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Almost every Liverpool fan and every Everton fan and every football fan will remember the tragedy of Hillsborough. I was 13 and it was my Uncle's birthday. He had just come through a coma after a massive brain hemorrhage and what better way to celebrate his birthday than watch the team he loves play an FA Cup semi-final?
This is a poem I wrote as a way of explaining what happened.
Another semi-final in nineteen eighty nine
The FA Cup in sight, everything was fine
Travelling down to Sheffield to watch their heroes play
Into Hillsborough Stadium and into Leppings Lane
The fans they gathered eagerly in the terrace pens
Wearing shirts and scarves, standing with their friends
Traffic had been stalled that day so many fans were late
And too many fans were let inside when police opened the gate
Inside the pens were crowded, people crammed against a fence
Yet more fans kept on pouring in as the game would soon commence
No police nor stewards guiding them, directing them where to go
So they kept going forward, how were they to know
3000 fans were jammed inside, my uncles were there too
1600 was the capacity so why were more let through?
My uncles were lucky, they were saved by fellow fans
Pulled from the crush intensifying and lifted up to the West Stand
Some climbed over fences, some got through a gate
But by the time police listened, for many it was too late
Ninety-four beautiful people died that day at a game
Then two more were lost also, 96 lives claimed
96 supporters, 96 names
96 of our friends just went to see a game.
