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Jimmy Montgomery’s autograph. He wasn’t playing as he and others were being rested for the big day.
I was living in a large students’ hall of residence about ten minutes’ walk from Kings Cross Station, an ideal spot for rendezvousing with the thousands of arriving Sunderland fans. My friend Keith from Sunderland was living on the next floor down and on the great day we met his uncle and his cousin and took in some of the fantastic atmosphere at the station, which was swarming with people wearing all manner of red and white appendages. I myself had a scarf, boater, rosette and little woolly man – like thousands of Wearside mothers my Mam had been busy. Keith and his relatives already had tickets so I saw them off and headed up to Wembley from Euston along with two other Sunderland friends, Col and Howard. None of us had tickets and the papers were saying that touts were getting £120 from some desperate punters. Our plan was to stick around till about 2.30 and possibly buy a ticket or at least soak up the vibes. Then we’d head to Howard’s flat nearby and watch it on the telly with a few beers.
As we walked to the ground from the station the team coach happened to pass us and as we were the only group of fans on that particular stretch some of them spotted us and waved as we leapt about screaming like mad things. I hardly saw any Leeds fans outside Wembley but there were loads of ours, a lot of whom just seemed to be there for the crack without any serious hope of getting in. I saw Bobby
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