idol.

• ‘Annesley Reds in Madrid’ continues all this week.

• Have you got memories of the 1980 European Cup Final? Share them on LTLF by emailing alex@ltlf.co.uk.
• Check out LTLF’s coverage of the 1979 European Cup Final.