In 1967 the young Gary Roe is set to experience the glamour of European football… and a less glamorous trip to Burnley.

Forest were having a win-lose win-lose bit of form, we were not the team we were last season. The thing that was exciting was the Inter Cities Fairs Cup, where we played foreign teams for a trophy on a 2-leg basis. I had been told tales about previous European games and how Valencia thrashed us in ’62; but that was before Baker and co. Well we were drawn against a West German side, Eintracht Frankurt. I had heard of Frankfurt but I wasn’t sure what Eintracht was. The matches were two legs. I supposed this to be fair as it wasn’t like going to Sheffield for a cup tie.

The first leg was away and I got the result in the next day’s paper, we won 1-0! So it was really half time and we were 1-0 up, but it would be like kicking downhill with the wind in the second half of this tie. We had the Trent End to make things hard for the visitors. I knew we must upset the opposing goalies with all our vocal support. I noticed that the away match had attendance figure of 4500, I’m sure there were more in the Trent End alone!

The league form wasn’t anything to shout about, we beat Chelsea at home but lost to Southampton away, they seem to be a bit of a jinx Southampton. It came round to the first week of October and as the autumn came upon us it meant Goose Fair down Nottingham. I had to get some money together by doing errands and jobs around the house for this. I went to the match regular but then my dad enjoyed it too. I suppose it still cost money, but if it was Goose Fair or a home match I would have gone to the match. Forest were taking over my life.

Well my dad woke me up early on the Saturday with a letter. Strange I never get letters; but it wasn’t from the post as there was no address or stamp on it. Bleary eyed I opened it up and there was a Ten Shilling note inside. I was still a bit confused but there was a note. My dad stood while I read it. It said, ‘You are going to Turf Moor today to see Burnley v Forest – Dad.’

BRILLIANT! I couldn’t thank my mam and dad enough. Wait a minute, where’s Burnley? I knew it was somewhere up north. My dad wasn’t taking me, I was to go with Johnny Williams who lived up the street. He was a staunch Forest supporter and his mates too. They all worked down the pit and were smart and fashionable young men of their time and I was proud I had a chance to go with them. There was Melvin Hearne and Kieth Henshaw, regular Forest supporters, and they went to matches in a red Mini car.

I was up and ready in no time and my mam packed me some cream crackers and cheese to eat on the way. I kept looking out of the front door for any movement up at 20 Moseley Road and eventually I saw them getting in the car. I was outside in red and white hat and scarf, snap under my arm. They pulled in to the gennell to pick me up and a bloke named Tommy Allcock who lived at no 33. I was tucked into the back seat when there was a bit of a snag. Tommy couldn’t have had the approval of his wife and she followed him into the gennell pulling him back. Blinkin’ hell why was she doing that? I was too young to know all about marriage and its drawbacks for the football fan. Anyway it was comical but I dared not laugh like John, Mel and Kieth. I still kept to the rule that you didn’t cheek adults (so I suppose you didn’t laugh at their downfalls or domestics either).

After some pipping of the hooter (to make matters worse) Tommy got in the car and we drove off, I didn’t know where to put my face but the talk soon got to Forest and the previous few minutes were soon forgot.

They said we would go via Snake Pass, which sounded an adventure in its self. Well we would have done because there was no motorways like today. This was another world, John and his mates were pipping the hooter at any women walking along the side of the road and taking the mickey out of any locals along the way. This away match stuff was spot on, I wondered if I would be in a bit of a gang of lads when I grew up and would we be off on the razzle trying a few pints of beer before the matches.

We soon got to Burnley, which looked a real mill town of old. The stone built houses made it look as if we had gone back in time. We got near the town when we decided no one knew exactly where the ground was. The first bloke we saw to ask was an Indian fellow. Now being from Annesley the only time we saw Asians was in Nottingham except for the occasional door to door salesman with suitcase and turban. As kids we used to run a mile when the ‘tommatic-lactic’ man came round. We were told he would put us in his suitcase and take us away. The title tommatic-lactic came from an Annesley interpretation of ‘sell missus elastic’.

Well Johnny and them were just an older version of Annesley Bulldog and they had to take the piss out of his accent. He directed us and told us to look for ‘the big floodlights’. This we did and found the ground. Parking up and then they headed for the pub. I had to wait outside and didn’t mind, as I loved soaking up the atmosphere as more and more Reds fans came on the scene. A gang of Burnley fans came towards the pub chanting their teams name and I started to worry a bit. But within seconds about three coach loads of Forest fans could be heard around the corner and they disappeared. I gave a wave to them all. They were a part of my family and some waved and cheered at this lone Forest fan standing in a pub doorway.

They finally came out of the pub and we headed for the ground, we didn’t have an end as the opposite goals there was an open end, like our Bridgford end (kop).

We stood on the large terrace down the side under a roof for good acoustics. I felt pretty good as the crowd started to sing, when all of a sudden before the ground filled up the whole of the Burnley end came running at us. You could do this as the terrace was all one and there were no fences. Well before I could actually see what was going on I heard the firecrackers going off. They were throwing ‘bangers’ at us as they charged. Initially everyone headed off for the opposite end but I think some of the older Forest lads gave as good as they got and the Burnley throng went back. I was dragged to safety by Johnny and thankful too. I remember one youth from school got hit with a bottle in the melee and had to have stitches.

That was one of my first experiences of football violence. I knew ‘scarf knicking’ went off at matches and it was done by Forest’s Grease faction, rockers, motorbikers in their leather jackets. You would see some of the Grease sporting opposition’s scarves around their own like an American Indian would a white man’s scalp. There were different types of Rockers, now known as Grease. There were the Hells Angels and Troggs as well as ordinary Rockers. The Mods went to matches as well but the Mods v Rockers fights didn’t emerge in the Trent End for some reason; I don’t think anyone tangled with the Grease. Some of my cousins were Troggs and they were scary.

Well everything settled down and we got back to football. There was a cup-tie atmosphere and Burnley took the lead so we could only manage a draw, The King getting our equaliser. I was a bit disappointed with only a draw, but I was informed that a draw away from home was good.

The bad blood between both supporters spilled outside the ground after the match and we had to drive through a lot of the home supporters in the town. They saw the red and white of our scarves (which I didn’t hang out of the window just yet). There was some banging on the roof of the car and I was getting a bit scared now. But Johnny just drove at them and there was a lot of revving up as Kieth was threatening them from the safety of the car. I heard quite a few swearwords during that short time, real ‘pit language’ as the older folk termed it.

It was the return leg of the Eintracht tie and we were ahead 1-0. I was looking forward to seeing Forest against foreign opposition of whom I knew very little about. I knew they had a couple of internationals in the side and after all West Germany made the final in ’66. There was a great atmosphere again, only this time the opposition had no vocal support. Joe Baker showed he was the King still by netting two goals with one from Sammy Chapman and one from John Winfield, a rarity.

Who next and when was the draw? Could we get one of those famous sides from Spain? I knew Mrs Gratton, a neighbour, would bring round the Evening Post as soon as any news came in. I was on the learning curve of European football.