Before I changed my habits on a Saturday I used to go to Chelsea, the Heart is still there but my passion for the club has died since it went corporate. The sad old grey bearded megalomaniac has ruined my love of the club and now Millwall are my preferred Saturday entertainment.
In that Spammers book 'Want some Aggro' Mickey Smith mentions this game in his summing up of his 1972 season and says it was a Wednesday night game and West Ham won - Bullshit! This was my story of the events on the terrace on Saturday 25th March 1972 Mr Smith and there are other mistakes in the book but as we all say memories fade so I won't go down that road.

In my opinion The Spammers were a top mob and Millwall on the occasions they visited Chelsea also had the upper hand. But this is about that first trip into the Shed. As the train pulled into Fulham Broadway the previously concealed away supporters came to life, "UNI.-TED. West ham United are the team for me" echoed around the station. A moment of panic and then a fierce surge of Chelsea fans into the invading Mile End crew saw a flurry of fists and boots that lasted just seconds before the police flooded the platform and separated the two warring mobs. That little moment of excitement was just the start of my first trip into 'The Shed' with my mates.

March 25th 1972, my 14th birthday and my first football match without any adult supervision, a trip into the unknown. This was the day that a seat was to be swapped for a spot on the fearsome terrace area behind the South End goal - THE SHED END - STAMFORD BRIDGE.
Five of us from school had caught the train up from Crawley. We spent the journey in the company of a skinhead called Jez, a fully suited and very much booted aggro merchant. He wore the uniform of the day, Ben Sherman, Sta-Prest and Dockers, and over this a much admired butchers coat decorated with a huge Rampant Lion drawing - I still only perceive this to be the proper Chelsea badge. This seasoned warrior was sitting on the seat opposite and told how his current 'in fashion' garment had travelled to Wembley and Old Trafford in 1970 and Athens in 71. From his intimate knowledge of both venues and the exciting stories he told of the events we had no reason to doubt him, so we listened in awe as he related each minute detail to five eager listeners.

Boys amongst men has never seemed so apt as he warned us of the mighty Mile End mob and the Simba crew that would carve us up just for pre match entertainment if we weren't careful. He left us with one final warning as the train pulled in at Victoria - stand firm and don't run when West Ham try to take the Shed. We didn't understood what he meant but assured him that we wouldn't and before he had a chance to dispute it he was off and away moving with ease and confidence as he swaggered across the station. Next stop Fulham Broadway and Chelsea Football Club. I got a nervous feeling when the train came out of the tunnel behind the North Stand and began to slow down as it pulled into the station and on that day my legs were shaking. Maybe it was just a feeling of fear after Jez had warned us of West Ham's notorious fighting crews. Whatever it was it didn't last long as the station erupted with mayhem all around us. WELCOME TO THE BIG LEAGUE. We managed to get out safely and just in time to see Jez with a mob that didn't look like they wanted to smile sweetly and hand out flowers to the visitors from Bethnal Green and Bow. More police arrived and we were pushed out into the sunshine, away from the chaotic scene and heading for the promised land.

The short trip from the Broadway to the Shed was alive with rather tough looking street vendors pedalling the sought after wares of the day, in comparison to the Mega Store that now occupies the Shed the rather limited design silk scarves, rosettes, pennants and badges on offer in 1972 pale in comparison. Back then it was an Aladdin's cave to be pored over with every scarf examined to seek out the most original, every badge examined for uniqueness and every stall visited to get the best deal. As we searched for the best items we were oblivious to all the pre match activity around us and we entered the turnstiles behind two young West Ham fans with woollen scarves tied to their wrists. We weren't brave enough to question them or knowledgeable enough to realise what was going on.

That first sight of the pitch and the old East Stand at the top of the Bovril entrance held me captive on that day as I struggled to take it all in. Sucked in by the colour and history and lost in another world where the gods wore blue and the prizes would always be silver. A dream rudely awakened from as the others all shook me and pointed to the middle of the terrace. At least 1000 West ham fans were bouncing up and down in the sacred Chelsea End singing: " We took the Shed, We took the Shed, Ey Ay Addio we took the Shed." All around us were shell shocked teeny fans like us not knowing what to do next and a small army of very fierce and determined looking Skinheads.

Children were lifted over the front wall in an effort to clear the area in preparation for the inevitable battle. At the time I was far too absorbed in the drama unfolding before me to make comment but 28 years later the question begs to be answered - Why did it somehow seem to be the right thing for these thugs looking for a bit of knuckle to be concerned about the welfare and safety of the young children. Is that not quite unnecessary and absurd ? The next few hours had a profound effect on my life as a Chelsea fan. A little egg had hatched inside, a future of supporting this team in this stadium was born. Something inside me started to grow and I would never be able to contain it, it would inevitably go through a period of ruling my every thought and eventually cause many problems in my life as the desire to get that Chelsea fix became stronger. It still continues to cause permanent stress and complications in my life but that is another story.

I was caught up in all the drama unfolding in front of me, pulled in by the adrenaline of being part of a mob. All around us an army was being formed with one intention, to retrieve a piece of concrete under a corrugated roof - albeit only one mile from Harrods - in the nether regions of Fulham from a party of marauding East End types who had arrived well prepared and ready to wreak havoc. Whatever I thought I would do when this ejection of these trespassers took place never entered into it, there were obvious leaders and people prepared to do battle to eject the wrong doers and we just happened to be there amongst it all. I don't recall anybody suggesting we joined in nor any peer pressure, West Ham had to go and we just stood there waiting for something to happen.

Without any pre planned signal that we knew about we all moved as one, slowly at first and then with more urgency as the police tried to get between the two factions. From our position some way behind the main attack we couldn't see too much, just a mauling bunch and a lot of missiles being thrown in both directions. At one stage it seemed as if we had to stop as there was no space to go forward, we were pushed back, forced to turn and run - with much relief we had seen no evidence of a fight. In fact some ground had been gained and West Ham were being pushed into the Whitewall section by the police while our little mob was being forced back under the guidance of a few more of the Met's finest. The area right behind the goal was being cleared of spectators and some of the more physical participants of the attack were being frog-marched away.
We couldn't talk, our throats had dried up and our mouths were shut to stop our hearts from bouncing out as they beat just a little too fast. We settled down and found ourselves in a triumphant bunch of chanting fans goading West ham into action and as more Chelsea made their way into the ground we became more and more relaxed and a little braver. Too relaxed. The West Ham retaliated and more missiles were thrown, several people got hurt and some ran away - including us - but with the larger numbers Chelsea pushed West Ham back with the thin line of police doing a fine job in separating the two warring mobs. As kick off time approached and after at least two more attacks we became wiser, standing firm, with the others in the shed and pushing West Ham out, from the safety of behind the Police line I add again.

We felt like we belonged and this was far more fun than when we had been taken by wise parents who had ensconced us in safer areas at the side of the pitch. With the players warming up the traditional singing of each of the names of the Chelsea team took place, as new boys we blagged the words but stored them to memory for future reference. The colour, the noise, and the adrenaline took over, the stadium was packed and kick off time was approaching, I don't think anybody could describe how we felt that day as we stood straining for a better view among two of the most notorious set of fans in the country. The game lived up to the pre match entertainment, West Ham battling fiercely but unable to break through the massed defence of Chelsea. In goal, Peter Bonetti was in his prime and smothered everything that West Ham threw at him. Inspired by his strength in goal Chelsea carved out three openings in the well disciplined West ham defence and goals by Harris, Webb and Ossie gave Chelsea the result we all wanted. West Ham would go home thoroughly defeated and licking their wounds, we would go home triumphant yet wary of what lay ahead between Fulham Broadway and Victoria.

Throughout the game my mind was constantly drifting up into the Whitewall where the police were under constant pressure from the relentless surges from both sides. A lot of windmilling between the two mobs was in evidence and rumours passed through the Shed like Chinese whispers of where it was going off under the East Stand and how we were going to take them in the streets outside. To five young and easily impressed boys on our first trip to football this was so glamorous, on Monday when we went into school we would tell how we sorted the Mile End out on our own and how we had been initiated into the Chelsea army with our mate Jez.

The real truth would've been of how ignorant we had been as to what was really going on, perhaps if nothing had happened that day I would now be a Man U supporter. The reality is that the excitement of the terrace war and the outstanding display by a rather superior Chelsea team drew me in, taking my breath away and provided something to attach myself too. If matches now provided half of the excitement, no, a third of the excitement it would be well worth the price of the ticket and I guarantee that there would be more real supporters amongst our midst....!

Text © 2002 Mafdet Inc.
Photos of Stamford Bridge © Garry Jones
Original copies can be found on his site: "The Missing Link"
http://www.algonet.se/~datacaf1/index2.html