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parvulous-writings · 3 years

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Time Together // David Stephens x Male!Reader

Request: Hello! I was wondering if I could request David Stephens x (more specifically) male reader? Just for the fact that the prompt would be coming out/getting together with a bit of fluff? Maybe in the flat (or before the murder thing). If you don't vibe with the prompt or anything about the request I totally get that, have a good day:)(sorry for requesting for him again)

Requested by: @peter-hughes-harmonies

Summary: The reader starts a relationship with David Stephens

Warnings: none :)

Words: 1.3K

Notes: Okay, so, this is my first time writing for a male reader, so I do apologise for any inaccuracies or dodgy writing- if I do portray anything inaccurately, please tell me, and I shall try to correct it in future! And don’t you dare apologise for requesting a character you love

I will, however, be apologising for the sporadic nature of this oneshot. It may feel like it hops back and forth a little (I don’t know, I am not very good at telling that kind of thing) This is because I wrote this during my mock exam period, and couldn’t really write in solid blocks like I normally do :)

Not my gif

David had never really been one for going out alongside Alex and Juliet, unless they forced him that was. He was a quiet man, who preferred the simpler things of life. He would much prefer to spend an evening curled up with a book than spend a night out on the town, on a pub crawl. You had found this out for yourself, actually, within the first two weeks or so of staying with him and his flatmates. Alex had asked you all if you wanted to go out for a night, and whilst Juliet had been all for it, you and David had respectfully declined the offer- both of you holding your ground as Alex teased you almost relentlessly.

“God, you two are so boring.” Alex sighed, dramatically rolling his eyes at the pair of you. "Boring is a rather relative term, Alex." David replied, sighing quietly at his rather boisterous flatmate. "Oh, leave the pair of them." Juliet stepped in before an argument could break out between the pair, shaking her head slightly at the butting of heads. "Let's just go, or by the time we get to the pubs they'll be shut!" She laughed, tugging on Alex's arm gently. He quickly gave in to her, following her to the door of the flat with a little bit of a laugh. Thankfully the obnoxious sound faded quickly as the door shut behind them, leaving you and David in a peaceful, comfortable silence.

When the silence did break after both too long and too brief a period of time, it was David who spoke up. “What are you thinking about?” He asked you, looking over the top of his glasses at you. “You have that... Thinking face of yours.” He noted, and you simply shrugged whilst you tried to think of an answer. “I don’t know.” You responded, turning your attention back to the tv, letting whatever schlock that Alex had left on take your focus for a moment.

David cleared his throat a little bit to get your attention again, and you looked over to him, resting your cheek on your shoulder. “What?” You asked quietly. “What are you thinking about?” He asked again, leaning forward on the table he sat at. You let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head at him with a little bit of a smile playing on your lips. You decide to play along with his little game, pursing your lips in thought at him. “You, I guess.” There’s a beat of silence, before David chuckles quietly at what your answer was- more in disbelief than anything else. “You’re joking around, right? Please tell me you’re not starting to pick up on Alex’s sense of humour.” He mused, smiling slightly.

“Yes... And no.” You reply. David quirks a brow at this, prompting you to go on. “I mean...” You begin, trying to find the right words for what you’re current train of thought is. “We spend a lot of time together... Both around and not around the other two.” He nods slowly as you speak, seeing your point on this. “And... We know each other, fairly in-depth. I mean, especially when compared to the other two idiots.” You chuckle, and he nods again. “You have a point... Where are you going with this?” David asked, his brows starting to furrow again as you continued to steer the conversation the way you desired, with your sweater-clad flatmate along for the journey.

“Well, normally, when people spend a lot of time together, they tend to start to grow really fond of each other.” You continue, “Y’know, the exposure effect?” You prompt, using your hands for emphasis. “Are you... Saying you’re fond of me?” David inquires, a smile starting to play upon his lips. “Maybe,” You reply, and he starts to smile a little wider, not too far off from a grin. A grin you were indeed very fond of. You start to smile back at him, the warmth spreading over your expression.

“Well... Maybe I’m fond of you, too..” He mumbled, almost nonchalantly. It took you a couple of seconds to actually clock what he had said, and your smile grew ever wider. “And you’re not joking around?” You ask, almost too used to this kind of thing with people like Alex. “I’m not Alex.” David replies with a chuckle, seemingly catching on to your line of thought. “I don’t play around with people like he does, do I?” He shakes his head playfully at the phantom insinuation. “When have I ever lied to you?”

He had you there. He hadn’t ever lied. Well, not enough to hurt your feelings; no, he had achieved the Golden Mean of honesty with you. Maybe less so with Juliet and Alex, but that was more because he just was not as open with either of them. Your relationship was special, a very close bond, and one that you both cherished deeply- perhaps more than you would have yourself believe. “Never,” You answered, lowering your gaze for a moment, though the smile didn’t drop with your eyes. “Exactly.” David replied, almost with some pride, leaning back in his chair.

You lapse into silence for a little while, you’re not really sure how long for. It could have been ten minutes, or maybe half an hour. You only know that it is David to break the silence again. “So... We’re both fond of each other...” He says quietly, glancing down at his hands. “It... Seems that way, yep...” You agree, nodding somewhat awkwardly. There’s another few beats of silence, but it is more... Awkward, almost more forced than before. “So, with that.. In mind, so to speak, would you... Like to...Go out, sometime?” He asked. It was not unusual to see David in a state of nervousness, but this was something different, this was a strain of deep anxiety that clearly ran deep, you could tell by the way he was focusing on picking the skin around his nails as his words faded away.

“You mean like... On a date?” You ask, slightly unsure as to how he meant. “Uh- yes. Wait, no. No, wait yes.” David stumbled over his words, quickly trying to correct and re-correct himself. “Yes... Like a date.” He clarified. “I-if you wanted to, of course. You don’t have to.” He says quickly, nervous you’ll shun him and shoo him away for his offer, for his question; your friendship damaged, your bond irreversibly shattered.

“Calm down, David.” You soothe, giving him a small, comforting smile. He seemed to perk up a little bit at that part, taking a tad of comfort in the fact that your friendship may be recovered, despite the rather awkward outing of himself. “I’ll go out with you... Did you have a place in mind?” You ask quietly, and his face just lights up at your question. “Um, yes, actually... I was thinking a walk in the local park, and then maybe that restaurant I told you about the other week? It’s relatively cheap, but still looks nice...” He told you with that tiny little smile of his, that only truly showed up in the absence of the others.

You nod, rather eagerly, in agreement. “Now that sounds real nice.” You said quietly, and he seems nothing short of overjoyed. It warmed your heart to seem him so.. Happy. So purely happy and joyous, a side to him often ushered away in the face of Law and Miller. He sits there for a moment, happily beaming away to himself, before speaking again. “Does this... Does this mean I can call you my...” He trails off, steeling his nerves to say the entire sentence, unbroken, and without an ounce of his anxiety showing through. “Does this mean I get to call you my boyfriend?” He asked, and you start to mirror his wide and joyous smile, starting to nod at him.

“Yeah... So long as we don’t tell the other two. Don’t think they’re quite ready for that one,” You joked quietly. David got to his feet, shuffling over to sit beside you, and putting an arm around your shoulder. “This is okay, right?” He asks, as you start to lean into him. “Yeah, this is perfect.”

#david stephens #david stephens x reader #x reader #x reader requests #mlm x reader #male reader #Christopher Eccleston #christopher eccleston x reader

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venivivividi · 3 years

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headcAnon ✨ here! I love that tag, by the way <3 Yes, to everything you said in the answer to that ask. I totally agree. If you feel like talking about it, I have been wondering about something: Do you think Isobel knew about Alex and Michael’s relationship before season 1? If yes, how much? If not, when did she learn it? Because she knows about it by the end of the season (“You never want to talk about Alex Manes”) and I don’t think we see him tell her about it onscreen.

That is a very interesting question, my dear anon.

In 1x03, when Alex asks if Isobel knew about them, Michael's answer is very dodgy: "Would it be so bad if she [knew]?"

That could easily mean either that Michael had already told Isobel and felt guilty about it or was planning/hoping to and was testing the waters with Alex.

I can't stress this enough: Michael and Isobel are close, they spend time together, they talk; we know that Isobel already knew that Michael indentifies as bisexual, she was not surprised (vs. Max being totally flabbergasted by the revelation) so she might as well know a lot of other things about Michael's life. I'm pretty sure they have a much closer relationship that what people think. So it could be that Isobel didn't know before season one, but after malex's attempt #1mil at breaking up, Michael confided in her; personally, though, I don't think that's what happened.

I believe that Isobel did know before season one, and imho that could have happened in two ways:

Michael hit rock bottom at one point during the lost decade. Maybe he was drunk, he was definitely sad and angry, he just didn't think he could go on like that. Isobel was there for him and, finally, one night, he just... unloaded everything on her: every shattered dream, every fight, every sweet moment; he absolutely waxed poetry about that little flex Alex's jaw does when he's trying to restrain himself and those eyes, Isobel. He just stares at me and, you know what? Maybe he's an alien too, because I swear I feel compelled to do whatever. We gotta look into that, right? Isobel, of course, started recording as soon as she realized what was going on (that's top shelf material for blackmailing purposes), but felt really bad after listening to his blurred speach and the way his voice would just crack in the saddest way every three words, so she deleted it afterwards. Nonetheless, Michael does not have any more rights to complain about Max's emo poems and the likes of it; after all, Isobel did listen for three hours too many while Michael overshared about their epic sex(cit.).

Michael was spiralling, getting in one too many fights, drinking way too much, overall just projecting outwards his inner turmoils. Despite being miserable, he adamantly refused to talk about it, shutting everyone out. Isobel didn't mean harm, she just wanted to help, Michael had just passed out while she was over, he was probably having nightmares by the looks of it, so she just did what she used to do with Max when they were kids: she slipped into his mind to try and steer his thoughts away from any nightmar-ish topic, so that he could have one quiet night; maybe if he managed to get one full night of restful sleep he would be more open to confide in her and together they could try and better whatever situation Michael felt trapped in. Little did she know, as soon as she was in Michael's head, she found herself in the midst of a compilation of malex's greatest (saddest) hits: the day Alex left for basic, the moment Michael realized he was not coming back, the shed incident, that one time Alex slipped his hand away from Michael's because he thought he saw someone (in the middle of the desert at night), but also the worst scenarios Michael had concocted in his mind: every gruesome way Alex could die overseas, many instances of Alex coming back with a hottie on his arm (making it clear that Michael was the problem here), and last but not least, Jesse Manes somehow digging his claws into Alex, figuratively and physically (he has an overactive imagination, ok?). The following morning was not easy. Michael was enraged at Isobel's disregard of his boundaries, but at the end of the day the need to share was bigger than everything else, so he just admitted to it and let Isobel mother and smother him for three days straight. He's still not happy about it (and feels so guilty for having somehow betrayed Alex, even if he technically didn't do anything), he still does not talk about Alex with Isobel, but sometimes it's just nice to know that his sister is on his side. There was one incident where Isobel tried to do the overbearing sister thing and trash talked Alex but Michel nipped that in the bud very quickly: there will be no Alex Manes disrespect in his house. She apologized and was let out of the doghouse.

While I do wish that Michael would trust and confide willingly in Isobel, I also know that Michael is very reticent at sharing and Isobel canonically does have a problem understanding which boundaries can be pushed and which should be left standing, so I'm leaning more towards the last one.

(There is actually one last possibility, one that I do not like and pray did not happen, and that is Max blabbing his mouth about it to Isobel. We know that Max realized something during prom and probably cemented his belief during that talk they had at the Crashdown in the 1x06 flashback. Considering that Max has a history of sharing "secrets" about/involving other people without previous consultation, I find it possible that he talked to Isobel about it, before or after season one, being it a complain about how Michael never told them or a sincere worry about Michael's downwards spiral or even a waryness about Alex being in the Air Force. Anyway, I do not like that so I refuse to believe it. Michael deserves more than his siblings gossiping about him.)

#Roswell New Mexico #Michael Guerin #Isobel Evans #malex #headcAnon ✨#sorry for the late reply #also yayy I'm happy you like the tag! <3 #*#rnm hc*#rnm*

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ricciardhoes-archive · 5 years

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Portugal throat infection? Is this fanfic or did I miss something? Lol

george and alex shared a room in a villa and pushed the beds together i believe (??) and then george said something along the lines of this during an interview:

“i had a throat infection, not sure if he did something dodgy to me in the night”

#fanfic material alright #djskdk #ask.txt

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jamesginortonblog · 6 years

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Twenty years from now, you might find yourself sitting by the fire, telling tall tales to young ’uns about the madness and the mayhem of this century’s teenage years, and you might find yourself thinking — if only there was some kind of, I don’t know, TV drama that accurately encapsulated almost everything that was going on in the world in 2017, one that also felt like James Bond meets The Godfather. My friend, the drama you would be looking for is McMafia.

The series is the BBC’s big-budget new-year crime drama. Starring James Norton, Juliet Rylance and David Strathairn, alongside a host of Russian, Israeli, Brazilian and Serbian stars playing mob bosses from their home territory, it blends the stylish globetrotting of The Night Manager and The Sopranos’ take on family values, with a dark underpinning in reality.

McMafia’s script began life as a 2008 book of the same name, an epic study of organised crime by the investigative journalist Misha Glenny; it was then wrestled into a drama by the Oscar-nominated screenwriter Hossein Amini, best known for the Ryan Gosling thriller Drive. At first sight, this looks like another of those impossible-to-film tomes with which British TV is currently besotted. (The City & the City? The Patrick Melrose novels? Are you all insane?) Glenny’s tome details the rise of criminal empires from the dust of eastern Europe’s communist states and the globalisation of crime across continents, using free-market tropes. The term “McMafia”, for instance, is a reference to the Chechen gangs who franchise out the feared Chechen name to thugs across Europe, like a gun-toting Ronald McDonald.

Amini was hauled into the project by James Watkins, the director of Black Mirror and The Woman in Black, who had been trying to squeeze Glenny’s sprawling book into a feature film. “We sat in a little garden at the V&A — which, ironically, ended up in the series — and decided it could only be a TV series,” Watkins recalls as we squat on some antique furniture during a break in the filming of a violent chase in a country house. “It’s got whorls and tone, but no actual characters.”

Over the book’s fragmented vignettes, Amini lays an action thriller-cum-family-drama structure at whose heart is Alex Godman (Norton), the son of a Russian oligarch who was educated at an English boarding school, runs a successful hedge fund and is preparing to marry his ethical activist girlfriend, Rebecca, played by Rylance. When his dodgy uncle starts meddling in Moscow, Alex’s perfect life falls apart and he is thrown into the family business with increasing vigour.

“There are elements of Alex that are based on me,” Amini explains as he joins us. “I came to the UK from Iran in 1977. I was bullied at school for being foreign and found it hard to adjust. My parents can’t go back to Iran, although I could… All of this I put into Alex. So that notion of what it’s like to be Russian, but sometimes be ashamed of being Russian, and trying to work out if you’re British or Russian or something else — that’s very personal.”

Amini writes — or at least rewrites — roles once the lead actor has been cast. Drive’s sparse, moody script was as inspired by Gosling as by James Sallis’s original book. With Norton, he has done much the same thing, sculpting Alex to fit Norton’s natural sense of cool detachment as he boots up his inner Michael Corleone, against the backdrop of a violent global black economy that snakes its tentacles through everything from politics to the illegal deals smartphone makers rely on for their raw materials.

“We saw James playing the Russian aristocratic gentleman in War & Peace, a cultivated Englishman in Grantchester. Then there was Happy Valley, where he’s got this quiet, damaged fury — and it was obvious he would be perfect for a Russian bear inside a bowler hat,” Amini says.

“The thing about Alex is, he’s not a villain and he’s not a hero,” Norton tells me a few months later, as we sit by the Adriatic on Croatia’s Istria peninsula — which is doubling as the south of France and Tel Aviv. “He’s trying to do the right thing, but he’s being screwed up and twisted and turned, and he gets into this sort of spiralling, chaotic mess. They tell me they didn’t see anyone else for the role — I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. What did they see in me?”

Norton’s performance here will do nothing to dampen rumours that he’s the next Bond after Daniel Craig hangs up his Walther PPK. From the moment he steps out of a black cab in a tux onto the steps of the V&A — through spectacular assassination attempts, scenes of brutally trafficked young women, oblique references to the criminal machinations of the Russian government, high-speed chases through luxury mansions and dubious deals in pulsing Tel Aviv nightclubs, with some flashy high finance thrown in — his role has pretty much every ingredient necessary for 007, including the occasional raised eyebrow.

“To be honest, it’s mad, this crazy speculation,” Norton says with a quick laugh. “I think Daniel Craig’s going to do another two. I’m aware that James and Hoss putting me in a tux at the V&A couldn’t be more incendiary. I did say to them, ‘Are you just baiting me and stoking the fire?’”

Either way, he’s aware that this is a potentially career-changing role — not that he’s done badly so far. His elegantly foppish performances in Death Comes to Pemberley and Life in Squares led, unexpectedly, to Sally Wainwright picking him to play Royce, the dark, psychopathic nemesis to Sarah Lancashire’s troubled Catherine Cawood in two series of Happy Valley. The crime-solving vicar Sidney Chambers in Grantchester came shortly after, and he’s been in War & Peace, Flatliners and Black Mirror since then. As Alex, though, he has finally earned leading-man status.

“It’s terrifying in a way, because there’s nowhere to hide, really,” he says, giving a small smile. “Before, my agent was saying I should maybe move to a bit of theatre or a bit of film. Now he’s saying I need to decide how this is going to affect me and where I go next... It’s an AMC and BBC show, the budget is huge, we have Hoss, David Farr and James Watkins on the script, the supporting cast are all A-listers. Being the thread through all those people, I just hope I’m not the one to cock it up.”

The A-list cast, it’s fair to say, is not only impressive, but requires a little explanation. Every television drama project these days has to scream a little louder than the last just to get attention. In 2016, roughly 1,200 brand-new scripted shows were launched in the world’s main television markets, according to the industry number-cruncher the Wit — and estimates for 2017 suggest there will have been considerably more, as Facebook, YouTube and Snapchat launched scripted streaming services and Netflix alone produced 90 shows just in Europe.

McMafia is effectively the BBC’s answer to this internationalisation of talent. The Leviathan star Aleksey Serebryakov and Mariya Shukshina, a Russian TV stalwart, play Alex’s dubious oligarch parents; the Georgian actor Merab Ninidze proves oddly charming as the Kremlin-connected mobster Vadim; the Czech actor and regular Hollywood heavy Karel Roden delivers a weary ex-cop turned crime lord; and the Bollywood star Nawazuddin Siddiqui plays a corrupt Mumbai importer, Dilly Mahmood.

Russians, in other words, play Russians, Indians play Indians and Brazilians play Brazilians. When nationalities speak among themselves, they do so in their own tongue, rather than in the heavily accented pidgin English beloved of earlier shows. Sometimes there are subtitles, sometimes not. It’s a mark of how cosmopolitan the British viewer has become that a primetime drama on a mainstream channel can now drift seamlessly between languages.

“People in the UK don’t really know who these people are, but in their own world, they’re enormous superstar figures and have this immense skill set,” Watkins says. “Some of the Russian actors do so much with so little. Whenever anyone comes in to act with the Russians for the first time, we have to take them aside and say, ‘Look, this isn’t about you or your work, which we love — but before you act with them, watch what they’re doing and make sure you can match it, because they’re setting the tone for the whole piece.’”

Watkins is keen to stress that the tone is gritty, rather than glamorous. Each location is shot with different filters, and the dark, unsettling horror underpinning the action tends to be in the bleached-out bright sunlight of the Middle East. This is grimly true of the second episode, in which a young Russian beautician, Ludmilla, arrives in Egypt for a hotel job. She is picked up by a couple of cheerful locals, who drive her out of Cairo to a concrete shed where she’s beaten, tied up and shoved into the back of a van before being sold on to an armed gang — the first stop in a brutal series of events that leave Ludmilla in Israel, sold on yet again to a haughty brothel keeper.

It’s a shocking subplot, coming so soon after an exotic party at the Palace of Versailles thrown by Vadim — the Russian gangster with Kremlin links — and all the more so because it is the one story lifted directly from Glenny’s book, and is thus, effectively, a dramatised documentary. Indeed, all of the darkest elements in the series are echoes of real life — Amini based one early killing on the 1991 assassination of the former Iranian prime minister Shapour Bakhtiar. And Dimitri Godman’s drunken decline echoes the last grim years of Boris Berezovsky’s life. “We’ve tried not to chase events, because real life is always going to move faster,” Watkins says. “But every fresh headline almost seems to confirm the thesis that the corporate is becoming criminal and the criminal is becoming corporate — the intersection between criminality, intelligence agencies, banking and government.”

“Like most people, I thought the mafia was compelling and exciting,” Norton adds. “There’s money and fast cars and yachts and beautiful women. I hope people see that while we tell that story, we also tell the story of the cost — from human trafficking to drug-dealing and poverty-stricken junkies in Mumbai whose habits pay for someone’s superyacht.” He pauses. “Though I’m now aware that there are things in this phone that are unethically sourced, and I’m still using it every single day. So this probably won’t make a significant difference.”

Which is part of the final trick that Watkins and Amini play — constantly taking us back to London parties and ethical business launches by semi-legal tycoons, making clear our complicity in all the sordid crime and violent murders the show depicts. The most chilling paragraph in Glenny’s book does exactly the same.

“Organised crime is such a rewarding industry,” he writes, “because ordinary Western Europeans spend an ever-burgeoning amount of their spare time and money sleeping with prostitutes; smoking untaxed cigarettes; sticking €50 notes up their noses; employing illegal untaxed immigrant labour on subsistence wages; admiring ivory and sitting on teak; or purchasing the liver and kidneys of the desperately poor in the developing world.”

So, if you do end up in 20 years’ time using McMafia as a document of our fractured era — from Russian political meddling to dubious oil deals to corrupt hedge funds and ruined human lives — you might want to prepare yourself for the obvious question from your loving offspring: what did you do to try to stop it?

#james norton #McMafia #Hossein Amini #article #The Times

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jokerepair74-blog · 5 years

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British Airways boss apologises for 'malicious' data breach

7 September 2018

Image copyright Getty Images

British Airways's boss has apologised for what he says was a sophisticated breach of the firm's security systems, and has promised compensation.

Alex Cruz told the BBC that hackers carried out a "sophisticated, malicious criminal attack" on its website.

The airline said personal and financial details of customers making or changing bookings had been compromised.

About 380,000 transactions were affected, but the stolen data did not include travel or passport details.

"We are 100% committed to compensate them, period," Mr Cruz told the BBC's Today programme.

"We are committed to working with any customer who may have been financially affected by this attack, and we will compensate them for any financial hardship that they may have suffered."

BA said the breach took place between 22:58 BST on 21 August and 21:45 BST on 5 September. Shares in BA parent group IAG closed 1.4% lower on Friday.

Communication

Mr Cruz also told the Today programme: "We're extremely sorry. I know that it is causing concern to some of our customers, particularly those customers that made transactions over BA.com and app.

"We discovered that something had happened but we didn't know what it was [on Wednesday evening]. So overnight, teams were trying to figure out the extent of the attack.

Media playback is unsupported on your device

Media captionBritish Airways' chairman and CEO says affected customers will be 100% compensated

"The first thing was to find out if it was something serious and who it affected or not. The moment that actual customer data had been compromised, that's when we began immediate communication to our customers."

BA said all customers affected by the breach had been contacted on Thursday night. The breach only affects people who bought tickets during the timeframe provided by BA, and not on other occasions.

Mr Cruz added: "At the moment, our number one purpose is contacting those customers that made those transactions to make sure they contact their credit card bank providers so they can follow their instructions on how to manage that breach of data."

The airline has taken out adverts apologising for the breach in Friday's newspapers.

BA data breach: What do you need to do?

By Simon Read, business reporter

Image copyright Reuters

What data was stolen?

"It was name, email address, credit card information - that would be credit card number, expiration date and the three digit [CVV] code on the back of the credit card," said BA boss Mr Cruz.

BA insists it did not store the CVV numbers. This is prohibited under international standards set out by the PCI Security Standards Council.

Since BA said the attackers also managed to obtain CVV numbers, security researchers have speculated that the card details were intercepted, rather than harvested from a BA database.

How did hackers get in?

It isn't totally clear how hackers boarded BA's website and app - but cyber-security experts have some suggestions.

How did hackers get into British Airways?

What could the hackers do with the data?

Once fraudsters have your personal information, they may be able to access your bank account, or open new accounts in your name, or use your details to make fraudulent purchases. They could also sell on your details to other crooks.

What do I need to do?

If you've been affected, you should change your online passwords. Then monitor your bank and credit card accounts keeping an eye out for any dodgy transactions. Also be very wary of any emails or calls asking for more information to help deal with the data breach: crooks often pose as police, banks or, in this instance they could pretend to be from BA.

Will my booking be affected?

BA says none of the bookings have been hit by the breach. It said it has contacted all those affected to alert them to the problem with their data, but booked flights should go ahead.

Will there be compensation for me?

If you suffer any financial loss or hardship, the airline has promised to compensate you.

'Terribly concerning'

Jorg Herrera, from Amersham in Buckinghamshire, received an email from BA last night having booked tickets with the airline last month.

"I have six cards linked to my BA account," he told the BBC. "I have no idea how much of my information has been stolen.

"I will have to go to each of my credit card providers, cancel the cards, and all the direct debits, etc, related to those cards. This will take a long time, something I have to do with no help from BA.

"This whole thing is terribly concerning and really annoying."

Data duty

BA could potentially face fines from the Information Commissioner's Office, which is looking into the breach.

Rachel Aldighieri, managing director of the Direct Marketing Association, said: "British Airways has a duty to ensure their customer data is always secure. They need to show that they have done everything possible to ensure such a breach won't happen again.

"The risks go far beyond the fines regulators can issue - albeit that these could be hefty under the new [EU data protection] GDPR regime."

Under GDPR, fines can be up to 4% of annual global revenue. BA's total revenue in the year to 31 December 2017 was £12.226bn, so that could be a potential maximum of £489m.

The National Crime Agency and National Cyber Security Centre also confirmed they were assessing the incident.

'Flesh wound'

This is not the first customer relations problem to affect the airline in recent times.

In July, BA apologised after IT issues caused dozens of flights in and out of Heathrow Airport to be cancelled.

The month before, more than 2,000 BA passengers had their tickets cancelled because the prices were too cheap.

And in May 2017, problems with BA's IT systems led to thousands of passengers having their plans disrupted, after all flights from Heathrow and Gatwick were cancelled.

"It does not indicate that the information systems are the most robust in the airline industry," Simon Calder, travel editor at the Independent, told the BBC.

However, he does not think BA will be affected in the long term by the breach.

"The airline has immense strength. Notably it's holding a majority of slots at Heathrow, and an enviable safety record, so while this is embarrassing and will potentially cost tens of millions of pounds to resolve, it's more like another flesh wound for BA, rather than anything serious."

Have you been affected by BA's data breach? Email [email protected].

Please include a contact number if you are willing to speak to a BBC journalist. You can also contact us in the following ways:

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hurricanefrankie · 7 years

Text

You’re Not the Only One Suffering

Amelia is jolted awake by a sudden pain in her abdomen, the kind of pain that makes your toes curl and your fists clench in a hope to counteract the sensation. She rolls onto her side with a groan. The early morning sun dimly lit the room so she knew it was at least the morning. Suddenly overcome by a hot flash, she rips off her covers in an attempt to cool herself down. Her skin was on fire. She checks her forehead for a temperature but it’s too hard to tell whether or not she has one thanks to her hands being ice cold yet still clammy from sweat.

The pain that woke her strikes again causing her stomach to churn uneasily. She tries to gulp down the nausea but her mouth is dry and any moisture she had left in her body has now been sweated out during the night.

She hears hurried footsteps thud against the floor upstairs, signalling someone else was awake. A door slamming shut abruptly overshadows the footsteps closely followed by the distant sound of retching.

Oh no. Amelia scrambles off the couch, her stomach now violently churning. She runs in the direction of the downstairs bathroom, her hand placed firmly over her mouth as bile retreats back up her throat. She wrenches open the door and makes a beeline for the toilet. She reaches it just in time to watch the contents of her stomach spew from her mouth into the bowl.

Tears stream down her cheeks as a result of the violent retching but she has no energy to wipe them away, at least not until she’s finished puking her guts up. She continues vomiting for the next few minutes until her body realises there’s nothing left to relinquish from her now empty stomach.

She drops down next to the toilet with a sigh of relief. Please let that be the last of it. She remains slumped on the bathroom floor tiles, her legs pulled up to her chest whilst her head hung limply between them, enjoying the sensation of the cool tiles against her still burning hot skin.

Amelia doesn’t even realise she’s fallen asleep until she’s gently shaken awake by her four year old nephew Bailey. Her stormy blue eyes open to see his sky blue ones staring right back at her with curiosity.

“Why are you sleeping in here aunty Amy?” he asks with a furrowed brow.

Meredith appears behind him with Ellis on her hip, “You ill too?” she queries, surveying her sister-in-law with pursed lips.

The neurosurgeon runs a hand through her matted hair, “I feel like…” she stops herself from swearing to spell it out instead. “C. R. A. P.”

Meredith nods in understanding, “I’ve been up half the night with Zola while Maggie has been in my en suite and Alex has now too locked himself away in the main bathroom. I’m dropping these two off at day-care, I want them to remain healthy.” She ushers her son away from his aunt. “How’re you feeling?”

“A bit better.” Amelia shrugs and leans her head back against the wall.

“Good, I need you to go check on Zola, she was asleep but I don’t want her waking up alone.”

She wipes her hand over her sweaty face, “Ok, sure.” The mere thought of standing up and removing herself from such a close proximity to a toilet made her feel very anxious.

“I’ve also gotta call Catherine Avery and cancel my trip with Jackson, she’ll have to find someone else to go.” Meredith swiftly leaves, tugging a still very curious yet concerned Bailey with her; he hated seeing people hurt or unwell just like his older sister. His mother and aunts were all very positive both siblings would follow in their parents’ footsteps by becoming doctors.

With a deep breath, Amelia pushes herself up as gently as she possibly can, her head spinning momentarily once she’s standing upright. Her legs feel like jelly. The front door shuts indicating Meredith and the kids were gone.

Ok. You can do this. She gives herself a mini pep talk as she slowly but surely makes her way out of the bathroom and up the stairs. She clings to the bannister with dear life as yet another wave of nausea hits her. She freezes mid step until it passes. Mind over matter.

When she finally arrives at Meredith’s room, she finds Zola curled up in the tightest ball possible, still fast asleep. Amelia crawls onto the bed to join her, mentally making a note of the plastic bowl on the side table in case she felt like she might vomit again. She lies down beside her niece, above the covers, she was still burning up and the prospect of tucking herself in made her feel claustrophobic and very uneasy.

The sound of the en suite toilet flushing alerts Amelia to the presence of Maggie in the adjoining room, she had almost forgot that Meredith has said both she and Alex were in the same predicament as her and Zola.

The bathroom door creaks open to reveal an incredibly pale Maggie. Her hair was pulled back and hidden beneath one of her headscarf’s and she was wearing a tank top with yoga pants. “What did I do to deserve this?” she grumbles, using the doorframe as a support to keep her upright.

“You’re not the only one suffering.” Amelia says, remaining perfectly still, scared that if she moved even an inch; she’d unsettle her stomach. “Did we eat something?” she grimaces at the thought of food.

“Mer thinks it’s just the flu. Half of Zola’s class has gone down with it.”

“So she’s to blame.” She retorts half jokingly as she glances at the girl to her left.

“I’m so tired. All I want to do is curl up in bed but every time I step foot outside of this room, I…” Maggie drifts off, her face turning green. She whips back around and crouches over the toilet bowl.

Amelia tries to cover her ears to block them from hearing the inevitable vomiting but it’s no use. She closes her eyes and tries her best to think of anything but what was happening a few feet from where she lay.

‘You ok?’ His voice suddenly enters her mind. It’s full of concern and love as usual. Throughout the course of their relationship, he’s only ever seen her ill once.

“Go away!” She groans when she hears him knocking at the door. She doesn’t want him to see her like this. She’s sweaty and gross with chunks of vomit in her hair.

“Mia,” he only calls her that on rare occasions when he doesn’t know how to help and wants her to just tell him what to do. “Just let me in.” they both know the door is unlocked but he’s trying to respect her boundaries by waiting outside until she invites him in.

“I’m disgusting.” She heaves up another load of last night’s dodgy Mexican food. “Please go away!” she splutters, spitting out any remnants from her mouth into the bowl.

She hears him sigh from the other side of the door. “Can I at least get you something? A glass of water? Some ginger ale?”

“Sorry you had to hear that.” Maggie’s voice interrupts her thoughts.

She sighs, disappointed to find herself stuck at Meredith’s house while she was ill rather than being at home with her husband who would gladly look after her, despite her objections. “Shut the door next time.”

The mattress dips and Maggie cautiously lies down beside her. “I don’t wanna jinx anything but… I might be over the worst of it.”

Amelia scoffs at her unwavering optimism. The world is on fire and she holds a marshmallow on a stick to the flames.

“Having the flu is the perfect excuse not to be in the O.R with Minnick as she allows some first year resident to butcher a patient’s heart valve.”

Speaking about food made her stomach churn but talking about surgery, where there was blood, guts and gore only made Amelia’s heart flutter. Nothing beat the rush of adrenaline a surgeon got when they cut into a person’s body, or in Amelia’s case, their head.

“When are you coming back for good?”

The neurosurgeon sighs as she delicately rests her hands on her abdomen. After getting a taste of being back in the O.R the other day, she had spent every minute since craving the rush. The only thing that topped doing surgery was being in Owen’s presence, it didn’t matter if they were fighting or even giving one and other the silent treatment, just being in the same room as him made her heart skip a beat.

“I…” she gulps, pleased to find her mouth was no longer dry. “I don’t know… maybe sooner rather than later.” She knew she couldn’t stay out of work forever, her patients and her department needed her. She was still getting updates from Stephanie regarding the other neuro attendings and none of them were living up to her high expectations.

“And what about Owen?”

Amelia stares up at the cream colored ceiling. To her surprise, since being back at Meredith’s house, she hadn’t been interrogated as much as she expected. She thought she’d receive daily grilling’s from Meredith while Maggie asked incessant questions until they wore their sister down but none of that happened. Alex had been the only one to push her to talk because of what she had previously told him but only when they were alone, and when she told him to back off, he had done so without hesitation.

“I…”

Maggie tilts her head slightly to face her, “It’s ok, I’m not pressuring you like the other day. Come back when you’re ready.”

What if I’m never ready? I’m not ready for the fight with Owen. I’m not ready to break his heart.

Zola shifts beside her, “Mommy,” she mumbles, still half asleep.

“Mommy’s gone out for a little bit Zo Zo,” Amelia diverts her attention from Maggie to her niece, “she’ll be back soon.”

The seven-year-old uncoils herself from a tight ball and rolls over to face her aunt; she shuffles closer in need of physical contact. Amelia pulls her into her arms, dismissive of the idea that she might be vomited upon any minute now. She starts to rub circles on her niece’s back to sooth her just like her mom used to whenever she was sick.

“I told you to go away!” She whimpers into the toilet, trying to use it to shield her face from her husband’s view.

“I know but I don’t care.” Owen kneels down next to her. He rests his hand on her back and begins to draw a figure of eight while the other gathers up her mop of hair to keep it from her face as she continued to puke. “You’re my wife. In sickness and in health.” He reminds her affectionately.

“I don’t-want-you seeing-me like-this.” she groans between violent bouts of vomiting.

He sighs, “I’m a doctor plus I’ve been in multiple war zones, I’ve seen much worse, believe me.”

“But you’re not sleeping with your patients after you’ve seen them crap their pants or watched them vomit on sacred ground.” By sacred ground, she meant their bed. She buries her reddening face further down into the toilet.

“Do you want me to vomit in front of you? Will that make you feel better?” he sniggers. “If it means that much to you, I will go eat the other half of that bad burrito and in three to six hours, you can watch me projectile vomit anywhere you want.”

“You’d really do that for me?” the porcelain bowl amplifies her muffled voice.

He sniggers. “If that’s what it takes to make you feel better, then of course I will.

Amelia slowly lifts her head to reveal a small smile tugging at her lips. “The honeymoon period is officially over.”

“I feel like I’m in hell.” Alex staggers into the room, his hand placed firmly on his gurgling stomach.

“Join the club.” Maggie says, gesturing for him to sit down. He does as he’s instructed and slumps down at the end of the bed with a groan.

Zola suddenly jerks up from her prone position and before Amelia can grab the plastic bowl from the side table, Zola is puking onto both herself and her aunt, the latter’s lap receiving the brunt of it.

“Oh god,” Maggie scrambles off the bed but instead of helping the situation, she’s back crouching over the toilet being sick again.

Zola starts to cry out of both discomfort and embarrassment while her aunt tries her best to sooth her whilst keeping her own vomit down.

Pushing his own nausea aside, Alex gets up and moves round the bed to where Amelia and Zola were situated. “Strip off and jump in the shower.” He says before he picks up the shaking girl, his Peds instincts kicking in and carries her through to the bathroom opposite Meredith’s room.

Amelia grits her teeth but does as she’s told, doing her best to keep the puddle of vomit on her lap and stomach from trickling down into the mattress. She strips off her pyjamas so she’s standing in just her bra and panties before she removes the sheets from the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie reappears with a guilt-ridden expression.

“It’s fine, go shove these in the washer. I need to shower.” She points to the balled up pile of sheets.

Maggie nods apologetically as Amelia brushes past her to jump into Meredith’s shower.

#omelia #omelia fanfiction #grey's antomy #amelia shepherd #owen hunt #meredith grey #alex karev #maggie pierce

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celticnoise · 4 years

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CQN continues our tribute to Celtic legend Billy McNeill who passed away a year and a day ago today at the age of 79.

We are publishing exclusive edited extracts of author Alex Gordon’s book, ‘BILLY McNEILL: In Praise of Caesar’, in honour of the club great.

Today former keeper and Republic of Ireland icon Pat Bonner pays his tribute.

BILLY McNEILL was deadly serious. ‘Get your act together or you’re on the next boat home,’ he told me.

I was 19 years old, a boy among men, really. I could have folded. Let’s face it, those were extremely hurtful words from the Celtic manager.

If Billy was trying to provoke a reaction from a rookie keeper, then he had more of an impact than any psychologist. I was determined to prove the manager wrong. Quite literally, my future was in my own hands.

I always arrived early for training, but I can tell you, I never got in before Billy. I think he switched on the lights in the morning when he arrived and switched them off at night when he went home.

I had had something of a meteoric rise after becoming Jock Stein’s last signing for the club on May 14 1978, just ten days before my eighteenth birthday. I often wondered about that. Big Jock must have known he would be leaving the position yet he still took time to travel over to Ireland to sit down with a teenager and explain all that entailed in becoming a Celtic player. He went through everything in fine detail. And then I turned up for pre-season training in July and there was no sign of Jock.

Billy McNeill and his assistant John Clark had just taken over after leaving Aberdeen, so we were all starting at the same time. Naturally, they didn’t know me, a raw teenager from Donegal Junior football who had been spotted by Sean Fallon playing for Keadue Rovers. That actually worked for me. Billy and John really put me through my paces during the pulverising training routines before they made up their minds. They had to find out fast if they believed I had what it took to be a goalie at the club.

At that time, Celtic had Peter Latchford and Roy Baines as the two main goalkeepers. I was put in the reserve side, but I trained with the first team. Billy realised he would have to toughen me up just in case an injury ruled out the others. You could say things got a bit rigorous during training. The manager was determined to work on my ability with cross balls.

As a special treat, he arranged for the likes of Big Shuggy Edvaldsson, Roy Aitken, Tom McAdam and Roddie MacDonald, all six-foot plus and built to match, to make sure I knew they were around when I came for a high ball.

I should add Billy joined in, too. He was still fit enough to get into that tracksuit, as he did every single day. He was eager to get involved in everything we did and, at the same time, he made certain there were no slackers.

I used to play Gaelic football back home in Ireland, so I was used to going up early to catch the ball. However, with a football, that could prove to be dodgy. One slip and the ball would be behind you and, as luck would have it, there would normally be an opponent lurking around to stab it into the net. So, there was a slight change in timing and rising to meet a ball dropped into a packed penalty area when friend and foe went for it at the same time.

All sorts of crosses were flighted into the penalty area in an aerial bombardment and I had to attempt to clear a path to take the ball at the most advantageous point. Billy, Big Shuggy and the others made it as difficult as possible for me to make a clean catch.

I was buffeted around, blocked off, challenged with elbows flying around and you had to maintain complete and utter concentration. If I mishandled a cross, Billy would simply say, ‘Right, let’s spend another half-hour on this. Take your positions, boys’. And we would go through it all again.

It could be brutal. These guys were my colleagues and they were giving me more of a bashing than our opponents on matchday. After weeks of being clattered by my so-called mates, I decided to do something about it. During another exhausting training session, a ball arrived in the box and, as luck would have it, it was about to land between Billy and me.

I saw my chance. I went for it with everything I had. We were two big lads and, remember, Billy had been playing for Celtic just three or four years beforehand. We were on a collision course and I decided to punch the ball clear.

There was a dreadful thud and maybe I got more of Billy’s head than the spherical object. The manager was just a wee bit dazed as I said, ‘Sorry, boss, I think I might have caught you there.’

Those merciless and gruelling training routines came to a halt that day. Of course, it could have been a coincidence.

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#CelticNoise #Celtic #CelticFC #CelticQuickNews

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celticnoise · 4 years

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CELTIC legend Davie Hay revealed all yesterday in the snag that almost prevented Henrik Larsson joining the Parkhead side.

Now the former player and manager looks at his role as chief scout in bringing a celebrated threesome to the Hoops.

CQN today presents another EXCLUSIVE extract from Davie Hay’s autobiography, ‘The Quiet Assassin’, co-authored by Alex Gordon, to go behind the scenes of a trio of sensational signings that lit up the east end of Glasgow.

I OFTEN wonder how Henrik Larsson would have fitted in with the Three Amigos – Pierre van Hooijdonk, Paolo di Canio and Jorge Cadette.

They had all departed the scene by the time Henrik arrived, but it would have been highly interesting to see how they could have fitted in together. It was Fergus, of course, who gave that trio their nickname and there always seemed to be something going on in the background with the club’s owner and these three colourful, charismatic and controversial characters.

Thanks to Tommy Burns, I was involved in bringing that talented trio to Parkhead, starting with big Pierre. I had travelled to Holland a few times around that period because Dutch football was at a very good standard and there were players who could be bought for reasonable fees. I took in a NAC Breda game one afternoon and Pierre was outstanding. You couldn’t possibly miss him because he was about 6ft 5in, but he was very skilful on the ground with the ball at his feet. Normally, extremely tall guys are like a giraffe on ice when they are asked to do anything on the deck, but Van Hooijdonk ticked all the boxes.

I was looking at another Dutch striker at Twente Enschede at the time. His name? Michael Mols who, of course, did eventually come to Glasgow – to sign for Rangers. At that time, though, Celtic had the choice between these players. I made another trip to see Pierre in action against Heerenveen and that helped me make up my mind. I had noted in previous games that he never wasted a direct free-kick. He may not always have scored, but he always hit the target. It was an extra in his weaponry and I was impressed.

I advised Tommy Burns to sign him and we duly did. It’s ironic to think our giant Dutchman scored the goal that gave Tommy his only silverware as manager of Celtic. Who could forget Pierre’s soaring header against Airdrie on a sunkissed afternoon at Hampden in 27 May 1995 that delivered the Scottish Cup?

The setting was far removed from the Arctic temperatures the fans had to endure on the same ground when they got their first glimpse of Pierre. Celtic, of course, were playing all their fixtures at the national stadium that season with multi-million pound reconstruction work being carried out at Parkhead. It was 11 January when our latest signing took his bow in front of the Celtic support against Hearts. It didn’t take him long to win them over. He elegantly pulled down a high ball, killed it in an instant and turned to thunder an unstoppable drive high into the net. The Edinburgh side eventually got a point in the 1-1 draw, but I think everyone went home more than happy at the first appearance of Van Hooijdonk in the Hoops.

Next to join us was Portuguese international striker Jorge Cadete and if Pierre thought he had made an instant hit with the support he had nothing on Jorge. He came on as a seconnd-half substitute against Aberdeen in a league game on 1 April 1996 and scored after only FIFTEEN seconds. He took a pass in his stride before knocking it past the outrushing goalkeeper. Welcome to Glasgow, Jorge!

ROUND OF APPLAUSE…Pierre van Hooijdonk and Jorge Cadete thank the supporters.

Celtic won 5-0 that evening with Pierre and Simon Donnelly chipping in with two apiece. The football that was played that night was what was associated with Celtic. It was entertainment all the way and Tommy Burns and Billy Stark deserve massive credit for that. It is just a pity that they could not convert style into silverware.

Agent Raymond Sparkes delivered a video of Cadete in action. He had been in dispute with Sporting Lisbon and could be had at a reasonable fee. I had seen him before, of course, and I recall him scoring two goals against Scotland in a European Championship game in Lisbon in 1993. I knew he was electric in the box and would score goals in any company. He was the sort of class finisher defenders hated facing. He played right on their shoulder and it was dodgy to try to play offside against this guy. One slip in concentration and he had the lethal ability to punish you.

I telephoned Sir Bobby Robson, the former England international boss who had been Cadete’s gaffer for a spell at Sporting Lisbon, to get my card marked. Bobby didn’t hesitate in recommending the player. ‘He’s a top quality striker,’ said Bobby and that was fair enough testimony for me.

Paolo di Canio arrived in the summer of 1996 for a cut-price £1million from AC Milan and I had taken the trip to watch him in the flesh in a European tie against Bordeaux in France. Milan, with players such as Franco Baresi, George Weah and Paolo Maldini in the team, were 2-0 up after the first leg at the San Siro. Di Canio came into the team for the return and the French, with Zinidine Zidane orchestrating everything, fought back to win 3-2 on aggregate! You would be forgiven for thinking that might have put me off the Italian, but, in fact, it had the opposite effect. His team-mates thought they were coasting, but his attitude was absolutely right. He displayed a lot of determination and ability.

WELCOME TO PARADISE…Paolo di Canio fools around on the day of his arrival.

He was cajoling his colleagues throughout, but, alas for Paolo, they were not responding. His attitude won me over. I would be recommending we sign him. I sat in the stand that night alongside Bruce Rioch, who was Arsenal manager at the time. We were chatting and he asked me when I was going home. I told him I would be staying overnight and making my way back to Scotland the following day. He casually informed me he was jetting back to Heathrow in a private plane. How the other half lived!

Paolo duly arrived and, as I anticipated, the Celtic support took to him immediately. He was a Celtic-type player, no doubt about it. It was never dull with Paolo around and he made up the complete set of the Three Amigos. Van Hooijdonk was the first to go after more behind-the-scenes aggro. He didn’t seem interested any more and made it plain he wanted to try English football. He got his wish when the club sold him to Nottingham Forest for £4.5million in March 1997. A month later Di Canio was voted Player of the Year by his fellow professionals, but, unfortunately, a Scottish Cup semi-final replay defeat from Falkirk signalled the end for Tommy Burns as manager.

The temperamental Italian wasn’t going to be far behind. He claimed Fergus McCann had reneged on a contractual promise and walked out in July. A month later he moved to Sheffield Wednesday for £4million with Celtic receiving Dutch winger Regi Blinker as part of the deal. Celtic fans, understandably, were not happy. They had taken Paolo di Canio to their hearts and they believed more should have been done to keep him at the club.

Jock Brown had reassured the support Di Canio would not be transferred just weeks beforehand. When the deal was done, Jock informed the followers that he had not been sold, but ‘traded’. That cut no ice with the fans who felt as though they had been let down. It was also only a matter of time before the third amigo, Jorge Cadete, left the building.

He had refused to return from Portugal for pre-season training and, reluctantly, he was sold to Spanish outfit Celta Vigo for £3.5million. I know the club did go out of their way to try to entice this exciting talent back to the east end of Glasgow, but he wasn’t interested. It was around this time he revealed he had a parrot at home called Fergus. I wonder who that was named after! Cadete did return to Glasgow a few years later for a short spell with Partick Thistle. He was a mere shadow of the striker who had terrorised defences in a brief but memorable stint with Celtic.

By the way, there was another Dutch player who had caught my eye while I was tracking big Pierre. He was a no-nonsense and uncompromising centre-half who was with a team called Willem 11. He was tall, athletic, virtually unbeatable in the air and extremely fast on the deck. He could use the ball, too. I put his name forward because I knew the Dutch side would accept £800,000 for him. We did not have enough money for both Van Hooijdonk and this player, so we had to drop our interest in the defender.

He later signed for PSV Eindhoven for the fee I had been quoted, but he cost considerably more when he joined Manchester United. It was Jaap Stam and Sir Alex Ferguson didn’t hesitate in splashing £15million for him after impressive displays for Holland during the 1998 World Cup Finals.

Celtic could have got him for £14.2million less!

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#CelticNoise #Celtic #CelticFC #CelticQuickNews

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celticnoise · 5 years

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IT’S Day Fifteen of CQN’s tribute to Celtic legend Billy McNeill.

We are publishing EXCLUSIVE edited extracts from author Alex Gordon’s book in honour of the club great, ‘BILLY McNEILL: In Praise of Caesar’, which was published in August last year.

Today former Republic of Ireland and Hoops iconic keeper Pat Bonner reveals his memories of his ex-manager.

BILLY McNEILL was deadly serious. ‘Get your act together or you’re on the next boat home,’ he told me.

I was 19 years old, a boy among men, really. I could have folded. Let’s face it, those were extremely hurtful words from the Celtic manager.

There was a dreadful thud and maybe I got more of Billy’s head than the spherical object. The manager was just a wee bit dazed as I said, ‘Sorry, boss, I think I might have caught you there.’

Those merciless and gruelling training routines came to a halt that day. Of course, it could have been a coincidence.

*TOMORROW: Another legend reveals his special Billy McNeill recollections.

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#CelticNoise #Celtic #CelticFC #CelticQuickNews

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celticnoise · 6 years

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TODAY CQN brings you the eighth EXCLUSIVE extract from Alex Gordon’s book, ‘CELTIC: The Awakening’, which was published by Mainstream in 2013.

The book covers the most amazing decade in the club’s history, the Sixties, an extraordinary period when the team were transformed from east end misfits to European masters.

RONNIE SIMPSON, whose father Jimmy was a former Rangers player, made his Old Firm debut on 1 January 1965. New goalkeeper, same old outcome with Jim Forrest claiming the only goal of a fairly drab contest which wasn’t helped by the dodgy pitch. Studs crunched on the carpet of frost as conditions deteriorated while the game wore on. The Ibrox playing surface gleamed under the floodlights and even managed to look very picturesque. A winter wonderland for Celtic fans it was not. Once again, they had little to enthuse over following a derby reverse at the turn of the year.

Nevertheless, the support would be more than a little intrigued by what the club did next two weeks into the new year. Celtic brought back Bertie Auld, sold to Birmingham City for £15,000 in April 1961. They paid £12,000 for a player, who, like his good friend Paddy Crerand, was never slow to voice an opinion in the dressing room. It was an unusual step for the club, but who was behind the transfer? It was unlikely to have been chairman Bob Kelly, who must have had a major say in Auld, against his wishes, leaving in the first place. Was it Jimmy McGrory, the manager being given his place, albeit belatedly? Was it Sean Fallon, who took more to do with the coaching and running of the first team than anyone else? Or was there the possibility of Jock Stein, still manager of Hibs, laying down some ground work before returning to Celtic?

Bertie Auld attempts to shed some light on the topic. ‘I was at home when I received a telephone call from a guy called Dougie Hepburn who just happened to be a big pal of Jock Stein. He asked, “Would you like to come back to Celtic?” I didn’t hesitate, “When? Tonight?” I said. I have to admit I think it was Big Jock who was behind the signing. The following day Birmingham City were due to play West Ham in an English Cup-tie and I was overjoyed to see Sean Fallon with another guy I knew, Tommy Reilly. He had driven Sean down to Upton Park and, as soon as I saw them, I knew it wasn’t a wind-up. I was, indeed, heading home. I recall bumping into Big Jock when he was down in Birmingham to take in an English League v. Scottish League game around about that time. He was accompanied by Bob Kelly. The Hibs manager with the Celtic chairman? I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

‘Anyway, Big Jock was quite chatty and said, “How are things going, Bertie? Enjoying yourself?” I answered, “I’m having a great time. I’ve just become a father, too. Everything is wonderful.” Big Jock rarely, if ever, indulged in small talk, but, on this occasion, he seemed genuinely interested in what was going on in my life, on and off the pitch. Anyway, history now shows I returned to the club I never wanted to leave in the first place in January 1965. I even agreed to take a £5 drop in my wages, a lot of money at the time. I’m convinced my wife Liz must have thought I was going off my head. So, I came back to my spiritual home and Big Jock was to join up formally at Celtic two months later. It could have been a coincidence, but I certainly was not complaining. I sensed some fabulous things were about to happen.’

BERTIE AULD…the commander of Celtic’s midfield.

Auld made his second Celtic debut eight years after the first when he faced Hearts on 16 January at Parkhead. Tommy Gemmell welcomed back a player who would become a lifelong friend with a scorching goal, but the Edinburgh side still won 2-1. A week later Gemmell, with a shot of resistance-wrecking power, scored again in a 3-3 draw with Morton. Auld had to wait for his first victory – and first goal – with only a day of January remaining. It was a memorable occasion with Celtic hammering Aberdeen 8-0 in Glasgow with John Hughes shredding the Dons rearguard and scoring five. Lennox and Murdoch knocked in the others and Auld, designated as the new penalty-taker, showed his prowess by striking one perfectly beyond John ‘Tubby’ Ogston.

Twenty-four hours later came the announcement that dramatically changed the fortunes of Celtic Football Club – Jock Stein was to become the new manager. He agreed to succeed Jimmy McGrory, but only after Hibs found a new manager themselves. Bob Shankly, brother of Liverpool legend Bill, got the Easter Road position after leaving Dundee and Stein was officially named the new Celtic boss on 9 March.

However, the jungle drums had been beating long before the news broke. It’s not easy to keep secrets in football and Glasgow, it must be said, is a wonderful city of rumour. Stein, a well-known punter, played his cards extremely close to his chest. He had, after all, only become the Hibs manager in April 1964. However, the pull of Celtic was to prove irresistible. Stein was originally asked to become joint manager with Sean Fallon. Stein never intended any disrespect towards the Irishman, a former team-mate, but clearly it was going to be his way or no way. Fallon had taken over the duties as manager during the reign of McGrory and it had been widely acknowledged within the walls of Parkhead that one day the job would be his. Stein, though, stuck to his guns. News was somehow leaked that Wolves, searching for a new manager, were casting a gaze in Stein’s direction. Jim Rodger, of the Daily Record, at work again? Very probably. Kelly, as everyone realised, liked to get things his own way. Stein was prepared for a game of bluff and double bluff. He won in the end, as he knew he would. ‘FIRST PROTESTANT MANAGER OF CELTIC’,blazed the front page of the Scottish Daily Express. And history had been made at the club seventy-seven years after it had been formed by a Marist priest, Brother Walfrid. Jimmy McGrory was appointed head of Press Relations and Sean Fallon became the official assistant manager.

Stein met his new players only twenty-four hours before a league match against Airdrie at Broomfield on 10 March, but it was obvious the main target for Celtic was the Scottish Cup after reaching the semi-final following a real humdinger of a quarter-final tie in the mud of Parkhead four days beforehand. Celtic overcame Kilmarnock 3-2 and suddenly there was a belief about the place, heightened with the imminent arrival of Stein. The new boss had a brief message for his players, ‘You work hard for this club and I will work hard for this club. Together we will achieve something.’ Auld said, ‘It was as brief as that. I knew Jock, of course, and many of the Celtic players had been in the reserves when he was coaching the second string. For a couple, though, it would have been the first meeting with Jock that morning. I’m sure they didn’t know what to expect. Jock kept it simple.’

Stein, of course, was welcomed by most. Billy McNeill admitted as soon as the news was confirmed of his return, ‘On a personal level, I got a tremendous lift. I knew things would start to happen again at the club.’ Ronnie Simpson was less enthusiastic. Stein had sold the goalkeeper to Celtic from Hibs the previous year and, after being told about his former manager’s arrival, Simpson is reported to have gone home and informed his wife she should get ready to pack. ‘We’re on the move again, Rosemary,’ he is alleged to have said. Tommy Gemmell was overjoyed. ‘I knew Jock actively encouraged his full-backs to drive forward. There would be no more of this, “Don’t you dare cross that halfway line” again. Thank goodness. We were going to be given the freedom to express ourselves and I was going to take full advantage. There was no looking back for me the day Jock Stein walked back into Celtic Park. I clearly recall his very first instruction to me. “Remember, you are a defender and your first job is to defend,” he said. “But get up that park as often as you can when you see an opportunity.” That suited me perfectly.’

In Stein’s first game in charge against Airdrie at Broomfield, Auld slammed in five goals, two penalty-kicks among them, in a 6-0 victory. Auld laughed, ‘I always thought I had good timing.’ Gemmell added, ‘The remarkable thing about that display was that Bertie actually played wide on the left. He wasn’t playing right up front in the middle or just off the strikers. Forget the two spot-kicks, to score a hat-trick from a wide left berth was an incredible feat. It was only when Big Jock settled into the job that Bertie eventually moved into a midfield role, but against Airdrie that night he played as an orthodox left-winger, actually setting up opportunities for the likes of John Hughes and Bobby Lennox. I was playing right behind him and I can remember thinking, “This guy is class; he is giving us a new dimension”. Exciting times, indeed.’

JOCK STEIN…the man behind the revolution.

Three days later there was a double disappointment of St.Johnstone winning 1-0 in Glasgow in front of only 18,000 fans. There was a 3-3 draw with Dundee before the next home game and, once again, the fans didn’t exactly flock to Celtic Park. This time a crowd of only 19,000 watched Hibs win 4-2, a result that would undoubtedly have wounded Stein. However, he would have been much happier just over two weeks later when Celtic travelled to Easter Road for a rearranged league game that had been frozen off during the winter. Goals from Auld (2), Stevie Chalmers and Bobby Murdoch gave the club a 4-0 victory. The focus was the Scottish Cup, of course. It kicked off in February with a 3-0 win over St.Mirren at Love Street, but Celtic made it astonishingly difficult for themselves in the next round when they had to rely on a Lennox strike to see off the amateurs of Queen’s Park. Then came a classic confrontation against an excellent Kilmarnock side that brought goals from Lennox, Auld and Hughes to win the day 3-2 against stubborn, dangerous opponents.

There was the intriguing possibility of Stein leading out Celtic against Hibs in the Scottish Cup Final at Hampden on 24 April. While Celtic were due to play Motherwell in the semi-final at the national stadium, the Easter Road side were preparing to face Dunfermline on the same day at Tynecastle on 27 March. Hibs lost 2-0 and Celtic struggled to a 2-2 draw with the Fir Park side. Joe McBride, always quick to declare his passion for all things Celtic, stuck the ball past John Fallon twice. Bobby Lennox and Bertie Auld, with another superbly-executed penalty-kick, scored to ensure a replay four days later. This time there was no mistake. Celtic piled the pressure on Alan Wylie, in the Motherwell goal, and swept to a comfortable 3-0 victory, Chalmers, Hughes and Lennox on target. The fact that the main aim of Celtic’s desire was the Scottish Cup was underlined by an awful 6-2 collapse against Falkirk a fortnight after the semi-final replay win. That was followed by a 2-1 defeat at home to Partick Thistle and the league campaign would come to a close against Dunfermline in a 5-1 flop at East End Park after the two clubs had fought out an enthralling Scottish Cup Final four days earlier.

To this day, Bertie Auld is still convinced that the 3-2 Scottish Cup Final triumph over Dunfermline in 1965 was the most important win of that era. ‘Yes, even more so than the European Cup,’ he insists. ‘Remember, Celtic had won nothing, absolutely nothing, for eight years. I was at the club when they beat Rangers 7-1 in the 1957 eight years earlier. I still found it extraordinary that the club STILL hadn’t won anything in between. Eight years without a major success? That’s a lifetime to a club such as Celtic. Would everything have fallen into place if we hadn’t beaten Dunfermline? We took great confidence from that success. For me, that was the game that turned everything on its head. That broke the spell we were under. The club had reached other Cup Finals, but had not delivered during that period. Was this going to be another failure? No, we had to win the Cup, simple as that.’

BILLY McNEILL…Celtic’s onfield leader.

Stein had tried to relax his players at a hotel in Largs before the game, changing it from the usual haunt at Seamill. He wanted a fresh outlook and he always paid attention to the smallest detail. Billy McNeill recalled, ‘Jock knew what he was doing. We didn’t go into this game thinking the end of the world was nigh if we were unsuccessful. He made certain he, and not us, absorbed the pressure and the players could actually enjoy the preparation for the Cup Final.’

McNeill and his colleagues John Clark, Charlie Gallagher, Stevie Chalmers and John Hughes might have enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere more than their other team-mates. All five had been in the Celtic line-up that had been outplayed and outfoxed by Stein’s Dunfermline in the final of the same competition four years earlier. Stein had actually told his Dunfermline players, ‘This lot aren’t as good as they think they are. We’re better, so go out and prove it.’ McNeill, Chalmers and Hughes were also unfortunate enough to be in the team beaten by Rangers in a replay only two years after that. They could become three-time losers. Or first-time winners. If Jock Stein managed to calm these players in the days prior to Hampden he would have performed a minor miracle. Stein would sit them down after the afternoon training session and produce the magnetic board upon which he would illustrate moves he expected the players to follow. John Clark said, ‘We had never had a tactics talk of any kind before. This was completely new to us. He would point out something, but never repeat himself. You had to concentrate completely for there were no second chances.’ Auld added, ‘Sometimes Big Jock would ask for a player’s opinion. I would pipe up every now and again and he would listen. Once I had finished he would just wave that big left paw at me and say, “Naw, naw, we’re doing it this way!” This happened all the time. He would invite you in and then slap you down.’

There was the usual guessing game before Jock Stein announced his line-up for Hampden. He went with John Fallon; Ian Young and Tommy Gemmell; John Clark, Billy McNeill and Jim Kennedy; Stevie Chalmers, Charlie Gallagher, John Hughes, Bobby Lennox and Bertie Auld. A crowd of 108,803 was in attendance. Gemmell recalled, ‘I believe Dunfermline were favourites. On league form alone, that would make sense. They completed the campaign only one point behind eventual winners Kilmarnock who shaded Hearts on goal average. We weren’t at the races, but, at the same time, there was a lot of confidence in the team. Jock Stein had brought a belief with him. And we had to show a lot of trust in ourselves, too, when our opponents took the lead in the fifteenth minute. Any time’s a helluva time to lose a goal, but it’s so important to keep things tight during that sparring spell of the first twenty minutes or so. And now we had conceded and we had it all to do. Harry Melrose was their scorer after a bit of a goalmouth melee when we just couldn’t get to the ball to hoof it into the stand.’

Auld remembered, ‘I looked at my team-mates and I realised they felt to a man just like me. “We’re going to win this one,” appeared to be the unspoken, but unified, response. Sixteen minutes later I was left sitting on my backside in the Fifers’ net, but I was not one bit upset; the ball was lying there beside me. I had equalised. I remember the goal like it was yesterday. John Clark slid a pass to Charlie Gallagher and he took a couple of steps forward, shaped to play it wide, changed pace and then sent a thunderbolt of a shot towards their goal from about thirty yards. Jim Herriot, the Fifers’ extremely competent goalkeeper who would become a team-mate of mine at Hibs later on, threw himself at Charlie’s effort, but he failed to divert its course and it thumped against the face of the crossbar. I saw my chance as the ball swirled high into the air. Herriot was on the ground and was desperately trying to get back to his feet as I moved in for the kill. The ball appeared to be suspended by an invisible hand. It seemed to be up there for ages. I was aware of their full-back Willie Callaghan coming in at speed from my right. He was wasting his time – I was never going to miss this opportunity. The ball came floating back down after what seemed an eternity and I launched myself at it to head it over the line. One-one – game on!’

JOHN FALLON…and an unusual celebration after 1965 Scottish Cup Final win.

Fallon, in the Celtic goal, surrendered again just a minute before the interval when Melrose rolled a free-kick in front of John McLaughlin who belted it first-time from twenty yards. The ball went straight through the defensive wall and eluded Fallon on his right hand side. Auld observed, ‘It looked saveable from where I was standing. Once again, we had it all to do.’ Celtic had had to fight back twice against Motherwell to earn a replay in the semi-final. There was no way this side made life easy for themselves. Bobby Lennox said, ‘It was a quiet dressing room at half-time. I think Jock realised he only had us for a couple of months or so and if he lost his temper and bawled and shouted it might have tensed us up too much. That afternoon would not have been the right time to beef into the players. Jock was the big, friendly bear. On another day and on another occasion he might have savaged us.’

Auld looked back, ‘As we left the dressing room Jock said, “Get that early goal…get that goal and we’ll win this trophy.” Seven minutes into the second-half Tommy Gemmell turned the ball to me and I swiftly passed it on to Bobby Lennox on the left. He took off like a sprinter and I chased into the penalty area, hoping to be in the right place at the right time. Bobby couldn’t have hit a sweeter pass into the danger area and I arrived on the button to first time a right-foot shot low past the helpless Herriot. Two-two – we’re going to win!’

The spectacle could not have been scripted better; the finale more exciting. Nine minutes remained when Celtic won a corner-kick out on the left. Gallagher, a gifted striker of a deadball, trotted over to take it. The midfielder floated in a curling cross that had all the devastating effects of a wrecking ball to the Fife defence. Goalkeeper Herriot hesitated before leaving his line and that was to prove fatal. As he struggled to readjust his shape, Billy McNeill came thundering in with awesome timing to get his blond head to the cross and send the ball thudding into the net between the two helpless full-backs, Callaghan and John Lunn, guarding the posts; the area in between splendidly vacant. I have heard it said that Hampden was actually silent for a split-second as the moment sunk in. I was there that afternoon and I have to say I believe this curiosity could be fact. So many things had gone wrong over so many years and now Celtic were on the cusp of actually winning a trophy. I think a lot of the Celtic support around Mount Florida might just have been brainwashed into believing their team was destined never to be successful. Bertie Auld is right, this victory sent Celtic soaring to a new level.

One of the first things Jock Stein did in the summer of 1965 was scrap the third team at Celtic allowing almost thirty players to move on. Davie Hay was one of the youngsters who was brought to the club as Stein revolutionised the entire playing system. Hay recalled, ‘I think I might have been Big Jock’s first signing for Celtic. After a meeting with Sean Fallon, I couldn’t sign those forms quickly enough and I did so at the start of March, just as Jock was coming in. It may seem a bit harsh in some eyes to free such a large amount of players, but Jock’s reasoning, as ever, was sound. He wanted to know the strengths and weaknesses of a smaller band of players. That would give him the opportunity to work with all of them first hand. There would be no-one at Parkhead who hadn’t been assessed by him personally, no-one who had escaped his attention. I remember turning up one Tuesday night and there seemed to be about fifty other players of all ages at our training ground at Barrowfield. Jock had organised a special bounce game and it wasn’t to see how good an individual was, it was to see how BAD he was. I got on for about twenty minutes at one stage and, thankfully, did quite well. If I hadn’t performed reasonably okay during that short spell then God only knows how my career would have panned out. There were a lot of lads at Barrowfield that evening I never saw again.

‘Of course, as a youngster I didn’t know any better, but I was continually told by the older pros that it was night and day as to what had gone on beforehand. Jock was a tracksuit boss and that, too, was unusual. No disrespect to Jimmy McGrory, but players back then were telling me they only witnessed him on matchday and rarely in between. Apparently, they always saw him on a Tuesday because that was the day he handed out the wages! No-one witnessed Jimmy without one of his three-piece suits and trademark trilby perched on his head. There is little doubt Big Jock could be ruthless. He didn’t waste his time on any individual he didn’t think could produce for the club. Jock had the ability to assess players very quickly.’

One player who would be beating a hasty retreat was Hugh Maxwell, bought only six months beforehand. Stein fielded him in two games and Celtic lost them both, 2-4 against Hibs and 1-5 against Dunfermline. Maxwell, after only eight league games, was on his way. A rather cruel observation from one his soon-to-be former team-mates was, ‘Hugh would have looked out of his depth in a puddle.’ St.Johnstone paid £10,000 for him in the summer of 1965. In transfer cash terms, that meant the lanky midfielder had cost Celtic exactly £625-per-game. It didn’t represent good value for money and the bean-counters at Parkhead must have lain in a darkened room for some considerable time as a consequence. A shaft of light, though, was delivered via the £22,000 purchase of Joe McBride from Motherwell in May. If Stevie Chalmers took an unusual route to Celtic via three Junior clubs, it must be said McBride’s path to Parkhead was downright weird. The stocky striker, so often a thorn in the side of his boyhood heroes, was only one month short of his 27th birthday when he signed, but had already played for one amateur team, two Junior clubs and five senior outfits – Kilmarnock Amateurs, Shettleston Town, Kirkintilloch Rob Roy, Kilmarnock, Wolves, Luton Town, Partick Thistle and Motherwell. He may have been perceived as a journeyman forward, but Stein was convinced he was worth the money to become his first major signing at the club. If Maxwell’s first appearance was that of a whimper, McBride marked his first league appearance with a goal in a 4-0 triumph over Dundee United. Coincidentally, both full-backs, Ian Young, with a penalty-kick, and Tommy Gemmell, scored after Johnny Divers had hit the breakthrough goal.

JOE McBRIDE…striker supreme.

McBride sparked to life big-time in the League Cup, hammering in seven goals in five appearances, including a hat-trick in an overwhelming 8-1 quarter-final first leg victory over Raith Rovers at Stark’s Park. Stein took the opportunity of bringing in Jack Kennedy, a former Irish Olympic goalkeeper, for the meaningless second game against the Fifers, a comfortable 4-0 win. Kennedy, despite having a shut-out, joined Willie Goldie and Dick Madden as the third Celtic custodian in the sixties to play one game for the club before disappearing off the radar.

‘Jock Stein always had a great distrust of goalkeepers,’ recalled Billy McNeill. ‘Maybe he had a bad experience with one or two of them during his playing days. It appeared he couldn’t get his head round the fact that we were playing FOOTball and these guys were allowed to use their hands. He was tough on them, too. I remember when we were down at Seamill taking it easy before one big game when Jock appeared and summoned John Fallon, our keeper, to get changed into his tracksuit and join him out on the lawn. He placed some paint pots on the ground to act as goalposts and then produced this enormous net packed with balls. “Right, John, we’re going to have a wee work-out,” he said. We were sitting in the hotel, our feet up, reading books, watching TV or playing cards and there was our unfortunate keeper out there being put through hell. Big Jock walloped balls at him from all angles for what seemed hours on end. John looked absolutely done-in when he returned.’

Stein gave Fallon the nod for the first Old Firm meeting of the campaign at Ibrox in September. Fallon conceded twice, to Jim Forrest and a George McLean penalty-kick, in a 2-1 defeat with John Hughes getting the consolation goal. Johnny Divers, smack in front of goal, missed a pinch in the fading moments and Stein demonstrated that he could be as uncompromising and unforgiving with his forwards as he was with his goalkeepers. Divers, despite scoring in the opening league triumph at Tannadice and collecting two in the League Cup campaign, never played for the first team again. Bertie Auld recalled, ‘Johnny was a more than useful inside-right with a lot of skill. He started in the first team in 1957, played over 200 games and scored something in the region of 100 goals. Not bad going at all, but Jock thought otherwise. Johnny has admitted he had a conversation with Jock after The Boss’s return from Hibs and agreed he may have lost a bit of enthusiasm. Jock immediately said, “Then you’re no use to me.” Poor Johnny. He played against Rangers and missed a good chance. If memory serves correctly, Billy McNeill nodded the ball down into his path and it looked a goal all the way. Johnny swung his boot at it, but the ball bounced awkwardly and he connected with fresh air. The opportunity was gone and the game was lost. Jock absolutely abhorred losing to Rangers and he was far from impressed.

‘It was then, I believe, he had his conversation with Johnny and, there and then, the player could have packed his bags and left the club. He trained with the reserves for about three months and was then injured when Willie O’Neill accidentally stood on his foot. That was his season wrecked. He always insisted he knew his time at Celtic was over when he picked up a newspaper and there was a story informing everyone that he was to be given a surprise free transfer. Well, it would have been more of a shock than a surprise, I would think. There must be better ways to discover you are heading out the door. However, that was typical of Jock. Personalities meant nothing to him. He wasn’t interested in popularity contests. It was all about Celtic and the players he believed could do a job for the club. You might have questioned his methods, but what wasn’t up for debate was his success rate. Johnny gave up football altogether shortly afterwards following a spell at Partick Thistle where his heart clearly wasn’t in it. He went into the car business and John Clark remembers spending part of his £1,500 European Cup bonus on a car from Johnny’s showroom in Bearsden!’

Stein always had his reservations about Fallon and, although he was not to blame for the defeat at Ibrox, he played only one first team game again that season. Clearly, Stein took no prisoners. A story of the time also told of him making a surprise appearance at a reserve fixture. One first team player was performing in the second string at the time and the manager was furious with what he believed to be a lacklustre display from a man still picking up top team wages. Stein appeared in the dressing room and said, ‘Enjoy the second-half – it’s the last time you’ll ever play for Celtic.’ People around the club at the time would agree that such a dramatic action from Jock would not have been unusual.

RONNIE SIMPSON…took over from John Fallon.

Ronnie Simpson replaced the unfortunate Fallon a week after the Rangers defeat, a 7-1 romp against Aberdeen at Parkhead. Simpson, then, had become Stein’s third goalkeeper in successive games following Fallon and Kennedy and kept his place for the first game in October, a League Cup semi-final meeting with his former club Hibs at Ibrox with Rangers taking on Kilmarnock in a sensational encounter at Hampden the same day. McBride and Lennox, in the 89th minute, netted in a thoroughly invigorating two hours. While it was deadlocked 2-2 in Govan after extra-time, it was a day when defences took the day off at the national stadium with Rangers triumphing 6-4 in a breathtaking encounter. The Ibrox side had booked their place in the 23 October final and they had also racked up twenty-eight goals in nine games. Jim Forrest seemed to enjoy the early season tournament and had claimed ten of the goal tally.

So, Celtic knew it was their fiercest rivals they could be facing when they returned to Ibrox for the replay against Hibs. Whereas the Easter Road men had erected a solid backline in the first game in front of Willie Wilson, the keeper who had forced Ronnie Simpson out of the Edinburgh club, they were posted AWOL on this occasion with Celtic rampaging to a 4-0 success. McBride and Hughes scored within a five-minute period early on, Lennox swept in magnificent third with the ball being shuttled from the edge of the Celtic penalty area all the way down the pitch without an opponent getting a touch. Murdoch buried the fourth behind the back-clad keeper and there was a moment of controversy when John McNamee, the former Celtic defender, was ordered off. Petulantly, he kicked dirt in the direction of Jock Stein in the dug-out before disappearing up the tunnel.

Celtic and Hibs had protested about Ibrox being the venue for the replay. Both condemned the quality of the floodlights, their concern being shared by both sets of supporters who had difficulty following play, particularly in the first game which was played in a downpour. The Scottish League management committee was approached by Celtic and Hibs to change the venue to Hampden Park which was available for the second game. The Supporters Associations of both teams also formally sent in their protests, but the committee refused to budge and stuck by their earlier decision. Of course, that meant Rangers getting a considerable fee for the rent of their ground.

Simpson kept his place against Rangers in the League Cup Final and the veteran, known as Faither to his team-mates, would remain in charge of the No.1 jersey for the rest of the season. Auld remembered, ‘Of course, we were well up for the Rangers match. I never needed extra motivation for any game, but an Old Firm meeting was always special. As I recall, the bookies had us as slight favourites and that was most unusual around those times for a game against Rangers away from Celtic Park. Maybe people were beginning to cotton on to what was happening at Parkhead.’

TOMMY GEMMELL…Celtic’s goalscoring full-back.

Gemmell added, ‘I loved those encounters, too. I used to get it in the neck from their supporters. They probably thought I was a traitor because I was a Protestant playing for Celtic. I recall when I was an apprentice at Ravenscraig Steelworks and I was about to join up at Parkhead. One of the bosses called me in. “What do you want to join that lot for?” I was asked. To be honest, religion never bothered me and certainly didn’t come in to any thought process. I answered, “Why not?” He started to splutter, but never finished his sentence. He didn’t need to, I knew the script. He was a big Rangers fan and I shouldn’t even have been contemplating signing for “the other lot”. You know, my mum never went back to another football game after a match against Rangers when their fans chanted, “Gemmell’s a bastard” throughout the ninety minutes. She knew better, of course, but she just couldn’t accept the way her son was being treated. Me? It didn’t bother me one little bit. Let’s face it, they weren’t ignoring me, so I must have been doing something right. If I had been anonymous they wouldn’t have targeted me. Anyway, I reasoned if they were abusing me they were leaving other players alone so, although they didn’t realise it, it was a win/win situation for me.

‘Nowadays, I can look back and have a laugh at some of the light-hearted moments in these games. There was a match at Ibrox when a bottle came spiralling towards me from the Rangers enclosure. It dropped at my feet. What was I to do? I picked it up and jokingly went to take a swig. Unfortunately, it was empty. The fans saw the funny side, I’m glad to say. Mind you, a couple of minutes later they were back chanting, “Gemmell’s a bastard!” There was also a Rangers player, I won’t embarrass him by naming him, who continually called me “a big Fenian bastard.” To be honest, I doubt if he knew what the word meant and I couldn’t be bothered educating him. I had some memorable jousts with Willie Henderson around that time. The Wee Man was a bit special and, although it would probably have been beyond the comprehension of both sets of Old Firm supporters, we were actually good friends off the pitch. In one game I was a bit late with a tackle on Willie – an accident, honest! – and my wee mate went flying, then got up and ran towards me. “Off! Off!” was the raucous cry from the angry Rangers fans wanting my instant dismissal. They might have laughed if they had heard what Willie was actually saying to me. “Where are we going tonight, Tommy?” he asked. I loved the Wee Barra. Still do.’

Celtic returned to Hampden Park only six months after they had blown apart their silverware jinx. There was a genuine belief among the supporters that they were again witnessing the Celtic of old, a team that refused to roll over, a collection of players with a heart for the battle. No cause was lost until the last shrill of the referee’s whistle and that had been borne out in the 2-2 League Cup semi-final draw against Hibs. In dreadful conditions, Celtic relentlessly drove towards the Easter Road side’s goal in pursuit of an equaliser and they achieved that with Lennox’s last-gasp effort in the regulation ninety minutes. Stein sent out this team against Rangers: Ronnie Simpson; Ian Young and Tommy Gemmell; Bobby Murdoch, Billy McNeill and John Clark; Jimmy Johnstone, Charlie Gallagher, Joe McBride, Bobby Lennox and John Hughes. New striker McBride had scored eleven goals in as many games since the start of the season. Like his Rangers counterpart, Jim Forrest, McBride was a no-frills frontman. ‘When I see the whites of those goalposts I just let fly,’ he said. ‘After that, it’s up to the keeper.’

A crowd of 107, 609 – an all-time high for the competition – turned out at Hampden to see if Celtic, after eight years without a trophy, could claim a second inside six months. It would have been a preposterous thought in the early days of the decade. Rangers had been used to bossing these games, but Celtic put down a marker – almost literally – in the early moments when right-back Ian Young sent winger Willie Johnston spinning with a crunching, but fair, tackle. A bruising encounter ensued, no quarter asked or given by either set of players. Celtic got the breakthrough goal in the most bizarre of circumstances. A long ball from the Celtic defence was sailing serenely out of play when, for no apparent reason, Rangers centre-half Ronnie McKinnon stuck up a hand to pull the ball down. A certain penalty-kick and referee Hugh Phillips duly pointed to the spot. John Hughes took it and sent it straight down the middle as goalkeeper Billy Ritchie launched himself to the right. ‘I normally hit them to the keeper’s right,’ said Hughes, ‘but on this occasion I had a late change of mind. I saw John Greig having a word with the keeper moments beforehand and figured he was telling him where I would put the ball. I was the designated penalty-taker and, funnily enough, when I left home that morning I thought to myself, “I hope we don’t get any penalties!” It was nerve-wracking enough in normal games, but an Old Firm meeting, especially a Cup Final, was something else.’

The advantage was doubled before the first-half was over and once more it was another stonewall penalty-kick with even the Rangers players failing to protest. Davie Provan, given the runaround by Jimmy Johnstone in the first game of the 1963 Scottish Cup Final, desperately lunged at the winger as he wriggled his way across the 18-yard box. The defender’s timing was off, he caught Johnstone just under the knee. Match official Phillips gave the award again without hesitation and Hughes stepped up once more. This time he did strike it to the goalkeeper’s right and must have taken a sharp intake of breath when Ritchie guessed correctly and got a hand to the ball. Hughes said, ‘Thankfully, there was enough power behind the shot to force it past the keeper. I was proud of those goals because you’re under a lot of pressure taking a penalty, especially against Rangers. I was really pleased with myself.’ The Celtic end behind Ritchie once more erupted in delirium. Rangers, as expected, were not about to accept defeat without a fight. They took the game to Celtic after the interval, but the defence in front of Simpson was resolute. There was a fright, though, when Young, panicked by Greig, sent an attempted clearance thumping beyond the helpless Simpson, but Celtic’s name was on the Cup, won for the first time since the 7-1 victory over the same opponents in 1957. Unfortunately, the historic ritual of parading a newly-won trophy in a lap of honour to celebrating fans was sabotaged by a pitch invasion from the Rangers end.

Gemmell said, ‘We were presented with trophy and, as we had done after beating Dunfermline in the Scottish Cup Final, we were about to take it over to our supporters. There’s no way we would have been going all the way round the pitch, that’s for sure. Unfortunately, we didn’t even get the opportunity to show it off to our own fans. A photograph of me pulling over a scarf-waving Rangers supporter appeared in the following day’s newspapers. Ian Young had been knocked to the ground and a clearly bewildered Billy McNeill was just standing there holding the League Cup. We had earned that trophy and we had earned the right to parade it in front of our loyal support. Sadly, we never got the opportunity. The police eventually arrived on the scene and all the players were ushered down the tunnel. It was an unfortunate ending to a memorable Old Firm occasion.’

The European crusade, now an annual event, had started quietly enough in September, but would end in uproar and controversy in April the following year. As far as the remaining league games of 1965 were concerned, Celtic were on a roll and won eight of their nine encounters with their only falter being a 1-1 draw with Partick Thistle. It was phenomenal football. Celtic reached the turn of the year after scoring fifty-five goals in fifteen league games. Joe McBride had been brought to score goals and he wasn’t disappointing, claiming fifteen in his fourteen appearances while rattling in seven in seven League Cup-ties. He added another two from three Cup-Winners’ Cup-ties. Twenty-four goals in his first four months playing for the club he idolised. Now he was on the receiving end of hero worship.

McBride had scored against Dunfermline, Aberdeen, Hearts, Dundee, Stirling Albion, Partick Thistle, St.Johnstone, Hamilton, Kilmarnock, Hibs and Morton in the league and Dundee United, Dundee and Raith Rovers in the League Cup. One name was missing – Rangers. He would get the opportunity to rectify that on 3 January 1966.

* TOMORROW: CQN’s exclusive extracts of Alex Gordon’s book. ‘CELTIC: The Awakening’, will continue with the club going in search of the First Division title. Don’t miss the next dramatic instalments – only in your champion CQN.

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