In memory of an old friend

[Safeway]

Seven years ago today, after a long illness, we all lost someone very close to us. Some one with whom we shared some amazing, as well as a few bad, times.

It was someone we all felt a great closeness with, and someone we always knew we could rely on to provide shelter from whatever other troubles were going on in our lives.

Their warm embrace never wavered, making us always feel welcome. Our love was both two-way and unconditional.

Seven years ago today I cried. I cried tears of anger and sadness, knowing our friend would be lost forever.

Lost forever maybe, but forgotten never.

R.I.P. The Goldstone Ground. An old friend.

 

[fatboy]

 

[Marshy]

 

[Yoda]

 

[Trotster]

I went down there 2 days after the last game - will never forget seeing one rose tied to the builders fence - It nearly made me cry

 

[Rich Suvner]

 

[Lush]

Sorry if you've seen this before...

26th April 1997 (with apologies to WH Auden)

Stop all the clocks at 3pm, cut off the office phone,
Silence the North Stand as they sing ”You’ll Never Walk Alone”,
Turn off the PA system and with pipe and drum
Play “Sussex By The Sea”, ere the bulldozers come.

Let seagulls circle moaning overhead
Crying to the sky that our beloved ground is dead,
Tie blue and white scarves about the terraces that I love,
Let PC Beard and Bins wear black cotton gloves.

I stood in the North, the South, the East and West
During my working week and my Saturday rest,
For nigh on twenty years it was my talk, my song;
I thought the Goldstone would last for ever: I was wrong.

The floodlights are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the North Stand and dismantle the Chicken Run,
Pour away the pre-match tea and dig up the pitch for fun;
You may have destroyed our home, but the Albion live on.

 

[Meade's Ball]

That mass of cracked concrete and weeds housed some of the most important moments of my younger life. I'll never forget the big games, the surges forward and the elation. Just like i shan't forget the small games when only the West Stand was open and you could hear John Robinson swearing down the wing. All the demonstrations inside and out. Smoking lucky fags at half-time. Doing the same hour-long walk to get there and flicking the bird to the away coaches as they passed, fat northern faces screwed in frustration. All those damned defeats.

The Goldstone felt more like a home than any house i've lived in.

RIP

 

[Storer68]

The Goldstone 26 April 1997 - RIP

So lets remember the good, and sometimes great, times.

First up..........................

Stuart Storer's goal v Doncaster Rovers

"the heads go up, Mark Morris, comes back off the bar...... STOOOOOOOORRRRRREEEEEEERRRRRR!!!!!!!!!

Any others............................

 

[Norman Baker suck my lozenge]

My Brother and I were there that day,I'll never forget His face when Storer scored and He went bowling down the North stand backwards .He could not get a ticket when we clinched the title against Chesterfield and, unfortunately died shortly afterwards,I'll never forgive those bastards for what they did to our ground and the amount of people they denied seeing that wonderfull moment.

RIP Goldstone

 

[Norman Baker suck my lozenge]

Kevin Bremners' goal against Brizzle Rovers,1988.
Gary Nelson crosses from wide left straight on Kevins' nut 1-0.
And Bremner got a kick in the bollox into the bargain.

 

[Caveman]

26th April 1997

 

[The Large One]

I REALLY hope John Baine/Attila The Stockbroker doesn't mind me doing this, because this is the BEST football poem ever written, and it needs another airing...

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.

=====

On the other hand, if you do mind, John, let me know, and I'll pay you the copyright fee.

 

[Caveman]

I can still picture the walk down the steps in the middle of the north stand, with the left hand side bobbing up and down and surging. When a goal goes in the surge would spill through the two central railings and past the supporting blue pillar. Someone would always fall over a shoe would end up being past overhead.

That has to be one of my fondest moments growing up, I feel sorry for the youngsters of today that will never experience that.



Archer, if I ever get to meet you face to face!!!!

 

[Shizuoka Dolphin]

Gutted. Still.

 

[Caveman]

May be you should forward that poem to Prescott.

Sad say today when you think back!

 

[The Large One]

I can still picture the walk down the steps in the middle of the north stand, with the left hand side bobbing up and down and surging. When a goal goes in the surge would spill through the two central railings and past the supporting blue pillar. Someone would always fall over a shoe would end up being past overhead.

That has to be one of my fondest moments growing up, I feel sorry for the youngsters of today that will never experience that.

I was thinking this yesterday at the races. The terracing for the spectators in the grandstand would have been the closest we could get to re-creating the North Stand. (Not that anyone was trying to). But it brought back a memory or two...

 

[bobbyzee]

the 5-0 destruction of crawley in springs to my mind..
oh how i miss the goldstone....

 

[Shot The Palace Scum!]

R.I.P

If we don't get falmer losing the goldstone could be very much worse!!

We will never forget the times we had there.

And will never foget the w**kers that sold it.

If the answer is no to falmer Archer and Bellotti WATCH YOUR BACKS!!

 

[bobbyzee]

i hate cut throat business deals... only the fat cat twats win.....
i am rather worringly full of hatred and anger over this....