Goldstone Ground RIP

[Knotty]

I have always been proud that BHA is in my blood, but never more so than today.

 

[byf]

Thanks for the memories Goldstone....You certainly will never be forgotten...very sad day!

Why is it that the goldstone was seen more than just a football ground..?

Anyone else get in the ground about 1.30?? just because it was so bloody good.

 

[Brighton Breezy]

The Argus bit is quite good, including some good articles from NSC's very own SIMON BARRETT.

 

[sir danny cullip]

Is anything happening down at the site today?

 

[Springal]

 

[Mendoza]

i may head down if anyone is going, im in the area about 3pm (just in time for kick off) then should still be around for 4.23pm when storers goal went in, and for 4.45pm for the final whistle

 

[Soul Finger]

i may head down if anyone is going, im in the area about 3pm (just in time for kick off) then should still be around for 4.23pm when storers goal went in, and for 4.45pm for the final whistle

Yep, ditto that

 

[byf]

I'll book a flight!

 

[y2dave]

10 years and still no ground Even more of a disgrace when you consider the work of Perry, Knight and every fan who's fought the Falmer planning battles.

Hopefully July will bring us a giant step forward.

I was in the North Stand that day and the atmosphere in all parts of the ground was amazing,. I started watching the club in the late 80's and my only regret is not seeing the place in a better state with a full east terrace and no Belloti exclusions zones.

Everything about that last game just seemed to fit the occasion, Knight in the directors box, the weather, Storers goal and of course the news from Orient cranking up the tension even further.

A great memory and my ticket only cost £8!

 

[Brovion]

Written on the occasion of the last ever Brighton and Hove Albion match at the Goldstone Ground, Saturday April 26 1997. We will never forget.


GOLDSTONE GHOSTS
As bulldozers close in upon our old, beloved home
and those who stand to profit rub their hands
so we gather here together in sad, angry disbelief
and for one last time our voices fill the stands.
This is no happy parting, but a battle-scarred farewell
though victory hopes are mingled with the tears
And I, like you, will stand here as the final whistle blows
with memories which echo down the years.....

The Chelsea fans threw pennies. Old ones. Sharpened. I was eight.
A target in the South Stand with my dad
And he got rather battered as he held me close and tight
and confirmed my view that Chelsea fans were mad!
And there, on those old wooden seats, I learned to love the game.
The sights and sounds exploded in my head.
My dad was proud to have a son with football in his blood -
but two short years later, he was dead.

Eleven. I went on my own. (My friends liked chess and stuff.)
‘Now don’t go in the North Stand!’ said my mum.
But soon I did. Kit Napier’s corner curled into the net.
Oh god. The Bournemouth Boot Boys! Better run....
Then Villa in the big crunch game. A thirty thousand crowd.
Bald Lochhead scored, but we still won the day.
Then up, and straight back down again. Brian Powney, brave and squat.
T.Rex, DMs and scarf on wrist, OK?

And then the world was wonderful. Punk rock and Peter Ward!
And sidekick ‘Spider’ Mellor, tall and lean.
The legendary Walsall game. Promotion. Riding high.
Southampton-Spurs: that stitch-up was obscene.
The final glorious victory. Division One at last!
Arsenal, first game, midst fevered expectation.
Those Highbury gods tore us to shreds; we learned the lesson well.
Steve Foster was our soul and inspiration!


Man City came, and Gerry Ryan waltzed through them to score
And mighty Man United bit the dust.
Notts Forest, and that Williams screamer nearly broke the net.
The Norwich quarter-final: win or bust!
And after Wembley, Liverpool were toppled one last time.
The final curtain on those happy days.
And then the years of gradual, inexorable decline -
sadly for some, the parting of the ways.

But we stayed true, as glory days turned into donkeys’ years.
Young, Trusson, Tiltman, Farrington. Ee-aw!
A Wilkins free-kick nearly brought us hope. ‘Twas not to be.
The rot was deep and spreading to the core.
We found our voice and Lloyd was gone. Hooray! But worse to come.
Though just how awful we were yet to know.
Dissent turned to rebellion and then to open war
as on the terrace weeds began to grow.

The Goldstone sold behind our backs! Enraged, we rose as one
against a stony northern businessman.
We drew a line, and said: ENOUGH! And as the nation watched
the final battle for our club began.
We fought him to a standstill. Fans United. All for one.
A nation’s colours joined: a glorious sight.
And, finally, the stubborn, stony Archer moved his ground
and made way for our own collective Knight.

The battle’s only just begun, but we have won the war.
Our club, though torn asunder, will survive.
And I salute each one of you who stood up and said NO!
And fought to keep the Albion alive.
And one day, when our new home’s built, and we are storming back

A bunch of happy fans without a care
We’ll look back on our darkest hour and raise our glasses high
and say with satisfaction: we were there.

But first we have to face today. The hardest day of all.
Don’t worry if you can’t hold back the tears!
We must look to the future, in dignity and peace
as well as mourn our home of ninety years.
For me the Goldstone has an extra special memory
of the football soulmate I so briefly had.
He christened me John Charles and taught me to love the game.
This one’s for Bill. A poet. And my dad.


ATTILA THE STOCKBROKER

I'll tell you what, you can shove your Wordsworth, Keats and Shakespeare - that is one of the greatest poems in the English language.

 

[Yorkie]

BBC Southeast are running a feature right now about the 10 years and the Falmer fight.

The FFA have delivered 5000 postcards to Westminster today. Wilkins being interviewed at Falmer.

 

[Basil Fawlty]

BBC Southeast are running a feature right now about the 10 years and the Falmer fight.

The FFA have delivered 5000 postcards to Westminster today. Wilkins being interviewed at Falmer.

Than the lieing veggie stall owner was on, what aload of lieing bollocks.

 

[Yorkie]

Than the lieing veggie stall owner was on, what aload of lieing bollocks.

He wasn't lying but giving his opinion. A wrong opinion but his opinion all the same.

 

[Publius Ovidius]

opinions are never wrong yorkie..only different

 

[Yorkie]

opinions are never wrong yorkie..only different

True but what the shop owner said was actually true in his opinion. BF tried to make out that he told lies which he didn't.

 

[CHAPPERS]

Funniest thing I saw at the Goldstone was the replayed York game of the season before. I was driven there by my Maths teacher as she knew I was going to bunk her lesson and my English lesson to go, she cleared it with my English teacher and drove us down and picked us up afterwards. She was a bloody DIAMOND. The amount of kids I saw in their uniforms was incredible.

Big up yourself Dai Warbis.

 

[Shegull]

Written on the occasion of the last ever Brighton and Hove Albion match at the Goldstone Ground, Saturday April 26 1997. We will never forget.


GOLDSTONE GHOSTS
As bulldozers close in upon our old, beloved home
and those who stand to profit rub their hands
so we gather here together in sad, angry disbelief
and for one last time our voices fill the stands.
This is no happy parting, but a battle-scarred farewell
though victory hopes are mingled with the tears
And I, like you, will stand here as the final whistle blows
with memories which echo down the years.....

The Chelsea fans threw pennies. Old ones. Sharpened. I was eight.
A target in the South Stand with my dad
And he got rather battered as he held me close and tight
and confirmed my view that Chelsea fans were mad!
And there, on those old wooden seats, I learned to love the game.
The sights and sounds exploded in my head.
My dad was proud to have a son with football in his blood -
but two short years later, he was dead.

Eleven. I went on my own. (My friends liked chess and stuff.)
‘Now don’t go in the North Stand!’ said my mum.
But soon I did. Kit Napier’s corner curled into the net.
Oh god. The Bournemouth Boot Boys! Better run....
Then Villa in the big crunch game. A thirty thousand crowd.
Bald Lochhead scored, but we still won the day.
Then up, and straight back down again. Brian Powney, brave and squat.
T.Rex, DMs and scarf on wrist, OK?

And then the world was wonderful. Punk rock and Peter Ward!
And sidekick ‘Spider’ Mellor, tall and lean.
The legendary Walsall game. Promotion. Riding high.
Southampton-Spurs: that stitch-up was obscene.
The final glorious victory. Division One at last!
Arsenal, first game, midst fevered expectation.
Those Highbury gods tore us to shreds; we learned the lesson well.
Steve Foster was our soul and inspiration!


Man City came, and Gerry Ryan waltzed through them to score
And mighty Man United bit the dust.
Notts Forest, and that Williams screamer nearly broke the net.
The Norwich quarter-final: win or bust!
And after Wembley, Liverpool were toppled one last time.
The final curtain on those happy days.
And then the years of gradual, inexorable decline -
sadly for some, the parting of the ways.

But we stayed true, as glory days turned into donkeys’ years.
Young, Trusson, Tiltman, Farrington. Ee-aw!
A Wilkins free-kick nearly brought us hope. ‘Twas not to be.
The rot was deep and spreading to the core.
We found our voice and Lloyd was gone. Hooray! But worse to come.
Though just how awful we were yet to know.
Dissent turned to rebellion and then to open war
as on the terrace weeds began to grow.

The Goldstone sold behind our backs! Enraged, we rose as one
against a stony northern businessman.
We drew a line, and said: ENOUGH! And as the nation watched
the final battle for our club began.
We fought him to a standstill. Fans United. All for one.
A nation’s colours joined: a glorious sight.
And, finally, the stubborn, stony Archer moved his ground
and made way for our own collective Knight.

The battle’s only just begun, but we have won the war.
Our club, though torn asunder, will survive.
And I salute each one of you who stood up and said NO!
And fought to keep the Albion alive.
And one day, when our new home’s built, and we are storming back

A bunch of happy fans without a care
We’ll look back on our darkest hour and raise our glasses high
and say with satisfaction: we were there.

But first we have to face today. The hardest day of all.
Don’t worry if you can’t hold back the tears!
We must look to the future, in dignity and peace
as well as mourn our home of ninety years.
For me the Goldstone has an extra special memory
of the football soulmate I so briefly had.
He christened me John Charles and taught me to love the game.
This one’s for Bill. A poet. And my dad.


ATTILA THE STOCKBROKER

Pure Class.

Forever

 

[Publius Ovidius]

rather than feeling chocked about the pictures, which I do....I FEEL BLOODY ANGRY that that bastard Archer got away with it and those absolute ****s Chartwell sold OUR ASSET, yes OUR ASSET for 20 odd million when it went a week or so before for 7 million.

If there was ever a stich up OF GIGANTIC PROPORTIONS THIS WAS IT.


One day Mr Archer, we will move into a stadium, we dont know wher, we dont know when, but when we do, there will be three people in this world who will never be welcome:

William Archer
Gergory Stanley
David Bellotti

 

[countrygull]

Very moved by that poem. So many great times there. My son now loves Brighton, but he doesn't understand the emotion attached to the Goldstone - you had to be there week in week out. But he will come to view Falmer in the same way - as will I.
Here's to a wonderful past and a great future.

 

[Mendoza]

the goldstone pull out in the argus is pretty good, very sad reading peoples memorys from players to fans,

but the one that got me, was the last page, the article about fred oliver, and a big picture of him holding 4 copies of the argus


Well done Simon on all your articles mate!