Like most fans my age, Lisbon was a golden day of my childhood. I was a 10-year-old boy who, like most of my pals, was absolutely obsessed with football and all things Celtic. I read voraciously all the press reports coming out of the Celtic camp in Estoril and I remember my heart bursting with anticipation. It’s probably the first event in my life that I was literally counting the minutes to kick off (I think I started that straight after the game in Prague!).

The game itself was a joy to watch on our wee black and white TV. My best mate was round and my Mum was doing the ironing while we were glued to the set. The feeling when Gemmell scored was euphoric. Dad’s cup of tea went flying across the floor as we celebrated and I remember being a bit bemused that he didn’t get a telling off from Mum! I was brought up in Govan and, at the end of the game, a group of us went to play football in the primary school opposite Ibrox and talk about the game. There were a lot of Tommy Gemmells and Stevie Chalmers playing that night.

I remember from that age wanting to visit Lisbon and Estoril but years get filled with family (5 sons!) and work and so it never happened. I was lucky enough to retire four years ago and that gave me the chance to start going to European away games. I still remember now my Mum not allowing me to accompany a friend of the family to the Vojvodina away game, a fact I remind her off when I go off to Barcelona, Israel or wherever. However, when I retired in the summer of 2013 there was one date firmly etched in the calendar. A trip to Lisbon in May 2017.

So it was great excitement and a feeling that this was a pilgrimage 50 years in the making that I boarded the plane at Stansted on Tuesday morning. The trip got off to a great start when the pilot announced his name as Wim Jansen! Not our Wim I’m sure but I was then looking forward to being flown back by Martin O’Neill.

The Tuesday in Lisbon was quietly spent doing touristy things but even then I had the feeling I was amongst ghosts. Main squares  seemed as familiar to me as home due to the number of times I’ve seen pics of Celtic fans there in ’67. There were a few fans already around so my wanderings were punctuated by the odd Hail Hail and Up the Hoops as the Celtic family started coming together. My experience going abroad is of great fun and camaraderie with other fans but normally a defeat, or at best a draw. In 17 away trips I’ve only seen one win, against Stjarnan in Reykjavik. This time I knew the trip was going to end in a victory. The most important victory in the club’s history.

On the Wednesday I set off for the beautifully named seaside town of Estoril. This place had developed a mythical status to me as a boy so I was literally feeling a bit of wonderment as the train travelled along the beautiful coastline west of Lisbon. When you arrive there  you go down an underpass and come out at the town side of the track and there it was standing in full view. The Hotel Palacio. The place where the team stayed for four nights (I think). The place where they prepared for the biggest game of their lives. The place that they scrambled over walls to get to on the night before the game. The place where Tommy Gemmell pinched Big Jock’s hat by the pool. The place they came back to with the European Cup.

Now I’ve been lucky to stay in some very nice hotels in my life but the Hotel Palacio is the most luxurious by far, to the point that I wondered how they tore themselves away to play a game of football. I was delighted to discover that one of the concierges, Jose, had worked at the hotel in May ’67 as a 17 year old. He remembers carrying the kit into the hotel and the team being quiet and focused. I can imagine them being focused but I thought it was stretching my credulity to imagine a team with Bertie Auld, Tommy Gemmell and wee Jinky being quiet! He got friendly with the team and was given a Celtic top as a gift and a ticket for the game. He was saying that there are Celtic fans staying at the hotel regularly and that he is still in contact with the Lions, particularly Bertie. In fact he has been given a ticket to attend the gala evening being held in London next Wednesday so I said I’ll see him there. A lovely man, and if you are lucky enough to visit Estoril then he’ll be delighted to have a chat …and also to tell you that he was in a Bond film when they filmed On Her Majesty’s Secret Service there!

On the Wednesday night it was back in to Lisbon to attend a banquet organised by Jim McGinley of CQN fame (Brogan Rogan Trevino). There were about 400 Celtic fans in a lovely 17th (?) Century palace in the heart of Lisbon. There we were treated to a five course meal and as much drink as you wanted included in the price. The cyclists were present and it was great to be able to show our appreciation for their great efforts. It was also good to have a wee chat with Phil Macgiollabhain who has written many informative and often hilarious articles re the ‘Downfall ‘ of oldco and the parlours state of newco. We also had live music from The Spirit of 67 so there was a lot of singing of old and new favs…helped by the free drinks I think! But the best bit was the camaraderie that I mentioned earlier. As happens when your with people who share a passion we all had so many stories to tell. I found myself sitting by a guy who I had been on the same supporters bus with in the early 70s, the Stanley St bus in Kinning Park. Surprisingly we didn’t recognise each other with the passing of over 40 years! Having to go back to Estoril I left early (about midnight) and the strains of The Fields of Athenry could be heard for some distance in the Lisbon night. Well done and thanks to Jim for organising such a great evening.

The next day was the special one though. I was following the Lions, going from Estoril to the Estadio Nacional. Memories and feelings from 50 years ago came flooding back, particularly relating to people who are no longer with us, like my Dad. People who had lived in a West of Scotland where your life chances were affected by your religion. Where major banks and businesses didn’t employ Catholics. Where ‘No travellers or Irish’ was a common sign. People who felt that they would get no justice in that society. People who had to put up with being told that they weren’t “The People”, that they were inferior and should go back to Ireland.People  for whom Celtic was an expression of solidarity and defiance and, after Lisbon, an expression of triumph and hope. I have no doubt that a generation of Catholics in the West of Scotland were so inspired by Lisbon that it had a transformative effect on their own lives. So it was not surprising that I had a wee lump in my throat as I walked through the tree lined park heading for the stadium, 50 years to the day that my Dad’s cup of tea went flying. This was a pilgrimage. A homage to the fans that had made the journey in ’67. A homage to the Lions particularly those who have passed away or have become seriously ill. But most importantly a homage to the generation above me. My Dad and uncles who have died but for whom Lisbon meant everything.

The stadium seems to be completely unchanged from all the footage from the original game. Sadly we couldn’t go on the pitch as it’s the Portuguese Cup Final this weekend but it was emotional s to sit behind the goal and picture Tommy’s shot, Chalmers diversion, the pitch invasion and, most iconically of all, Big Billy holding the Cup aloft. We also visited the courtyard where the dressing rooms are and saw the plaque to the game set up by Fred and Dave from The History Bhoys.

That night was to be my last in Lisbon for this trip; I need to go back so that I can sing The Celtic Song in the tunnel and go on the pitch and stay again in the Hotel Palacio! It was marked by a street party organised by Jim. At the banquet Jim had asked the question…what other football club could bring hundreds of fans almost two thousand miles….not to see a game? This is so true and I experienced it directly during the party. I spent a lot of it on a bridge overlooking the fans and regularly a passerby would ask me what was going on. I’d point to my Lisboa 1967 shirt for explanation and they would then ask which game was being played now. When I said none I could see the bafflement in their faces. Only Celtic.

To paraphrase a song we all know.
This is how it feels to be Celtic.
Hail Hail

Howard Gilbert

1 COMMENT

  1. Hi Howard, Just saw your photo and realised we were sitting at the same table at the celebration dinner! We also spoke at Lisbon airport on Friday morning and yes we found out we used to travel to games on the Stanley bar Celtic supporters bus around 1970, It was great to meet you in Lisbon all the best.Davy.

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