1990: On the Shoulders of Giants

To celebrate the 35-year anniversary of our FA Trophy win, we wanted to share online the recent fanzine article where Phil Mc gives us a heartfelt journey through that triumph and the unsung heroes who made it possible.

1990: not quite the land that time forgot. Doug McClure never turned out for us as far as I know, but almost. It's been 35 years, friends, 35 years. To ask me to write about this time in our history is both a pleasure but also a bit of a head-scratcher! How to remember a time that was spent in hedonistic indulgence? I'll try – for any historic inaccuracies I blame my friends, the ones who led me astray.

First though, another indulgence: post-1990 everyone has come in for praise (and rightfully so) – the Board, the Players, the Manager & Staff and the thousands who made the journey south to Wembley. However, I'd like to go back further in time and acknowledge those who undeniably saved our club, those who in all likelihood would not wish for the spotlight to be on them. I'm talking of those supporters who stuck with the club in the thinnest time imaginable, those years between '72 and '77. Imagine going to Pwllheli and having to take shelter in the players' changing room. Imagine going to Boston, losing by seven, getting chased and beaten up. Imagine always finishing in the bottom two year on year in the NPL. Imagine knowing your very existence was imperilled – yet always going back for more. Rattling tins for the Development Branch, opening a tiny club shop at the end of the main stand, operating the two snack bars – basically keeping the club alive. Imagine it...and pay thanks!

I shall name a few names. I will miss some and for that I am sorry: TK, Lloydy, Keith M, CJ, Vic R, Vic B, Big Ernie, Mike B, Les P & Tommy from Cark, Frank, John C, John M, Tony J, Tony H, Dave B (who also donned THE shirt), Chalky, Colin C, my brother, Ray H, Raymond W, Mike H, the other PhilMc, Les H, Bet R – I would say the majority of those would have been in attendance for our nadir, crowds-wise, the 143 in '73.

These guys marked the pitch, painted the stands, climbed the floodlights, sold the programmes and raised monies. In my eyes these guys are legends who oughtn't be forgotten. THANK YOU – 1990: this was for you!

Cup Success:

To place Wembley, where we remain unbeaten and unbeatable, into context one has to acknowledge the suffering post-1972. Never mind would we have a football team that could finish outside the bottom three, but would we have a football team to support at all – dire were the times and cup success was as scarce as Dale buying a round. The three cup successes were hardly earth-shattering but they still left me euphoric.

80/81 saw us up against Chorley in the Lancs (Junior!) Cup Final played at an increasingly decrepit Springfield Park. We won. The victory included a free-kick routine which had spectacularly failed all season. Joy. I distinctly recall being on the pitch post-match awaiting the trophy presentation and looking up at the black sky and gently falling rain which, and I kid you not, mixed & mingled with my salty tears! 'Living the Dream' indeed – anyone scoffing can sod right off! Next up was our double successes in the mighty Cambrian Cup (think Champions League then divide by a billion) beating Burscough in '82 and Clitheroe in '83. NB neither of these victories made me cry. I do, however, recall quaffing liberally from the actual, yes the actual, Cambrian Cup and feeling like a winner. And that was it – quick, someone knock us up a trophy cabinet – that was our cup success – we accepted our lot.

The 1990 Season:

The 1990 season, soundtracked by Primal Scream, 'Madchester' & Cicciolina, and that period in general was remarkable. A team infinitely and instantly recognisable, liberally sprinkled as it was with quality Furnessians 

The 1990 season, soundtracked by Primal Scream, 'Madchester' & Cicciolina, and that period in general was remarkable. A team infinitely and instantly recognisable, liberally sprinkled as it was with quality Furnessians honest as the day is long and players, wonderful players, from the North-East complete with the genial genius of wonderful Peter Farrell, who went on to become a Social Worker – how many pro-players do that? All under the careful, nurturing and compassionate leadership of Ray Wilkie. How bloody fortunate were we? Players confident and self-assured enough to come drink in our favourite Barrovian watering-hole the much-missed White Lion (Slater St!). This was a special team – we sensed it – a team that knew who & what it was. The run to the final was a mish-mash blur – the heartaches of the Enfield clashes & the misery (but pride) at the Maine Road loss still fresh. I remember nothing of the first round tie with Bangor City (crowd 1005). I do, however, vividly recall the second round versus Met Police – all the rumours/evidence of police brutality was clearly evident that day at Holker St. Doherty in particular took an absolute pounding – brutal. The Yeovil away game at their old Huish Park, a 1-1 draw, was memorable only for the house-bricks that rained down on us post-match as we scurried for shelter. 

The Tuesday evening replay at Holker St was windy – yep, it's generally windy, but this was windy windy – winds that rattled and lifted the roof on the Holker End, our end. But we were young, stinking and unafraid! (This was the night I'd offered to allow two Yeovil fans to kip on my Barrow Island flat floor – I feel sure they never threw the bricks – eventually they were offered seats on the team bus for the return journey south).

Kingstonian away – a blur. Did Mickey Droy play? A draw. Back to basecamp for another Tuesday replay and a comfortable win – did Mickey Droy play?

The semi-final first leg away to parvenu, billy-big-balls Colne Dynamos and their filthy rich benefactor {kids, never fall in love with a sugar-daddy!} at their cramped, ugly stadium. It was steamy and packed, very packed – with lots of Bobbies in attendance and a surfeit of Barrow fans blagging tickets in the home end. Gilmour was the man! The only other outstanding event of the day was the G'eB lot opting for shorts (NB shorts were no way as ubiquitous then – trust me) – one lad opted for lycra. A brave decision which became a foolhardy decision! How does one spell crotch-itch?! The second-leg passed in a glorious, victorious flash. Best memory of the day: hugging some of the aforementioned supporter-legends I mentioned at the beginning of this piece on the field after a mass eruption of pitch-invading pure joy. And a chat with TK – we talked of hearing and singing along to 'Abide With Me' at Wembley – sadly this reserved for FA Cup finals only. Gah.

Wembley – feck me – we were going to Wembley!

The Weekend:

A long weekend in London for hedonism and fun as we slept on the floor of our friend Martin's place – I had no recollection of where this was until I bumped into Martin after the recent Walsall game – in East Dulwich. Massive BAFC flag fluttering from Martin's second floor living room window announcing our presence. Cheers Martin!! The final itself involved meeting up with friends in Camden for beers, hugs and a journey to Wembley – Wembley, a testament to world football: the Mighty Magyars, Hurst, tartan invasions and the 'clown' Jan Tomaszewski. We had Steve Higgins, right!!! There was little resistance as we bossed it. 

To think that the goals were scored by the real Lord Walney, the Flookburgh god-head and the final touch of the game made by a son of Hindpool/Ormsgill. All hail Furness. The day was wonderful, the weekend too, the journey home less so, as fatigue and a Mickey Droy-sized hangover worked its anti-magic. But wait, wait, hangovers always pass and with it the realisation that we were winners after all battled the fug, leaving pride to come creeping in (rather like a late run into the box by Billy Gilmour) – massive pride in what our club had achieved. We journeyed north, "Tickled Trout there Dale etc", onto the A590 (our road!) and the ever-increasing blue & white street celebrations and welcomes...from Greenodd through Ulverston (where residents rattled their jewellery and waved their sequinned Barra scarves!), through Swarty and Cross-a-Moor, through 'Tache County the throng grew and grew – this was ace! Then the town centre and (a) stiffeners in the Lion before wending away along Duke St to our back-to-front Town Hall and the outpouring of pure pleasure.

The balcony, the wonderful balcony scenes, as the crowd greeted the conquering squad – nods to Peter McDonnell for his heartfelt, humbling words and to Ian Burgess for his splendid overuse of the word 'brilliant' – it was brilliant.

Post script:

I didn't have my photo taken with the Trophy. I didn't need to – it was all, or nearly all, up there taps head. The glory of it all embedded in my psyche and my DNA too – genetics, my friends, it must be genetic as both my boys love our team. Maybe my DNA helix was positively distorted in 1990?!

However, this success, in my humble opinion, was absolutely for those folk I mentioned earlier – those who stood by the club in the face of dire circumstances and never gave up – I was late to the party, becoming hooked in season 1975/76, but grateful to them.

I mentioned that I cried at Springfield Park – I didn't cry at Wembley, make of that what you will.

To those boys, men now, whom I still see regularly on the terraces and stay in touch with – THANK YOU.

1990: Standing on the Shoulders of Giants!

35 Anniversary Give ‘em Beans Trophy T-SHIRT

Rumour has it that Phil Mc was strolling through Sloane Square in this very t-shirt when he was spotted by none other than fashion virtuoso Vivienne Westwood, who stopped him in his tracks and declared it was the greatest thing she'd seen since Malcolm McLaren walked into Sex (boutique) wearing a Dukla Prague away kit (something like that anyway). She offered him two thousand quid for the design patent but he told her stick it up her stockings. 

So... as worn on that special day in 1990 by Phil (as you can see from the article picture), proudly flying the flag for Barrow AFC and Give 'Em Beans!, now you can do the same with this limited edition reissue. 

So celebrate 35 years of FA Trophy glory in style and with 10% of takings going to the Bluebird Trust

To get you hands on one, simply click on the link below

Reissue of the Give 'Em Beans - Cowps God or What? T-SHIRT

While you're here and thinking about the big guy from Flookburgh and the heroes of 1990, we've recently re-released the classic "Give 'Em Beans - Cowps God or What?" T-shirt in two different colours. Click the link below for more details.