From Highbury to Emirates or A Long Way for Some

The journey to Finsbury Park Station was uneventful. Well that is to say that nothing physical happened of any note. Mentally all sorts of things happened! I could recall the events quite clearly, the crowds, my companions, my father, my brothers, my team-mates, we all went there at one time or another, sometimes alone more often together. To Highbury I mean. Yes! Yes! Thank you, I know that there is a station nearer than Finsbury Park but I wanted to re-visit the site of the old Highbury, the Clock End in particular and come to it the same way as I always did.

So out of the station, cross the teeming main road outside and into the back streets. No great, dense crowds now, no one selling programmes, rattles, hats or those awful blasters that shatter your ear-drums if you are too close them. Gone were the sharp men offering tickets at a price, no hot dog sellers or ice cream vans in the roadways, no policemen on horses or on foot, just a dignified silence. All the houses have been gentrified it seems, the front gardens no longer have half a ton of rubbish in them thrown by passers-by on their way to or from the stadium. None of that, and not many people either. Well it was mid-morning on a Tuesday and it was only to see the team's training session, not a full match.

I turned the corner into Gillespie Road!!! What a ghastly sight greeted me. The old Highbury Stadium, the field of dreams, glory and illusions has gone! All that remains is the outside walls of the old East and West stands and they are supported by a network of heavy steel scaffolding. Where once the entrance to the North Bank beckoned the faithful to Valhalla is now a gaping hole guarded by three men who looked as hard as their white hats. They waved lorries into and out of the area where the playing field was. Cranes towering hundreds of feet into the air, picked up and dropped huge lumps of that magical place into a clearing area where smaller earth-movers pounced upon it like so many prehistoric monsters at a feed, and after gobbling up the piles of rubble shot them into the backs of waiting lorries, their caterpillar tracks scraping and manoeuvring across what now resembles a bomb site.

Was this the place I first went to with my father in 1939? We stood at the Clock End. Yes! Most definitely it was. Was this the place I went to on Saturday afternoons with my brother and team-mates? Yes it most indubitably was. Was it the same place I took my son to see his first professional football match. Yes! Yes! Yes! The defiant shadows of the letters on the walls of the East Stand confirmed it. And there it was in ruins.

I found it very hard to witness such a sight and stood dumbly with a couple of other refugees from the past and just stared. Yes I did see the crumbling walls of the old stands, yes the paint was a bit flakey, I must agree that the place did look a bit run down, of course the team deserves a more up to date stadium, but that didn't dampen the memories. Oh No! They remain bright as ever.
"Remember when this road was so crammed with people you couldn't move above a snail's pace? Over sixty-thousand of us there was." the bloke standing next me said. I did of course.
"They were the days when we could afford to go to a football match every week weren't they?" I replied. We both nodded. We remembered.
"Better be off round the corner then," the bloke said, and we both turned and headed for "The Emirates".

We rounded the corner still wallowing in the glories of past visits to Highbury, and there it was…It looked like a gigantic space craft that had just arrived from Mars or somewhere similar. A fantastic, overwhelming sight! The new Arsenal logo, which I confess I do not like one little bit, towering over the area. No men sitting behind turnstiles here, not on your life, their job is now to check everyone's bag. Here we have a slot into which you must put your membership ticket, that automatically releases the turnstile and in you go. Did I mention that you must first check and seek out the colour sector you are allocated to? Well apparently it's important, something to do with whether you are a gold, silver, or bod-ordinaire ticket holder.

Why couldn't they name the gates after some of the giants of the past. Eddie Hapgood Gate sounds good, or what about The Wright Entrance? That sort of thing, personalise things a bit. Corny? Of course it is but that's how memories are perpetuated. Wenger's Way would look good if you want to be more modern. The point I'm making is that a club like Arsenal is made up of memories of the past and they go towards creating the feeling of being part of something. I am not and never will be part of Emirates, who ever they are. I follow Arsenal and have done for over sixty years. I couldn't see or feel a connection between the old stadium and the new one. Perhaps that's why there is such a lack of atmosphere in the new place. If I have seen it then cleverer people than me at the club will have seen it too. It must be a matter to be addressed with some vigour if the camaraderie of the past is to be re-created and built upon. I'm sure it helps the team to know they have a solid body of support and be able to hear that support at full volume.

The pitch looks as if you could play snooker on it and wouldn't disgrace any putting green. The seats are well placed and give a superb view of the pitch. The facilities are at state of the art level. I watched in wonder as the young players went through their paces. They clearly are so much more than simply footballers, they are highly tuned athletes. It was a joy to see them in action and they give the impression of having supreme confidence in their ability to deliver the standard of play the supporters have come to expect and indeed demand.

I looked around the magnificent surroundings. No team could ask for better facilities and no supporters a better stadium. The latter all seemed satisfied with what they had seen that morning and streamed away from the stadium full of optimism and clutching their bags full of merchandise bought from the Arsenal shop. They don't change much, except for the dress, the blokes all seem to wear those three-quarter length trousers with half a dozen pockets down the outside over short socks and heavy trainers or boots, the shirts varied a bit, some were the traditional red and white others white and red, still more that awful clarety colour. Thankfully there weren't many of the silly women who wear those trousers that allow their bellies to flop out in front and their bums bubble out at the back. It was great to see so many children with their parents, clearly there's no lack of interest in the correct education of their children amongst Arsenal supporters.