History for Jaykiwi82

I wanted to share this story about just a few of the people I have met who suffered and still live with Hillsborough weighing heavy on their minds,
I often want to post about football on here but it is hard finding the time to write, this piece is entitled "But I Was Wrong"


But I was wrong

Living in Merseyside, I try to attend the Hillsborough memorial service every year and I have only missed two services, due to being away overseas at the time. I can't remember where I was on the second occasion, but the first time I was in Istanbul preparing to go to Gallipoli. The two sombre days are close together in the annual calendar with the Hillsborough memorial service coming on the 15th of April, just ten days before Anzac Day on the 25th.

On the twentieth anniversary of the disaster, I was working the early shift in work starting at 7am; finishing at around 330 in the afternoon. I asked my manager if I could leave early that day and she let me go at around 2pm. I ran upstairs quickly, got changed and was out the front gate, halfway along the dock road. Upon checking the time, I realised I wouldn't make it if I caught the bus so I hurriedly crossed the road and flagged down a taxi. I got in the taxi and the driver asked "Where are you going mate?" I asked him to take me up to Anfield. I explained that I was going to the Hillsborough service; he did a double take and enquired "Why'd you leave it so late?" I explained to him that I was still meant to be in work and that I'd been fortunate enough to finish early that day."I was at Hillsborough" he said turning back towards the road.

There is a small pub on County Road where we all get together and sing a few songs before and after going to the match. One night after a game, I was standing at the bar next to an old boy who was almost doubled over; I could hardly understand him when he spoke, my friend Andrew was singing "Justice", there had been a justice mosaic in the Kop before that night's game, the old guy leaned over and said to me "I was there." I bought him a fresh pint and told Andrew, he muttered and looked down shaking his head then he went over to him.

My first away day was at Wigan with Andrew on the train. This is what we usually refer to as a 'doorstep away', over time a small collective grew; a group of us would hire a van and drive across the country to see our beloved reds play. One day, Andrew who worked as a teacher told me he had Peter who drives the van come to his class and speak to his students about Hillsborough. Until then, I never realised Peter was there. Andrew explained that Peter was in the Leppings Lane pen had been crushed, lost consciousness and was passed out, over the top of the fence and resuscitated on the pitch, his wife was pregnant with his son Tom at the time.

Earlier in March this year, I had asked Peter if there were any spare tickets 'about for the Derby', he had passed my number on to a friend of his. On a wet and rainy Tuesday night, outside the Stanley pub, I met his softly spoken friend Damian, who wouldn't even let me buy him a pint as a thank you for helping me out. Only yesterday did I realise Damian was at Hillsborough too.
In every town in New Zealand, in even the smallest towns, you will find a memorial to the soldiers who died at Gallipoli, everyone everywhere was affected by it. The same rings true for Hillsborough on Merseyside; every one of the 96 fans who died was someone's son or daughter, someone's brother or sister, someone's husband or wife, someone's cousin, friend or neighbour, everyone was affected red and blue alike. I always used to liken my regard for Hillsborough to Anzac day in that we should simply remember and respect. I put it to Andrew that "96 fans went to a football game and didn't come home" but I was wrong "No kiwi" he said firmly "They didn't come home because of the South Yorkshire Police force" and he was right.

Most people outside Liverpool just don't realise that nobody has been make accountable or brought to justice for the death of 96 innocent football fans. The two Hillsborough documentaries, one broadcast by the BBC and one by ITV Granada over the past two nights were only shown in the Northwest and Yorkshire; whilst Londoners were subjected to a rerun of Michael McIntyre. This only highlights the lack of understanding outside these regions.
I remember us all on an away day outside a pub in London conversing with Chelsea fans about our respective seasons and one of the Chelsea fans asked "Why can't people just move on over Hillsborough?" When he went inside someone sadly exclaimed "He just doesn't get it."

It is a credit to Liverpudlians that they have continued to campaign and make noise; in doing so they haven't let their own people down. I can only hope that the full release of the documents gives the families the whole truth and the answers they have been waiting so long to receive.

I just wanted to share this about just a few of the people I have met who suffered and still live with Hillsborough weighing heavy on their minds,
I often want to post about football on here but it is hard finding the time to write this piece is entitled "But I Was Wrong"


But I was wrong

Living in Merseyside, I try to attend the Hillsborough memorial service every year and I have only missed two services, due to being away overseas at the time. I can't remember where I was on the second occasion, but the first time I was in Istanbul preparing to go to Gallipoli. The two sombre days are close together in the annual calendar with the Hillsborough memorial service coming on the 15th of April, just ten days before Anzac Day on the 25th.

On the twentieth anniversary of the disaster, I was working the early shift in work starting at 7am; finishing at around 330 in the afternoon. I asked my manager if I could leave early that day and she let me go at around 2pm. I ran upstairs quickly, got changed and was out the front gate, halfway along the dock road. Upon checking the time, I realised I wouldn't make it if I caught the bus so I hurriedly crossed the road and flagged down a taxi. I got in the taxi and the driver asked "Where are you going mate?" I asked him to take me up to Anfield. I explained that I was going to the Hillsborough service; he did a double take and enquired "Why'd you leave it so late?" I explained to him that I was still meant to be in work and that I'd been fortunate enough to finish early that day."I was at Hillsborough" he said turning back towards the road.

There is a small pub on County Road where we all get together and sing a few songs before and after going to the match. One night after a game, I was standing at the bar next to an old boy who was almost doubled over; I could hardly understand him when he spoke, my friend Andrew was singing "Justice", there had been a justice mosaic in the Kop before that night's game, the old guy leaned over and said to me "I was there." I bought him a fresh pint and told Andrew, he muttered and looked down shaking his head then he went over to him.

My first away day was at Wigan with Andrew on the train. This is what we usually refer to as a 'doorstep away', over time a small collective grew; a group of us would hire a van and drive across the country to see our beloved reds play. One day, Andrew who worked as a teacher told me he had Peter who drives the van come to his class and speak to his students about Hillsborough. Until then, I never realised Peter was there. Andrew explained that Peter was in the Leppings Lane pen had been crushed, lost consciousness and was passed out, over the top of the fence and resuscitated on the pitch, his wife was pregnant with his son Tom at the time.

Earlier in March this year, I had asked Peter if there were any spare tickets 'about for the Derby', he had passed my number on to a friend of his. On a wet and rainy Tuesday night, outside the Stanley pub, I met his softly spoken friend Damian, who wouldn't even let me buy him a pint as a thank you for helping me out. Only yesterday did I realise Damian was at Hillsborough too.
In every town in New Zealand, in even the smallest towns, you will find a memorial to the soldiers who died at Gallipoli, everyone everywhere was affected by it. The same rings true for Hillsborough on Merseyside; every one of the 96 fans who died was someone's son or daughter, someone's brother or sister, someone's husband or wife, someone's cousin, friend or neighbour, everyone was affected red and blue alike. I always used to liken my regard for Hillsborough to Anzac day in that we should simply remember and respect. I put it to Andrew that "96 fans went to a football game and didn't come home" but I was wrong "No kiwi" he said firmly "They didn't come home because of the South Yorkshire Police force" and he was right.

Most people outside Liverpool just don't realise that nobody has been make accountable or brought to justice for the death of 96 innocent football fans. The two Hillsborough documentaries, one broadcast by the BBC and one by ITV Granada over the past two nights were only shown in the Northwest and Yorkshire; whilst Londoners were subjected to a rerun of Michael McIntyre. This only highlights the lack of understanding outside these regions.
I remember us all on an away day outside a pub in London conversing with Chelsea fans about our respective seasons and one of the Chelsea fans asked "Why can't people just move on over Hillsborough?" When he went inside someone sadly exclaimed "He just doesn't get it."

It is a credit to Liverpudlians that they have continued to campaign and make noise; in doing so they haven't let their own people down. I can only hope that the full release of the documents gives the families the whole truth and the answers they have been waiting so long to receive.

I just wanted to share this about just a few of the people I have met who suffered and still live with Hillsborough weighing heavy on their minds,
I often want to post about football on here but it is hard finding the time to write this piece is entitled "But I Was Wrong"


But I was wrong

Living in Merseyside, I try to attend the Hillsborough memorial service every year and I have only missed two services, due to being away overseas at the time. I can't remember where I was on the second occasion, but the first time I was in Istanbul preparing to go to Gallipoli. The two sombre days are close together in the annual calendar with the Hillsborough memorial service coming on the 15th of April, just ten days before Anzac Day on the 25th.

On the twentieth anniversary of the disaster, I was working the early shift in work starting at 7am; finishing at around 330 in the afternoon. I asked my manager if I could leave early that day and she let me go at around 2pm. I ran upstairs quickly, got changed and was out the front gate, halfway along the dock road. Upon checking the time, I realised I wouldn't make it if I caught the bus so I hurriedly crossed the road and flagged down a taxi. I got in the taxi and the driver asked "Where are you going mate?" I asked him to take me up to Anfield. I explained that I was going to the Hillsborough service; he did a double take and enquired "Why'd you leave it so late?" I explained to him that I was still meant to be in work and that I'd been fortunate enough to finish early that day."I was at Hillsborough" he said turning back towards the road.

There is a small pub on County Road where we all get together and sing a few songs before and after going to the match. One night after a game, I was standing at the bar next to an old boy who was almost doubled over; I could hardly understand him when he spoke, my friend Andrew was singing "Justice", there had been a justice mosaic in the Kop before that night's game, the old guy leaned over and said to me "I was there." I bought him a fresh pint and told Andrew, he muttered and looked down shaking his head then he went over to him.

My first away day was at Wigan with Andrew on the train. This is what we usually refer to as a 'doorstep away', over time a small collective grew; a group of us would hire a van and drive across the country to see our beloved reds play. One day, Andrew who worked as a teacher told me he had Peter who drives the van come to his class and speak to his students about Hillsborough. Until then, I never realised Peter was there. Andrew explained that Peter was in the Leppings Lane pen had been crushed, lost consciousness and was passed out, over the top of the fence and resuscitated on the pitch, his wife was pregnant with his son Tom at the time.

Earlier in March this year, I had asked Peter if there were any spare tickets 'about for the Derby', he had passed my number on to a friend of his. On a wet and rainy Tuesday night, outside the Stanley pub, I met his softly spoken friend Damian, who wouldn't even let me buy him a pint as a thank you for helping me out. Only yesterday did I realise Damian was at Hillsborough too.
In every town in New Zealand, in even the smallest towns, you will find a memorial to the soldiers who died at Gallipoli, everyone everywhere was affected by it. The same rings true for Hillsborough on Merseyside; every one of the 96 fans who died was someone's son or daughter, someone's brother or sister, someone's husband or wife, someone's cousin, friend or neighbour, everyone was affected red and blue alike. I always used to liken my regard for Hillsborough to Anzac day in that we should simply remember and respect. I put it to Andrew that "96 fans went to a football game and didn't come home" but I was wrong "No kiwi" he said firmly "They didn’t come home because of the South Yorkshire Police force" and he was right.

Most people outside Liverpool just don't realise that nobody has been make accountable or brought to justice for the death of 96 innocent football fans. The two Hillsborough documentaries, one broadcast by the BBC and one by ITV Granada over the past two nights were only shown in the Northwest and Yorkshire; whilst Londoners were subjected to a rerun of Michael McIntyre. This only highlights the lack of understanding outside these regions.
I remember us all on an away day outside a pub in London conversing with Chelsea fans about our respective seasons and one of the Chelsea fans asked "Why can't people just move on over Hillsborough?" When he went inside someone sadly exclaimed "He just doesn’t get it."

It is a credit to Liverpudlians that they have continued to campaign and make noise; in doing so they haven't let their own people down. I can only hope that the full release of the documents gives the families the whole truth and the answers they have been waiting so long to receive.

I just wanted to share this about just a few of the people I have met who suffered and still live with Hillsborough weighing heavy on their minds,
I often want to post about football on here but it is hard finding the time to write this piece is entitled "But I Was Wrong"


But I was wrong

Living in Merseyside, I try to attend the Hillsborough memorial service every year and I have only missed two services, due to being away overseas at the time. I can’t remember where I was on the second occasion, but the first time I was in Istanbul preparing to go to Gallipoli. The two sombre days are close together in the annual calendar with the Hillsborough memorial service coming on the 15th of April, just ten days before Anzac Day on the 25th.

On the twentieth anniversary of the disaster, I was working the early shift in work starting at 7am; finishing at around 330 in the afternoon. I asked my manager if I could leave early that day and she let me go at around 2pm. I ran upstairs quickly, got changed and was out the front gate, halfway along the dock road. Upon checking the time, I realised I wouldn’t make it if I caught the bus so I hurriedly crossed the road and flagged down a taxi. I got in the taxi and the driver asked “Where are you going mate?” I asked him to take me up to Anfield. I explained that I was going to the Hillsborough service; he did a double take and enquired “Why’d you leave it so late?” I explained to him that I was still meant to be in work and that I’d been fortunate enough to finish early that day.“I was at Hillsborough” he said turning back towards the road.

There is a small pub on County Road where we all get together and sing a few songs before and after going to the match. One night after a game, I was standing at the bar next to an old boy who was almost doubled over; I could hardly understand him when he spoke, my friend Andrew was singing "Justice", there had been a justice mosaic in the Kop before that night’s game, the old guy leaned over and said to me “I was there.” I bought him a fresh pint and told Andrew, he muttered and looked down shaking his head then he went over to him.

My first away day was at Wigan with Andrew on the train. This is what we usually refer to as a 'doorstep away', over time a small collective grew; a group of us would hire a van and drive across the country to see our beloved reds play. One day, Andrew who worked as a teacher told me he had Peter who drives the van come to his class and speak to his students about Hillsborough. Until then, I never realised Peter was there. Andrew explained that Peter was in the Leppings Lane pen had been crushed, lost consciousness and was passed out, over the top of the fence and resuscitated on the pitch, his wife was pregnant with his son Tom at the time.

Earlier in March this year, I had asked Peter if there were any spare tickets 'about for the Derby', he had passed my number on to a friend of his. On a wet and rainy Tuesday night, outside the Stanley pub, I met his softly spoken friend Damian, who wouldn’t even let me buy him a pint as a thank you for helping me out. Only yesterday did I realise Damian was at Hillsborough too.
In every town in New Zealand, in even the smallest towns, you will find a memorial to the soldiers who died at Gallipoli, everyone everywhere was affected by it. The same rings true for Hillsborough on Merseyside; every one of the 96 fans who died was someone’s son or daughter, someone’s brother or sister, someone’s husband or wife, someone’s cousin, friend or neighbour, everyone was affected red and blue alike. I always used to liken my regard for Hillsborough to Anzac day in that we should simply remember and respect. I put it to Andrew that “96 fans went to a football game and didn’t come home” but I was wrong “No kiwi” he said firmly “They didn’t come home because of the South Yorkshire Police force” and he was right.

Most people outside Liverpool just don’t realise that nobody has been make accountable or brought to justice for the death of 96 innocent football fans. The two Hillsborough documentaries, one broadcast by the BBC and one by ITV Granada over the past two nights were only shown in the Northwest and Yorkshire; whilst Londoners were subjected to a rerun of Michael McIntyre. This only highlights the lack of understanding outside these regions.
I remember us all on an away day outside a pub in London conversing with Chelsea fans about our respective seasons and one of the Chelsea fans asked “Why can't people just move on over Hillsborough?” When he went inside someone sadly exclaimed “He just doesn’t get it."

It is a credit to Liverpudlians that they have continued to campaign and make noise; in doing so they haven’t let their own people down. I can only hope that the full release of the documents gives the families the whole truth and the answers they have been waiting so long to receive.

I just wanted to share this about just a few of the people I have met who suffered and still live with Hillsborough weighing heavy on their minds,
I often want to post about football on here but it is hard finding the time to write this piece is entitled "But I Was Wrong"


But I was wrong

Living in Merseyside, I try to attend the Hillsborough memorial service every year and I have only missed two services, due to being away overseas at the time. I can’t remember where I was on the second occasion, but the first time I was in Istanbul preparing to go to Gallipoli. The two sombre days are close together in the annual calendar with the Hillsborough memorial service coming on the 15th of April, just ten days before Anzac Day on the 25th.

On the twentieth anniversary of the disaster, I was working the early shift in work starting at 7am; finishing at around 330 in the afternoon. I asked my manager if I could leave early that day and she let me go at around 2pm. I ran upstairs quickly, got changed and was out the front gate, halfway along the dock road. Upon checking the time, I realised I wouldn’t make it if I caught the bus so I hurriedly crossed the road and flagged down a taxi. I got in the taxi and the driver asked “Where are you going mate?” I asked him to take me up to Anfield. I explained that I was going to the Hillsborough service; he did a double take and enquired “Why’d you leave it so late?” I explained to him that I was still meant to be in work and that I’d been fortunate enough to finish early that day.“I was at Hillsborough” he said turning back towards the road.

There is a small pub on County Road where we all get together and sing a few songs before and after going to the match. One night after a game, I was standing at the bar next to an old boy who was almost doubled over; I could hardly understand him when he spoke, my friend Andrew was singing "Justice", there had been a justice mosaic in the Kop before that night’s game, the old guy leaned over and said to me “I was there.” I bought him a fresh pint and told Andrew, he muttered and looked down shaking his head then he went over to him.

My first away day was at Wigan with Andrew on the train. This is what we usually refer to as a 'doorstep away', over time a small collective grew; a group of us would hire a van and drive across the country to see our beloved reds play. One day, Andrew who worked as a teacher told me he had Peter who drives the van come to his class and speak to his students about Hillsborough. Until then, I never realised Peter was there. Andrew explained that Peter was in the Leppings Lane pen had been crushed, lost consciousness and was passed out, over the top of the fence and resuscitated on the pitch, his wife was pregnant with his son Tom at the time.

Earlier in March this year, I had asked Peter if there were any spare tickets 'about for the Derby', he had passed my number on to a friend of his. On a wet and rainy Tuesday night, outside the Stanley pub, I met his softly spoken friend Damian, who wouldn’t even let me buy him a pint as a thank you for helping me out. Only yesterday did I realise Damian was at Hillsborough too.
In every town in New Zealand, in even the smallest towns, you will find a memorial to the soldiers who died at Gallipoli, everyone everywhere was affected by it. The same rings true for Hillsborough on Merseyside; every one of the 96 fans who died was someone’s son or daughter, someone’s brother or sister, someone’s husband or wife, someone’s cousin, friend or neighbour, everyone was affected red and blue alike. I always used to liken my regard for Hillsborough to Anzac day in that we should simply remember and respect. I put it to Andrew that “96 fans went to a football game and didn’t come home” but I was wrong “No kiwi” he said firmly “They didn’t come home because of the South Yorkshire Police force” and he was right.

Most people outside Liverpool just don’t realise that nobody has been make accountable or brought to justice for the death of 96 innocent football fans. The two Hillsborough documentaries, one broadcast by the BBC and one by ITV Granada over the past two nights were only shown in the Northwest and Yorkshire; whilst Londoners were subjected to a rerun of Michael McIntyre. This only highlights the lack of understanding outside these regions.
I remember us all on an away day outside a pub in London conversing with Chelsea fans about our respective seasons and one of the Chelsea fans asked “Why can't people just move on over Hillsborough?” When he went inside someone sadly exclaimed “He just doesn’t get it."

It is a credit to Liverpudlians that they have continued to campaign and make noise; in doing so they haven’t let their own people down. I can only hope that the full release of the documents gives the families the whole truth and the answers they have been waiting so long to receive.