I have been going to Millwall since 1960. Being a Millwall fan is all about having a good piss up, having a good punch up, having a laugh, the occasional mini success, hating West Ham, standing your ground and supporting the team.
We travelled up to Wolverhampton by train in 1975 with a tidy firm of about 100 of us. We got into the home end behind the goal and steamed into the Wolves firm. They tried to put up some resistance but were no match for our quality outfit. We took over their end. Outside the ground, we tried to get at Wolves again but they hid inside the ground. There was a burger stall that a few of the fellas picked up and tried to use as a battering ram to push the stadium doors through, but they weren’t moving.
Cardiff fans took a bit of a hiding at The Den in 1976/77 when we trapped them in a corner of the ground, so our trip to Cardiff would be a lively one. The train journey was a good one with people in fine spirits and laughing about the reception we would get. There were about 150 of us. No Cardiff at the station.
On the way to the ground some Cardiff had a go but were easily seen off. There was no trouble in the ground but it was a hostile atmosphere. Outside was a different story. Cardiff had now got together a massive mob to attack us. We got outside and it kicked off straight away. Fighting broke out everywhere. As always, we stood our ground, fighting for our lives. One of our boys pulled a machete out and hit this big, black fella straight in the gut, making him slump on the floor in a heap. The fighting continued until the police moved in. We were moved back to the train station surrounded by the Old Bill while Cardiff fans continued to attack us all the way back to the station. We stood our ground.
I remember a visit from Spurs the same season when there was a load of them down the Old Kent Road. They were getting battered and tried to run away. A few Millwall jumped on the back of a geezer’s horse and cart and gave chase down the road. When they caught up with them, they jumped off and battered them some more.
One of my mates had an old van that we took up to Oldham in the late Seventies – right old shit heap. About ten of us piled into it at the Elephant & Castle. We were sure it would not make the long journey to the outskirts of Manchester.
We set off across London and up the M1 with the van full of beer. After many stops on the way, we finally arrived at the ground. We got into the stadium and met up with some more Millwall who told us they had got into their home end. In the Chaddy End, they had been outnumbered ten to one and took on their firm.
At the end of the game, we pulled out of the ground. The home firm was waiting for us, about 200 of them. There were even numbers now. It was carnage, an absolute blood bath and Oldham were annihilated.
One of the funniest things I’ve heard at football was the petrol bomb Newcastle threw at the visiting West Ham firm. Two West Ham got burnt and the Ice Cream Firm melted away.
It was May 1983, and we had a big relegation decider at Chesterfield. It was the usual train journey with plenty of beer. On arrival in Chesterfield, we were met by a sea of police and everyone coming off the train was subjected to a search from the boys in blue. After the coppers had touched everyone up (you can tell most of the Old Bill are closet queers the way they search you, there is no need to touch you the way they do but them uniforms and handcuffs are all a bit kinky) we were herded to the ground. Flanked by the Old Bill with them shouting orders for us to stay in the escort. We approached the ground from about a mile’s walk and were met by more Old Bill. They were well prepared for us to lose and go on the rampage. We took about 3,000 to find out our fate. We outnumbered the home fans by two to one. The match was played through a heavy thunderstorm and people were looking for any sort of cover to keep the wind and the rain out.
The first half was a tight affair with not much coming in the way of chances. Then, four minutes before the break, Dean White fouled the Chesterfield captain Bill Green. It resulted in a scuffle with the ref sending off both players. In the second half, we made the breakthrough after being awarded a penalty that Dave Cusack slotted home. People were glued to their radios relaying other scores. If Chesterfield equalised, we were going down. It was a nervous last few minutes. The referee blew his whistle causing wild celebrations and a pitch invasion. Then we realised it was a false alarm. Fuck knows what the ref had blown up for but it looked to me like he had signalled the end of the game. There was still a lot of Millwall on the pitch and the police came on with dogs to restore order. A few more minutes were played and we got the result we came for.
The journey back to the station was the same as before. Heavy handed, but we were in great spirits. The baiting of the mounted police and dog handlers continued as we were bundled on to the train. I heard the police heave a sigh of relief. George Graham had performed a miracle. Chesterfield had avoided being ransacked and we avoided relegation, too.