Being a Mancunian and specifically a Manchester United fan, I "hate" Scousers. Obviously, of course, I don't really. There have been so many economic migrants from Merseyside to Manchester that one finds that most of one's friends and neighbours are at least part Scouse.
And, anyway, the Easter vacation of 1989 found me in Nottingham. I had a job in one of the University Halls of Residence, mainly doing bar work for Conferences. That particular Saturday there was a wedding in Hall. We spent the early afternoon preparing, pouring out the glasses of sherry and orange juice, and then circulating with a tray, to allow guests to take another glass, and to collect the empties.
At 3.30 the guests were called through to the sit-down part, whihc was our opportunity for a break. I was working with an older woman, a local, who worked permanently at the Hall. She suggested we went into the Senior Common Room and found out how Forest were doing in the FA Cup Semi-Final.
In the doorway of the SCR stood a post-grad, Malaysian I think. She was visibly upset. My colleague asked how Forest were doing. The post-grad said "There's been some people killed." It takes time for that message to sink in. At that stage, barely half an hour after events, the news from the TV was confused. I began to think of all the people who might have been there: all sorts of people at Nottingham University adopted Forest as their team. Also, my cousin's son was a regular at matches in those days. I didn't know at the time but found out subsequently that he had been unable to attend the semi-final (no doubt to considerable annoyance) due to a conflicting requirement to attend his cousins' (on the other side) christenings. I didn't specifically know who among my friends, circle and acquaintances would be at the game but I knew potentially it was many.
When it became clear that the casualties were Liverpool fans, I was relieved. It's not a nice thing to write now and wasn't a nice thing to feel then. But being around Nottingham over the next few days, I knew I was not alone with conflicting feelings. It's a heavy burden of guilt to bear for the feelings of relief.
I spent the evening working the bar for the wedding, conscious of a tense, non-celebratory atmosphere. Many of the guests were Nottingham graduates. But it wasn't just a Nottingham thing; many years later a colleague was saying it was her 21st and her father's 60th joint party; nobody felt much like celebrating, and that was somewhere in the Home Counties.
Later that week I was in town using the Trent Poly library (Film Studies essay to complete; their library was better than ours for certain things). There was a nationwide few moments silence. I hovered on the outer reaches of Slab Square. I have no visual memory of that time, but will never forget the silence, tension and emotion.
Several months earlier I had been to Hillsborough, when Manchester United had played there. It was a particularly unpleasant experience, second only to the Baseball Ground Derby when I had been literally lifted off my feet and carried along by the crowd. In retrospect, I know I should have made a fuss about the experience, but in those days, we accepted crush and confusion, it was part of the football experience. To complain would mark one down as a girl, a prawn-mayonnaise eater from the suburbs. Besides, who to complain to? We didn't have www back there. My MPs were both from a party intent on demonising football fans as hooligans and scum (I had had a letter from Martin Brandon-Bravo, Conservative, Nottingham South, on the subject of compulsory football club membership, which hadn't used those words but had implied the sentiment).
There is always this little niggle in my head. Could I have prevented Hillsborough? The answer is, of course, no. But it taught me. Always question, never accept. What was ultimately a trivial case of claustrophobia and confusion for me turned into death for 96 others, many of them younger than me (which in itself is quite difficult to take at 21).
