It was during the demise of the Jim Iley era. I can’t remember the exact date or the opposition but I do remember my dad lifting me and my brother over the turnstiles and bunging the bloke operating it enough to get a half in exchange for getting us in. Standing at the back of the West Stand, woodbine smoke, steam and stench from the bogs filling the air. We climbed the steps and that’s when I saw the hallowed turf for the first time. My dad paid (5p I think) to an old fella to hire a red cushion as a dual purpose to a) elevate me for a better view and b) what was more his thinking, to prevent me moaning about being uncomfortable for ninety minutes. It was the start of a love affair that like any marriage has had its rocky moments but now, almost 50 years on is still going strong. That’s where I spent my first couple of seasons before moving on to the top of the St. John Ambulance box in the Brewery Stand, a brief flirtation in the Ponty and then on to standing on the terrace behind the home dugout where if it weren’t for the findings of the Taylor Report, I’d still be until this day. When the news of the temporary closure of the East Stand was announced the choice of where to relocate to was obvious. Back to where it all began. I rang the box office to see if I could swap seats over the phone but it was a case of get having to do it in person at Oakwell. That was no issue, the lads and lasses in there have enough stress without me adding to it, especially without Beth around (Come on lass – Keep fighting) and so the I set off in good time to get to the ground early. Upon arrival I made my way to the fella’s under the gazebos and asked for West Stand Upper. They literally had about half a dozen left and I took the last one on row one. I even got a free cup of Bovril – a nice gesture by the club. The little things can make a huge difference. On entering the ground, I thought I’d have a quick recce to find my seat and in doing so found myself reminiscing of my early days supporting the reds. I took a few pictures of the old wooden seats and just wished that my dad was still around and that he could have joined me. Where to next? Obviously, the (in)famous West Stand Bogs! Looking up to the night sky I noticed a couple of weeds growing through the glass-topped brickwork. I smiled in the hope that these had been purposely left there as the club’s version to pot-pourri and then I smiled a little more as I overheard a young lad complaining to his dad that he’d just “splashed him”! Making my way to the food kiosk I was informed that although there were plenty of pies on show, that they weren’t for sale as they weren’t cooked enough and that there would be a wait for them. Not to be deterred, I approached a really helpful steward (they do exist) who allowed me to nip in to the Ponty to buy one. If they weren’t hot enough in the West Stand, they certainly were in there. The pastry was almost cremated and the filling was on a par with molten lava. As the kick off approached, I made my way to my seat and soon realised my only mistake of the night. Row A of West Stand Upper, is, to say the least a bit snug. Especially when you are a 6ft 2in 15 stone bloke. It makes a Jet 2 economy seat feel like a Shackletons. To make matters worse, the old fella hiring out the red cushions was long gone. Probably to somewhere in another universe, sat with my old man, looking down on us and cursing at the dross played under Iley before the more heady days of Clarke and Hunter. Crunched forward, legs crosssed under the seat and a feeling that the skin off my knees may be rubbed off by the wall in front at any time, the teams entered the arena. My view wasn’t the best. I couldn’t see the scoreboard properly but that didn’t matter as long as I watched the match and kept a mental note of the score and because it was such a pleasing performance, all of a sudden I forgot about the discomfort and the seating and the nostalgic feelings came flooding back. There was a ripple of “Come on you Reds” when we got a corner and the hairs stood on the back of my neck. That took me back again to those infant days. Happy times, even in defeat. The fella next to me piped up that the stand should be pulled down and replaced but I wasn’t having any of that. Oakwell would never be the same. In any case, I’ve been to many a ground across the country following the reds and had a lot worse seats and views so I wasn’t going to let him get the better of me. Except for one great headed finish when unmarked, Pompey were never at the races and I thought we were well deserved of our victory and at the final whistle I made my way with a shout of Iley Out as I went. Would I sit in the West Stand regularly? No. I’m much more accustomed to the East Stand Upper nowadays, with indoor facilities, better food outlets, more leg room and a much better view but I’ll still pay a visit every now and again. If only to shout “ILEY OUT” one more time.
