CHAPTER TWELVE

WOLVES AWAY

Saturday February 13th. 1971

A Class 47 Diesel locomotive, pulling ten carriages of pre-war stock, that makes up the Chelsea football special, slowly pulls into the platform at Wolverhampton station. Wolverhampton was a major industrial town, in the 19th century. Sitting to the west of Birmingham, it is in the middle of a huge rebuilding and modernisation program. A recently finished ring road surrounds the town centre, and links the station with the football ground.

Walking out of the main entrance of the station, the first of the six hundred supporters look down Railway Drive for any signs of the Queen Street firm. Those at the front become a bit bolder when they see that there is no reception committee awaiting them, and burst into song,
"WE HATE NOTTINGHAM FORREST,
WE HATE LIVERPOOL TOO;
WE HATE TOTTENHAM HOTSPURS,
YIDDO, YIDDO, YIDDO
BUT CHELSEA WE LOVE YOU."

Looking up at the overcast sky, Mickey Green turns to Gary Montgomery, "Looks like it could rain."
"Fuck the rain," replies 'The General', It's Wolves we got to watch out for." 'The General' walks down Railway Drive, to the Ring Road St. David's and stops; turning his head left and right surveying the scene. Noticing only one police van parked a hundred yards to the right, near the cross roads, he turns his head back to the station, "Right you lot," he shouts to the gathering crowd; "Stay together, and no singing!"
'The General' walks at the head of the Shed, as they start their march along the Ring Road to Molineux the home of Wolverhampton Wanderers.

'Tiny' sits lazily behind the wheel of a hired VW micro minibus, looking in the rear-view mirror, to relive the boredom, he checks on the two minibuses sitting behind him. Parked in Stafford Street overlooking the side street that leads to the Molineux Pub, a favourite watering hole of the Queen Street Firm. Deciding to break the silence, turning his head, to the rear of the minibus, he looks at Debbie sitting next the 'Merrill'. "Missing Sandy then?"
Debbie looks up and nods, " Yeah kind of strange her not being here."
"Well with Dave out on bail, someone has to keep him occupied on match days," smiles 'Little John'.
Ian looks over to Debbie with a smirk, "Don't worry she's proberly shagging his balls off as we speak."
Veronica flashes an angry look and Ian, then slaps his shoulder; "That's not a very nice thing to say."
Steve laughs as he cuts in, "Now, now girls and boys behave yourselves." He pauses a moment in thought, then continues, "She said she had a plan to get Linda to talk, so what's all that about Debb's?"
An evil smile creeps across Debbie's face, "Just an idea she has, nothing to get excited about."

"She should give that fucking 'Coke Head' a slap," says 'Tiny' looking around the floor of the VW. "Any rolls left?"
'Little John', thinking that everyone had had their fill, reluctantly pulls the last one out of the cardboard box, which sits on the metal floor. He looks at it, and then passes it to 'Wellsy' saying, "Here you are you greedy git."
"Ha, ha, beat yeah to it Johnny Boy," 'Tiny' says with a sarcastic sense of good timing.

'Twist And Shout' comes on the radio, and 'Little John' sits up in his seat and says, "Hey wasn't this the original version?"
"Yes," says Ian, they did it before the Beatles."
Alan 'Merrill', looking out of the window smiles and says, "No, it was the original hit version, but the original was done by a group called the Top Notes. It was one of the few things Phil Spector ever fucked up, so the writer, Bert Burns, who produced the Drifters, got the Isley's to do his version at the end of one of their seasons." He pauses a moment then continues, "Listen to that drummer, by the Gods, I bet he was on fucking drugs, that is an amazing bloody record."

Looking at the pre-packed cheese roll bought at the Watford Gap service station, on the M1 Motorway, 'Tiny' starts to unwrap it, when a sudden thought comes to mind. "Baguettes!" he says wondering out loud, "Ain't they fucking French?"
"Yup," says Steve Willis, from the back of the minibus.
"Jesus those fucking Normans, get everywhere!" he says with disgust.
"Only problem with that 'Tiny'," says 'Merrill' who is sitting by the rear door next to Ian; "The Normans weren't French, they were Danish Vikings."
"Oh Bollocks!" shouts 'Tiny' in amazement, "how the fuck d'you reckon that then?"
"Oh Bollocks!" sighs Steve; "here we go again."

'Merrill' looks out of the rear window, and seeing nothing moving, looks at Ian, shakes his head and chuckles. Then turns back towards 'Tiny', "Well let's see," he pauses in thought; "In around 890AD Danish Vikings that had been raiding the French coast for nearly one hundred years, started to make winter camp, around the River Seine. The area had long been a favourite raiding place, The King of the Germanic tribe the Franks, had carved out an empire in Gaul; what you know as France. Well he thought that if he gave them the coastal area, he would use them to stop other Viking raids," 'Merrill' smiles and says "Confused yet?"

"Yeah, fucking right," replies 'Tiny', "So the Frogs are really Germans? Well that's a first."
"No, no; in the same way as the Normans ain't English, the Franks aren't French. They gave their name to the land, and became the ruling class, and the Royal family, of the indigenous population, just as in England, the Normans became the Upper Class, and Royal family."
'Tiny' still looking puzzled raises his eyebrows, and says, "Yeah, of cause any fool knows that."

"OK," 'Merrill' continued, "The Norman leader was called Rollo,"
'Tiny' turns round with a grin and says, "I bet he liked chocolate!"
'Merrill' shakes his head, and then continues; "The King made him the Duke of Normandy, then over the next one hundred years the Vikings assimilated with the local Gauls, adopting their language and most of their ways of warfare, including replacing their battle axe for heavy cavalry."
'Tiny' thinks a moment, then says in a mocking tone, "I got it pal, I ain't thick, The Vikings came to France and became French, like I said." He looks into the rear view mirror smiling at 'Merrill'. "So what about William the Conqueror?"
"He was a descendent of Rollo, and was called William the Bastard; he was a cousin of the English Saxon King Harold, by marriage. The Vikings under Knut had gained the crown of England, but lost it to the Saxon Edward the Confessor. When he died, King Harold together with King Harold of Norway, and William the Bastard all laid claim to the English throne."

"Hey!" says 'Tiny', as all suddenly becomes clear, "That was the Battle of Stamford Bridge, wasn't it?"
"What was?" queries Tiny.
The Norwegian King invading England, King Harold defeated him at the Battle of Stanford Bridge," 'Tiny' says with pride.
"Fuck the Vikings," shouts 'Tiny', looking out of the front window, and pointing towards the crossroads, "here comes the Queen Street Mob."

All eyes turn to the front of the minibus, as around sixty people cross the ring road, after walking up the southern part of Stafford Street, from the town centre. Turning the corner they walk towards Molineux Street on their way to the pub. "So we going to have them?" queries Steve.
"No, not yet; let them get into the pub first, don't want them knowing these are our motors, they'll smash them, before we get back after the game," answers Ian.

'Tiny', looks out of the windscreen of the minibus, like an eagle, scanning for his next meal, and then suddenly gasps; "I don't believe it!" he turns round to face his suddenly attentive audience. "The second the Queen Street mob disappear round the corner, than the Shed pass along the ring road."
'Tiny' sits bolt upright in an effort to see down to the crossroads, "Hey look, Green's walking this way."
"How many with him?" asks Ian.
"Er," he pauses while he counts them; "there's four of them," replies Steve.
'Tiny' seeing Green turns to 'Little John', and says, "That prat went to Venice once, and got sea sick crossing the street."
'Little John' laughs, and replies, "Well at least with all that fat, he'd float, and then he'd sell the story to the Daily Mirror."
"Leave him alone," snaps Veronica, he ain't that bad.
"You're just jealous that you ain't worshiped by the shed boys, like he is," says Debbie
'Merrill' looks at Debbie, "You've changed your mind all of a sudden?"
Debbie shaking her head says, "No way, he may be a bit of a creepy but he's OK at games."

"Just as long as he don't try it on with you again," says 'Merrill' as he opens the rear door, and gets out, looking up to the other two minibuses; he waves for everybody to disembark.
Ian turns to Veronica, putting his arm around her, he says; "Here's some money, make your way to the ground." Giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek, he continues; "If you see Tommy, and his boys, tell him we'll meet him in their end, but to stay quite, till we get there." He turns his head to Debbie and warns, "And don't you go in with Tommy either, you're in the stands!"

'Parkhead' walks over to 'Merrill' with a beaming smile on his face, "So what's the crack then?"
"We're going to pay a little visit to their pub, then it's off to the ground," he replies.
'Tiny' now standing on the pavement locks the door of the minibus, then as he pulls the key out, he accidentally drops the remains of his roll, "Fucking French!" he curses.
Colin Davis, walking down from the second minibus, turns with a puzzled look on his face and asks, "What's the fucking French got to do with dropping a cheese roll?"
'Parkhead' looks over to 'Merrill', then with a beaming smiles says to Daniels, "Well my old son, when the Vikings invaded France."
Everybody from the first minibus, collapse in fits of laughter, leaving Colin with a bemused frown on his face. "You lot are off your fucking trolley."

Turning the corner the North Stand Firm walk towards the sand coloured brick wall that surrounds the Molineux pub, looking through the wide front gate they see about forty people standing around inside the large forecourt. Busily drinking and talking, they fail to notice the North Stand casually walking across the forecourt in two's and three's towards the double front door of the pub.
"Hello there's Green," says 'Tiny', nodding towards the front door.
Green is in the middle of what looks like a heated argument, with a Wolves supporter, standing with his back to the double front doors.
"Jesus H Christ," gasps Ian, "That cunt is going to give the game away."
"But he don't know were here thou!" says 'Parkhead
"Well bang goes the idea of mingling with the wolf pack to get in their end," mumbles 'Tiny'.

'Merrill' walks slowly up to the supporter, and with out warning throws a right upper cut, that knocks him off his feet, and sends him flying backwards through the double doors. Panic brakes out as supporters start to push their way out of the trouble spot. Then out of nowhere, two plain cloths cops, rush over and grab Green.
"You're knicked," screams the larger of the two, forcing Green's arm up his back, and pinning him against the brick wall.
Green turns his head and screams in astonishment, "It wasn't me!"
Seeing this 'Merrill' turns and signals to the others to get out fast. They join the rush of supporters across the forecourt pushing their way through the entrance gate to Molineux Street.

The home end at Wolverhampton is of average size, the low wooden roof giving it quite a dark appearance, even in the daylight. The Queen Street firm, stand behind the goal, half way up the terrace, as the view from the rear is obscured slightly by narrow support pillars. Few away crews venture into the home end, expect for local derby matches, with teams from Birmingham. The Shed is massing on the away terrace behind the far goal, and underneath The Stockwell, and Southfields boys are milling around the small bar. The barman looking at all the "Cockneys" milling around nervously says, "Who's next?"
Jimmy Beckworth, a top face in the shed is standing near the bar. A six-footer from Stockwell, loosing his left hand in a car accident has added to his mystique. His ice-cold temperament and fearless nature has made him living legend among the "Shedites."
The barman swallows and stays silent, as he looks at "Becks".
He looks at the barman, with a long silent stare. "My friends would like a drink,"
"Yes sir;" says the barman noticeably shaking, as he picks up a pint sized paper cup.
After serving over twenty pints, the barman, finally plucks up courage and says; "Hold on, I'll have to count this up."
"Becks" passes the last cup to a passing Shed Boy, and then looks back to the barman. "Who said anything about paying?" he snaps, then turns and walks towards the stairs that lead up to the terrace.
The barman stands there in disbelief for a moment, then starts to shout in panic; "Hey you can't do that! Oi, come back!"

At the other end of the ground the Queen Street firm, have little idea that nearly one hundred members of the North Stand firm are quietly infiltrating their territory. Tommy from Bolton is already standing at the rear of the stand with twenty his crew; they slowly mingle with a dozen from Salford. To their left are a dozen of the Derby contingent; today is a big match, and the North Stand's, 'Foreign Legion' from the North and Midlands are out in force. The Wolves supporters are warming up with a full recital of their songs, and the pre-match atmosphere, is becoming electric. In a short break between songs, choruses of 'Chelsea' drift across the pitch from the far end.

The Queen Street firm start chanting,
"WE HATE CHELSEA
WE HATE CHELSEA."
Heads turn at the rear of the stand, as the North Stand firm, finally start to ease their way through the crowd, towards the middle rear of the stand. 'Merrill' walks over to Tommy, shaking hands he asks; "All quite on the Western Front?"
"Yeah; things are just beginning to warm up," he replies, relived to see that the Londoners have at last arrived.

In front of them the Wolves supporters are working themselves up into frenzy, chanting,
"WANDERERS, WANDERERS."
So loud that it's nearly raising the roof, supporters are jumping up and down, and a few of them in their excitement stumble and fall into those in front of them, causing human waves to flow into the many metal crush barriers. Then from the far end come chants of,
"NORTH STAND, NORTH STAND,
GIVE US A WAVE."
The Wolves supporters take up their own version of the chant, mocking the Chelsea supporters in the far end.
"NORTH STAND, WERE ARE YOU?
NORTH STAND, WERE ARE YOU?"

"Fuck this for a laugh," says Colin standing behind 'Merrill'; "Let's get stuck in."
All eyes at the rear of the stand turn to 'Merrill' and Ian, who look at each other, and smile; 'Merrill' raises his right hand, and shouts.
"WE'RE THE NORTH STAND,"
Then one hundred voices join in, in unison,
"WE'RE THE NORTH STAND,
WE'RE THE NORTH STAND STAMFORD BRIDGE."
Silence descends across the terrace, as shocked heads turn to look up at the rear of the terrace.

"Charge!" screams 'Little John' as he Ian and 'Merrill' rush forward, hitting anyone in their way, closely followed by the North Stand and it's 'Foreign Legion'. Within seconds a large gap opens up in the middle of the terrace, as one hundred Chelsea supporters rush forward. The Queen Street firm is the first of the Wolves supporters to recover from the of the shock charge, turning to face the invaders; they are soon engulfed by the momentum.

One of them pulls an iron bar from his back pocket, raising it above his head; he starts to bring it down on the Chelsea supporter who has rushed up to him. At the last moment 'Merrill' stops and grabs the supporter's wrist, bending it back, and twisting the arm. His right leg comes up and lands squarely in the stomach of the supporter, who winded loosens his grip on the bar. 'Merrill' takes it, as 'Little John' punches the supporter in the face, sending him falling to the floor. 'Merrill' nods at 'Wellsy', as he puts the bar through his belt and into his jeans right pocket.

A wide gap has now opened up on the terrace, as people rush to get out of the way, then the first of the police run along the touchline, and climb into the terrace. 'Little John' pulls a Wolves supporter by his left arm, and swings him around into one of the support pillars, letting go he smashes his right elbow into his face, then noticing the police arriving in numbers, he looks across to 'Merrill', "The filth!" he shouts in warning.

'Merrill' looks around and sees that plain-clothes officers, are arresting people behind him. "Down the other end!" he shouts. Ian unaware of the warning sees 'Parkhead', being lead away, by plain-clothes police, shouting to 'Tiny', as he runs over and kicks one of them in the back. Steve knees the other one in the right leg, sending him down to the terrace steps; quickly looking around, he turns back and kicks the policeman in the head, "Cunt!" he screams.

'Merrill' grabbing he's arm shouts, "Down the other end."
Ian climbing over the low wall, which separates the terrace from the pitch, looks up and smiles, as he sees the rest of the North Stand, climbing over the wall. The police forming a barrier to stop them getting on the playing area, point to the corner flag, and one hundred Chelsea supporters, start their march around the edge of the pitch, towards the cheering Shed, behind the far goal.

A thundering cheer goes up around Molineux as Wolves score their second goal. 'Merrill' annoyed that Chelsea are now loosing two nil, with only fifteen minutes to, he turns to Ian, "That's it, I'm going back up the other end!"
"What about the plan cloths filth?" Ian retorts.
'Merrill' looks back at Ian, his anger raising by the second, "Fuck 'em," he shouts, "They get in the way, and then have 'em!"

'Merrill' turns and starts to make his way through the crowded terrace to the staircase, that leads to a large tarmaced area underneath the terrace.
"Where's he going?" asks a puzzled 'Wellsy'.
"Back to the other end," answers Ian.
"Good about fucking time," replies 'Wellsy'.
'Merrill' turns to the North Stand and raising his arm shouts, "Let's go!"
The North Stand start to move towards the stairs, that lead down to the ground. Some of the Shed sensing the coming battle start to chant,
"NORTH STAND,
NORTH STAND;
DO YOUR JOB."

Veronica sitting in the stand near the half way line, notices the gap starting to appear on the away terrace, nudges Debbie, and pointing over says, "Hey look, there on the move."
"Shit I'm going." Debbie says as she stands up.
Veronica looks up in surprise, but catches Debbie's arm before she can leave the seat, and pulls her back down. "Don't be a fool, I promised Alan, I'd keep you here."
"I fucking hate sitting up here, when it's going off," snaps Debbie.
Veronica turns to look at Debbie in horror, "Isn't it about time you and Sandy grew up, and realised that you are women."
"Oh, fuck me, hark at miss prime and proper!" replies a fuming Debbie; "You wouldn't know a good time if it smacked you in the face!"

'Merrill' stands underneath the away terrace, looking up at the massive scaffold structure that supports it; he turns and looks up at the wooden staircase. Seeing over two hundred Chelsea supports, making their way towards him. Walking out of the gate that leads onto the road around Molineux he and Ian walk in front of the North Stand as they march along the pavement to the large blue gates that leads into the home end.

"You think this is a wise move?" queried Ian, as they neared the gate, "it's crawling with plain clothes filth, and I'm sure I saw a couple of slags from Fulham Road nick."
'Merrill' turns his head for a momentary glance at Ian, "You know life's a funny old game,"
Ian frowns as he looks back at those following; he has never seen 'Merrill' act like this before and doesn't like it. "What the fuck you on about?"
Without looking back 'Merrill' just says, "Do you want to live forever?"
As they reach the gate, 'Merrill' stops momentarily looks at the mob of nearly two hundred people marching toward him, raises his arm and points the terrace.

Walking through the double gates, 'Merrill' and Ian start to move through the excited crowd. Annoyed at the happy and cheerful faces, they start to push their way through the tightly packed mass of people. Heads turn in disgust at being pushed in such a manner, but on seeing the expression on the two responsible; they turn back to face the pitch to avoid trouble.

"JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS,
JINGLE ALL THE WAY;
OH WHAT FUN, IT IS TO SEE,
CHELSEA LOOSE AWAY.
WANDERERS, WANDERERS."

The crowded home terrace is whipping itself into a frenzy of euphoric excitement. The Queen Street Firm in the centre of the terrace are totally unaware of the impending danger. Jumping up and down those at the edge fail to notice being pushed, until one looks back and says, "Oi, what's your fucking game?"
"Chelsea!" comes the reply, followed by blinding pain as a fist smashed into his nose.

Ian lashes out as bodies collide in the panic that now sets in. 'Merrill' opens up a gap, as taken completely by surprise the Queen Street Firm move back in total disarray. Side by side hitting anyone within reach 'Merrill' and Ian advance as the terrace opens before them. One of the Queen Street Firm is the first to realise that they are under attack by only two people; he turns and stands he's ground. Ian only just side steps the booted foot, grabbing it he pulls, sending the youth tumbling down the open terrace.

"Fucking hell!" cries 'Little John' in astonishment; "Look they're taking the whole fucking terrace by themselves!" The North Stand pauses to watch as two people open up a thirty-yard gap in the terrace. 'Wellsy' forces his way to the edge of the crowd to join 'Little John', sizing up the situation in an instant. He steps forward onto the empty terrace, turning back he screams; "You fucking idiots, don't just stand there, once they realise there's only two of them, they'll kill 'em." At this 'Wellsy' runs alone across the terrace, and joins 'Merrill' And Ian.

'Merrill' ducks a fist, and for the first time he notices the empty terrace behind him, looking back he sees 'Wellsy' running towards them, and realises that he and Ian are the only ones fighting. A boot crashed into his right thigh, turning back he sees that those at the side have also realised that there are under attack by just two people, and start to encircle them. He looks over at Ian, "We're on our own, Get back, they're coming round the sides. Ian looks around and sees the encirclement starting, realising that they stand no chance, starts to back off.

The Queen Street Firm, now start to advance aiming kicks and punches on the two as they back away across the open terrace. 'Merrill' backs into a metal crush barrier, loosing his balance he falls to the concrete steps. Ian and 'Wellsy' move over to help him but are unable to reach him before one of the advancing Wolves supporters, aims a deadly kick that hits him square on the left cheek. He falls unconscience by the barrier; Ian and 'Wellsy' fight their way around the barrier and stand over the lifeless body, aiming punches at anyone that gets close.

'Little John' is the first to reach them, and they stand back to back over the body, as kicks and punches rain down on them, The Queen Street Firm, sensing blood are moving in for the kill.
"Chelsea!" screams Steve, as he leads the charging North Stand into the mass of Wolves supporters. The battle is vicious with no holds barred on either side, but slowly the North Stand push the mass of Wolves supporters back.

'The General' seeing the North Stand charge across the empty terrace, hears the final whistle. He turns to the Shed and commands; "Across the pitch!" He runs down the terrace and leaps over the low wall and onto the pitch. Police run from their position near the corner flag towards him. Turning to look back onto the terrace, he sees that the Stockwell and Southfields firms are climbing across the wall, and running on to the pitch.
"Come on you bastards!" he yells to the massed ranks of the stationary Shed, but there are so many trying to get on the pitch that those higher up have no chance.
Then as one the Shed start to move down the terrace and climb the wall to join those already charging across the pitch
'The General' leads over 2,000 in a mass charge across the pitch. The police unable to deal with the numbers, give up trying to stop the pitch invasion, and concentrate on picking on stragglers.
Those Wolves supporters near the pitch realising that they are being charged by over 2,000 of the Shed, start to panic and run.

North Stand fan out in a wide arc, and although out numbered they start to slowly push the Queen Street back across the terrace. Watching the battle from the other side of the ground, members of the Shed that can't get on the pitch, turn to the side, and flood into the street. Wolves supporters not involved in the fighting, seeing that the Shed may be coming along the street as well, move towards the double doors, in an effort to leave the ground before they arrive. Outside the ground panic sets in as 'Becks' leads first elements of the Shed charging through the same gates, and start to attack anyone in their way.

The police being caught of balance start to move in, pushing people out of the way, in order to get to the focal point of the battle. Seeing the police, the Queen Street Firm finally backs off, and run across the terrace to join the mass of Wolves supporters, standing at the far end of the terrace. The "General" leads the front elements of the Shed still on the pitch, over the low wall and into the terrace. The police start to form up from the top of the terrace and in a double line that stretches to the bottom, move towards the Wolves supporters backed up in the far end of the terrace.

'The General' seeing the battle in the middle of the terrace is over turns the Stockwell, and attacks the rear of the Wolves supporters attempting to exit Molineux. As the crowd in the middle of the terrace moves apart, Debbie for the first time sees what she fears most, a motionless body laying on the terrace, surrounded by helpless onlookers. "NO!" she screams in anguish; "No!" Before Veronica can stop her, she starts to push her way along the row of seats, and then runs down the stairs to the low wall bordering the pitch. Jumping over it she runs towards the fast emptying home terrace.

"Leave him," screams Ian, as 'Wellsy' kneels down over 'Merrill's body; "He may have broken something."
"Fucking Hell!" gasps 'Tiny' as he sees for the first time the swelling on 'Merrill's face; he looks helplessly up at Ian "What the fuck do we do?"
Ian looks over to Colin, and pointing over to the St John's Ambulance Brigade Sign, by the corner of the main stand; yells "Go get help, FAST!"
"I've never seen anything like it," says 'Wellsy' to Ian; "You two have a fucking death wish. Why didn't you wait for us?"
"You two cleared half the fucking terrace on your own man, too fucking much man!" gasps 'Tiny'.

"Oh that's so fucking wonderful, ain't it," says a seething Ian, "We'd have cleared the whole fucking terrace, if you lot hadn't stopped to watch."
"I told you so," 'Wellsy' says turning to those still standing around the body, "you fucking never stand and watch."
"Well to be fair, you two just rushed ahead, we didn't have a chance of catching you," says an apologetic Lenny.
Ian looks around and sees the concern on everyone's face, "OK, ok sorry, we can't fight amongst ourselves. As 'Merrill' said things happen, you can't fight the Fates."

"So where's the fucking first aid then?" shouts Steve, as he turns to the police line.
"No, no!" screams Debbie, as she pushes her way through to 'Merrill'; "Not." She falls down beside the motionless body, tears streaming down her face.
Ian bends down and tries to pull her up, "Don't touch him, he may have broken something."
Tommy moves over to Debbie, putting his arm around her shoulder to comfort her, "He'll be alright, he just knocked out."
"Don't touch me!" she shouts, trembling with fear looking down at the swelling growing ever larger.
Tommy throws a shocked look to Ian, who raises both hands and shakes his head; "She'll be alright, she's in shook," he reassures Tommy.

"Move, out of the way!" shouts an unfamiliar voice.
Turning to see who it is, Steve shouts, "Move! It's the First Aid."
"Come on, move back," shouts Colin, as he pushes his way through.
"I think it would be better if you all moved away," says Inspector Ryan of the Wolverhampton Police, as a silence falls over Molineux.
Ian looks up, and notices for the first time, that the game has finished, "You can't nick him, there were just two of us, and we were the ones that got attacked," lies Ian, in an attempt to avoid arrest.
Inspector Ryan turns to Ian and with a sarcastic smile says, "Just be thankful my men have their hands full, or I'd arrest the lot of you"

The St. John's Ambulance men pick up the stretcher with 'Merrill's still unconscience body strapped to it, and start to carry it down the terrace.
"I'll go with him," 'Tiny' shouts as he starts to walk after the stretcher.
"No you won't," says a newly arrived man in plain clothes; "I want to talk to you;" he says looking at straight at 'Tiny'.
Inspector Ryan points to Ian saying, "You can go with your friend," then looking around the rest of the North Stand, he continues, "and the rest of you can leave the ground quietly, I think you've done enough damage for one day."

"You can't let them go!" pleads the plain-cloths man, in astonishment.
"Here!" gasp 'Wellsy' as he recognises the man; "You're out of Fulham Road Nick!"
Inspector Ryan throws a sharp look of anger to the plain-cloth man, then turning to the gathering number of uniformed police says, "Escort these people to the Railway Station, and arrest anyone that makes any sign of trouble."
"I want to go with Alan," sobs Debbie, as she stands looking at the stretcher.
"Tommy looks over to the Inspector, realising they are getting off light, and says, "She'll be alright, we'll look after her."

All of a sudden the air is pierced by the clanging sound of metal bouncing down concrete steps. All eyes turn and follow the iron bar, that has worked it's way loose from 'Merrill's pocket, and just fallen from the stretcher.
Ian looks up at the starring faces, "Who throw that?" he says as quick as a flash.
"That fell of the stretcher!" shouts the plain-clothes man.
"Rubbish!" replies a laughing 'Wellsy', pointing to the last remnants of the Queen Street Firm, in the corner, "One of that lot throw it."
The plain-clothes man flashes an angry look at 'Wellsy', who looks back with arms outstretched, and with raised eyebrows he mocks; "Honest Guv!"
Inspector Ryan turns to follow the stretcher, as his police start to move the North Stand towards the large double gates. The plain-clothes man clearly annoyed walks down the terrace, bends over and picks up the iron bar. Casting an angry look at the departing North Stand, he grits his teeth, and follows the stretcher down the terrace.

"You OK?" asks a subdued Tommy, as he walks along the Ring Road, towards the Wolverhampton Station.
Debbie walks beside him with her head bent, says nothing as a tear falls from her cheek.
"Jesus, his face came up like a fucking football!" says 'Tiny' in disbelief.
"Can't blame Ian for blowing his top," cut in Steve; "But I've never seen two people clear a fucking terrace before."
"'Wellsy' helped as well!" chirped in Lenny.
"Yeah but by the time I got there, they'd already started, the crazy bastards." answered 'Wellsy'.

Turning the corner of Wednesfield Road, they walk up to the station, still surrounded by police.
"Do ya think he'll be alright?" says Debbie looking for some sort of reassurance.
"Well at least the ugly bastards still alive!" laughs 'Wellsy'.
'Little John' looks over to Debbie and Tommy, and then turns to 'Wellsy', "Cut it out Cliff, he could have been killed."
"Not with me and Ian over his body pal!" 'Wellsy' retorted with pride.

"Tell ya what though," he continues with a worried tone of voice; "I didn't like that cunt from Fulham Road nick, there's more to that than meets the eye."
"I've got a hunch!" cried Steve.
'Wellsy' looks him up and down with an amazed expression, "Don't worry pal," he jokes; "It don't show."
Colin looks over with a puzzled look, "How'd ya mean?"
"Well," Steve continues, "It don't smell right, the filth loose there grass, then turn up here," he looks around to 'Wellsy'; "mark my words we ain't seen the last of that bastard."

Inside the First Aid room Ian sits on an old wooden bench against the far concrete wall, waiting for the Ambulance to arrive. Four St. John's men are kneeling on the well-worn wooden floor, bending over the stretcher; one is taking 'Merrill's blood pressure, while another holds an oxygen mask over he's face. The plain-clothes man is pacing up and down along the side of the stretcher, throwing angry glances at Inspector Ryan; who is sitting on another wooden bench by the door, writing in his notebook.
"I hope you're going to arrest both of them," says the plain-clothes man, who has stopped pacing the room, "after all they are the ring leaders."
Inspector Ryan looks up from his notebook, "I'll decide what happens in my patch, thank you very much."
The plain cloths man, obviously angry that a prize catch looks like slipping through his fingers, walks over to the wooden bench, and sits beside the Inspector. "I'm not telling you your job," he says sympathetically, "but we've had this gang under surveillance for months." He pauses as he looks over at Ian. Then continues with a lowered voice. "We've building a case for conspiracy, and we have someone telling us their every move, if we take these people off the streets now, it will save a lot of work."

Inspector Ryan thinks for a moment, and then slowly turns he's head and looks the plain-clothes man in the eyes, "So you're asking me to save you work in London?" He pauses as he looks over to the stretcher, "I think he's had enough for one day, besides it's not often I have the pleasure of seeing our own vermin get a good beating."
"But what about the iron bar?" pleads the plain-cloths man.
"I only have your word that it feel of the stretcher, and frankly with your attitude; I don't believe you, and neither would a jury." Inspector Ryan pauses as he hears the ambulance pull up outside the First Aid room, "No as I said, he's had his punishment for one day."
Standing up as two Ambulancemen walk into the room, the Inspector turns back to the plain-cloths man, "I have the people we targeted, so I suggest you go back to London, on leave policing Wolverhampton to us."

The plain-cloths man clearly annoyed gets up and walks to the door, turning he looks over to Ian, raising his arm and pointing his index finger, he snaps; "Don't worry they'll be another day pal!"
Ian looks up from the bench, his face brakes into a sarcastic smile and raising his right arm in a mocking wave, he laughs; "You'll have to catch us first pal," Then as an after thought he adds, "Somehow I don't think you're up to it."
The plain-cloths man turns and walks angrily through the door, as he does he mumbles to himself in reassurance, "Oh don't worry yourself about that, I'll soon have the both of ya."