You’ll never walk alone…

Back in the ‘Pool… My favourite English city, and that’s quite an accolade from a Geordie! Nevertheless, Liverpool has an extraordinary energy and its natives some of the friendliest on the planet. Last year I was moved to publish a blog when staying in the Youth Hostel here, now my favourite since the demise of Holland Park in London.

Dusk comes to the Albert Dock in Liverpool.

Dusk comes to the Albert Dock in Liverpool.

Last year, I was able to pay my respects to my old friend, Kevin, who died at twenty one years of age when the Liverpool registered ship, ‘Derbyshire’ sank in a typhoon off the east coast of Japan.

And now, I am reminded again that this wonderful city is no stranger to sadness and adversity, for while walking to the magnificent central library, I passed a memorial to the Hillsborough Disaster of 1989, where ninety-six natives of Liverpool were needlessly killed (and seven hundred and seventy six injured) in Sheffield during the Semi final of the FA Cup between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest.

The memorial to the Hillsborough Disaster.

The memorial to the Hillsborough Disaster outside Liverpool’s magnificent library.

Many remember bitterly, the vitriolic campaign against the Liverpool fans by certain members of the British ‘gutter press’ and the subsequent ‘cover-up’ by the South Yorkshire Police, in the enquiry; but that’s not for me to discuss here. (if you want to know more)

No, for me, as a passionate football fan myself, although somewhat less these days since our game was stolen from us by the corporate money men (Let’s not get me started on that. I will not reply to any comments on this subject) I stood for a little moment in quiet reflection, thinking back to that awful day in 1989 when fans from all teams came together in horrified empathy.

A moving Geordie tribute.

My tribe… A moving Geordie tribute to the fallen.

I cry a little for those folk as the wind from the Mersey films my eyes… the experience is more emotional than expected. Maybe it is hard to understand, this crazy love of such a simple game, but up here in the North of Britain, football is like a religion. Tyneside (and Wearside!) Liverpool, Manchester and Glasgow, are huge bastions of footballing passion. My own Grandfather had a heart attack in his mid fifties after Sunderland beat Newcastle United with a last minute goal, so I understand it, believe me. Football can be a serious business…

The sun sets on another day in this remarkable city, but I want to be alone for a while…

For Kevin, and for the fallen of 1989…

You’ll never walk alone…


About Viking Queen

I am a sailor and I live on my boat 'Free'. I have no home but originate from Tyneside. I have no allegiance, just a desire to do no harm and live with courage and an open heart.
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8 Responses to You’ll never walk alone…

  1. Eva Vallin says:

    When you walk through a storm
    Hold your head up high
    And don’t be afraid of the dark…

    Nice words, my friend..
    One day I’m gonna learn that song, and sing it for you, my friend..cause you never walk alone..
    Love from Eva

    • Viking Queen says:

      Beautiful words Eva, and for sure you are correct. In Borka you have always walked with me and I’ll never forget that.

  2. Very touching, Poppy.
    Remember Thatcher and her ‘managed decline’ plan for Liverpool?
    Ding-dong, at least that witch is dead.

    Lead on the good witches!

  3. Viking Queen says:

    Lest we forget…

  4. Andy says:

    Liverpool-hometown of my favourite band and my mother in law. In that order 🙂

    • Viking Queen says:

      And you a Manc? 😉

      I’d keep that quiet!!!

      • Andy says:

        I know! When my wife and I first became an item (despite being friends since we were seven) I went to a family party at a social club in Kirby. I asked for a pint, and the girl behind the bar said to me “When are ya goin’ back to woolly back land then?” (I’m trying to convey a strong, Scouse accent. You will have to imagine it.)
        I replied “Where’s woolly back land?”
        “Well, you’re obviously from Wigin.” (Wigan.)
        “I’m not from Wigan.”
        “Well, where are you from?”
        “Near Rochdale.”
        “In Manchester.”
        With the uttering of the ‘M’ word, everything seemed to stop, like that scene in An American Werewolf in London. As everyone turned to look at me, a guy said “You’re not a United fan, are you?”
        When I told him I definitely wasn’t, I was a City fan, all conversation and normality resumed. This was in the days when City were rubbish and a threat to no-one.

      • Viking Queen says:

        Classic Andy!
        I thought Wigin (Wigan!) was pie eating land? Still I’d love to have seen that! 😉

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