Tigers, Heathens and the 500cc Hampden roar
Jumping on the metal dustbins, my brother Russel and I heaved ourselves
on to the top of the brick wall and surveyed the back park. That was our
name for the large patch of waste ground beyond the back greens of
the tenements in Holmlea Road. Owned by the British Railways Board, the
abandoned recreational area was fringed in tall weeds, a central
grassed football pitch worn to a grubby ash base. It was a dry and
pleasant Friday, July 4, 1969, probably between 9-10pm. A boy approached from
the direction of the rubbled lock-ups next to the Vogue picture house.
It was Jamesie, a scruffy wee guy who lived a few closes along from our
family's ground-floor flat. It was late for a seven-year-old to be out.
"I've
been to Hampden," he said, pointing towards the blazing floodlights
brooding over Mount Florida. Footy on a Friday? "Naw," said Jamesie.
"It's speedway. Motorbikes racing around the pitch. It's brilliant.
You should come and see the Glasgow Tigers. They're racing again next
Friday." Suddenly, getting dirty, building dens in bushes beside the
allotments and catching bees in jam jars were wiped off my "to do" list.
July 11 couldn't come quickly enough for my brother and I. Mum escorted us
into Cathcart Road, across King's Park Road to Cordiner Street and along
Carmunnock Road to Letherby Drive, the road to Hampden. The
speedway poster in the lane between Garry Street and Ruel Street had
advertised the north enclosure as the cheapest entrance, so we
walked the length of Lesser Hampden and turned into Somerville Drive.
Through the rattling turnstiles, two awe-struck youngsters entered the
dark bowels of the stadium, our noses assaulted by the smell of pies
and sausage rolls wafting from the nearby kiosk. The cooking also
helped mask the stench of the adjacent male urinal. A voluble
programme seller at the foot of the steps to the terracing urged us to
buy a guide to the evening's entertainment: Glasgow Tigers versus
Cradley Heath Heathens in a British League (First Division) match.
It
was our first time inside Hampden and the vast arena was a spectacular
sight for nippers who had only seen the famous sporting venue on black
and white telly. Halfway along the front of the south stand, on
either side of the red shale, stood two white poles, linked at a high
level by two lines of white tape. Men in white overalls were pushing
gleaming yet odd-looking motorcycles from the passage between the south
stand and east terracing to form two rows beside the white poles. Our
view was the bikes' thick rear tyres and cow handlebars. As 7.30pm
approached, brass band music blaring from the PA was the signal for the
teams to march out side by side, the riders chatting with their
opposite number or preoccupied with their own thoughts. They were
introduced to the crowd, the visitors first: Cradley Heath - 1. Bernie
Persson, 2. Graham Coombes, 3. Bob Andrews, 4. Ken Wakefield, 5. Roy
Trigg (captain), 6. Chris Bass, 7. Mike Gardner; Glasgow - 1. Charlie
Monk, 2. Willie Templeton, 3. Jim McMillan (captain), 4. Maury Robinson, 5. Oyvind Berg, 6. Russ Dent, 7. Bobby Beaton.
The
overalled posse stepped forward to push-start the bikes and 14 JAP and
Jawa 500cc engines burst into life, creating a throbbing echo around the
stadium. My brother and I stood open-mouthed. The helmet-less
riders, clad in shiny, black leathers, took off on their warm-up lap,
stopping occasionally to practise starts: grip left-hand clutch
lever, twist right-hand throttle, release clutch lever. The sequence
fired the bikes forward, spraying shale from rear tyres as the riders
shifted their weight to prevent the front wheel lifting and
unseating them. This thrilling movement was happening just a few feet
away, beyond the white wooden fence which ringed the circuit. To the
visual and aural delights was added the intoxicating smell of burning
engine oil. But the warm-up, though exciting, was a tempting prelude to
the evening's action.
Heat 1 featured Monk and Templeton
versus Persson and Coombes, now disguised by goggles, face mask and
helmets. They were identified by their race-jackets, a roaring
Tiger's head on a white background and the initials CH reversed on green
and white halves, with numbers on the back. Bold red and white stripes
on the back of the Tigers racejacket confirmed the team colours. The
riders trundled their bikes to the tapes, now hauled down the white
poles to a position a few feet above the track. Boot heels and toes
stabbed at the shale as the riders shifted nervously in their allotted
grid positions. Facing them in the centre, a marshal held his arms wide
and waved the foursome into position. As he walked between them, the
engines revved to a crescendo, the tapes flew up and four bucking
machines sped to the bend.
The racing was faster and noisier than
the warm-up lap had suggested. And an extra ingredient was added to the
heady mix. To better negotiate the bends, the riders grounded the
steel shoe covering the sole of their left boot and allowed the back
wheel to slide. The broad tyres bit into the track, producing plumes of
shale grit and dust. Some of the loosened surface was expelled over
the fence, forcing spectators to shut eyes or duck heads. My brother and
I didn't mind. It just added to the thrill. It was like watching a
black-and-white television picture exploding into glorious, widescreen
technicolour. After four laps of the track, in a blistering 74.8
seconds, Monk and Templeton produced a maximum heat win for the
Tigers. A victory lap by the pair drew cheers, claps and programme
waving. We didn't know the rules, but the result announcements kept
us informed. It wasn't difficult to follow the 3-2-1-0 points allocation
per heat and transferring the details to the programme grid allowed us
to maintain the progressive score and anticipate the heats to come.
The match was a shale-dusted breeze. The West Midlanders kept their noses
in front for the second half of the meeting and, going into the final
heat, held a four-point lead. The Tigers couldn't win, but a 5-1 in
Heat 13 would earn a draw. Our hopes were with McMillan and Berg, while
the visitors had Persson and Wakefield. To the delight of the home
fans, the Tigers took the first two places, securing the maximum heat
win and ending the match 39-all. Fans were able to acknowledge the
riders' contributions when both teams took a parade lap, some bikes
carrying a couple of team-mates.
And
that was how it started. My brother and I never missed a Tigers fixture
at Hampden: three and a half seasons of glorious Friday night action
from March to October. The team moved to Coatbridge for the 1973
season, beginning a nomadic existence that has seen the Tigers race at
Blantyre (two tracks), Workington, Shawfield and Ashfield, the latter being their base since 1999.
It's been a 45-year thrill.
Campbell Hutcheson
The film below is the Great Britain versus Sweden test match at Hampden Park on July 3, 1970.
GB won by 66 points to 42. Film by Norman Pollock
Memory added on June 29, 2014
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