I was there in ’66 – 60th Anniversary Edition – Episode 9
England: Banks, Cohen, Wilson, Stiles, Charlton J, Moore (Captain), Ball, Hurst, Charlton R, Hunt, Peters
Germany: Tilkowski, Hottges, Weber, Schulz, Schnellinger, Haller, Beckenbauer, Overath, Seeler (Captain), Held, Emmerich
Referee: Gottfried Dienst (Switzerland)
Attendance: 96,924
West Germany kicked off and within ten seconds had committed the first foul of the match, from which England built a promising attack and their first shot on goal. Unfortunately, the shooter was Nobby Stiles, and his weak effort was easily cleared.
Both teams were guilty of some wayward passing in the early stages, with Germany trying to use the long through ball to target man Seeler to build their attacks. They had their first shot on goal after five minutes as England failed to clear a long ball properly. Siggy Held followed up only to slice his shot, hopelessly, wide, much to the delight of the English supporters who jeered in derision.
When Emmerich repeated the same feat a few moments later, troubling the corner flag more than the goal with his effort, the whistles and catcalls of the crowd produced a music hall comedy atmosphere. ‘You couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a banjo,’ yelled one spectator, as we all laughed nervously. However, these misses did create some tension as we soon realised we had a game on our hands.
The Germans were defending deeply, leaving room for both Charlton and Stiles to make runs from midfield, but we couldn’t find the final pass. Suddenly another long ball from the German defence was accidentally headed by Jack Charlton directly into the path of Uve Seeler, and the striker raced through to fire in a shot that was deflected for the first corner kick of the match.
Big Jack made amends with a towering header from Haller’s corner that set England up for another attack down the left flank, which culminated with Stiles crossing dangerously, forcing their goalkeeper, Tilkowski, to punch clear under pressure from Hunt. The ball was scooped in once more by Charlton and was pinging about in the German penalty area with Tilkowski again punching clear; the pressure was only relieved when referee Klein awarded a free kick in favour of the goalie, who was now limping and clutching his shoulder.
The crowd had found voice with the excitement of England’s pressure and, once again, cries of: ‘England, England,’ reverberated around the stadium.
After ten minutes, another crisp England attack ended with a Martin Peters cross shot that produced the first good save of the match with Tilkowski diving smartly to his left.
England were seemingly gaining the upper hand, but when the referee awarded yet another West German free kick, this time for a foul on Seeler by Wilson he was treated to some ribald abuse by many English supporters..
From the free kick, the ball was moved across the field with England having plenty of men back and no immediate signs of danger. Suddenly, out of nowhere, disaster befell England as a seemingly hapless cross from Siggy Held, which would have drifted out harmlessly for a goal kick, was uncharacteristically headed by Ray Wilson directly into the path of Helmut Haller, who promptly steered the ball past Banks right hand for the opening goal, with just thirteen minutes gone.
The English supporters went numb as the Germans celebrated wildly with, seemingly, thousands of black, yellow and red flags. However, this was the World Cup final and the urge to encourage our country soon overcame the disappointment as the home fans found their voices and ‘England’ chants once again began to ring around the stadium.
The goal had clearly given West Germany confidence, and this was reflected in their passing, which no longer relied on the long punt forward. In contrast, the England passing, and Bobby Charlton’s in particular, began to go astray. Nobby Stiles let his frustration show with a clumsy challenge on Beckenbauer that earned him a verbal ticking off by the referee, much to his disgust.
When Alan Ball was badly fouled by Overath, with a tackle from behind, a few minutes later the crowd were incensed that he was not spoken to.
All English supporters then cheered ironically when the referee blew for a foul as Bobby Moore turned away from Overath with eighteen minutes gone; but before we could yell at the referee for not booking him, Moore had quickly placed the ball and lobbed it into a vacant area on the German six yard line into which Geoff Hurst was running to glance a simple header into the net for the England equaliser.
The crowd erupted and the stadium reverberated with thunderous applause from every England fan.
The relief among the supporters at England’s first goal was palpable, with the expectation of more goals to come. ‘Did you know that the team that scored first in the World Cup final always loses?’ I uttered loudly, ‘and did you know England have never lost a football match to West Germany?’ I asserted to my brother and anyone else who wanted to listen.
The crowd cheered again when the ref blew for a foul on Wilson by Seeler but this quickly turned openly hostile when he then penalised a challenge by Peters on Overath, by booking him.
The sun emerged and beamed brightly as England continued to persevere but, another Bobby Charlton-inspired move ended disappointingly, as Cohen ran into space on the edge of the penalty area only to scoop the ball hopelessly wide.
Charlton himself managed to get a shot in when running across the area as he fired a low left-foot effort that sadly did not have enough power, and Tilkowski dived to save comfortably
The match was now beginning the flow from end to end as England started to lose their grip, and the Germans upped the tempo with Beckenbauer becoming far more conspicuous with his runs from deep positions.
Only Banks, moving swiftly off his line to save at the feet of goal scorer Haller, thwarted a dangerous through ball
England finally won their first corner after nearly half an hour, but it came to nought and a few minutes later we were all surprised to see Bobby Moore emerge on the edge of the box to fire a shot high over the bar. The crowd was now enjoying every moment and the incessant ‘England, England’ chant continued unabated.
After yet more poor decisions by referee Dienst, this time for fouls he saw by Jack Charlton on Emmerich followed by Hurst, after winning a clean header in their box, and then Alan Ball being judged to have impeded Held when it was clearly the other way around, the crowd finally gave vent to their fury as angry boos echoed around the stadium.
We were immediately drawn back into the fray, and groaning anxiously, as a great England move culminated in Geoff Hurst winning a powerful header that hit Tilkowski rather than him save it, Alan Ball latched on to the rebound to fire another effort in, but the ball was scrambled away much to our chagrin.
The West Ham triumvirate of Hurst, Moore and Peters were linking together noticeably and England had cohesion to their play, especially when building attacks on the left flank. However, the West Germans were also becoming more confident when pushing forward.
As half time approached, England suddenly had an attack of the jitters as they lost possession several times in succession to concede a German corner from which, Banks had to produce a stunning double save from Emmerich and Overath.
The English crowd were now becoming increasingly frustrated, especially when Deinst gave Alan Ball a lecture after another disputed free kick award
West Germany’s Captain and star striker was a short, stocky, balding, thirty-year-old named Uwe Seeler. (Pronounced Oo-vay Sailor). He had been part of their West German World Cup-winning squad of 1954 as an eighteen-year-old and was idolised by the German fans. ‘Oo-vay, Oo-vay,’ they chanted in unison whenever he touched the ball. Despite his lack of height, he possessed the ability to consistently win balls in the air against much taller defenders and within a few minutes he twice won far post headers, one of which needed a smart save from Gordon Banks. He also showed he could strike the ball, as well, with a fierce twenty-five-yard effort that Banks tipped over the bar.
England did manage to close the half on top, when prising another clear chance, with the ball falling to Roger Hunt at the edge of the six-yard box. He struck his effort well, but the ball rebounded off the goalkeeper, and we groaned again as the chance to go in at half-time a goal up had passed.
As the last few minutes ticked away, another chorus of, ‘When the reds go marching in,’ started up and we all sang heartily, realising that, although England had not played badly, they would need to improve to overcome this resolute German team.
During the break, most supporters felt strangely subdued, probably from the sheer emotional effort that had gone into the first intense forty-five minutes. Len and I hardy spoke as we watched the military marching band and absorbed the sights and sounds of this wondrous occasion. Within no time the teams were emerging again and immediately a resonant chant of ‘England, England,’ began again and throbbed endlessly as England prepared to restart the match.
Suddenly the sun had disappeared, and a typical British summer shower of rain began falling quite heavily on all exposed spectators, me included.
Within a few minutes we were screaming for a penalty as Charlton sped into the box trying to find an angle for a shot only to be upended but the referee merely waved play on.
The pitch was cloying with the heavy rain and players were now slipping and sliding but Alan Ball was outstanding with his tireless running and quick passing and England, again, looked much the stronger team.
England continued to press forward, playing much the better football, with Bobby Charlton prominent in every telling England move with his exquisite passing ability
A crisp England move ended with Peters heading high and wide from a Cohen cross and, although Germany won a couple of corners, both of which were squared for Beckenbauer to shoot tamely wide, it was England that were looking most likely to score and the air of expectancy amongst the spectators increased
When Mr Dienst missed an obvious handball by Haller coming out of a German defensive position, he again became the subject of crowd abuse who launched into a chorus of, ‘Oh my, what a referee’ to the tune of ‘knees up Mother Brown.’
Just as this abated, a bad foul on Uve Seeler by Bobby Moore might have earned a booking but Moore’s quick reaction in helping the wounded German to his feet and smiling warmly at the referee helped avoid that confrontation.
Banks was commanding in the England goal, dealing with a series of hopeful crosses confidently and in another lightning England break, involving the East London trio, Moore crossed for Hurst to chest down into the path of Peters, who fired narrowly over the bar. With just about twenty minutes to go, the crowd began to sense that a goal was imminent and the chanting began again in earnest.
I had noticed the main German danger man was Held, who was not afraid to take defenders on and was responsible for most of the German pressure and virtually all of their corners. Fortunately, Beckenbauer seemed to have left his shooting boots at home and was consistently wayward from these crosses.
England continued to pressurise the Germans and when Overath lost possession to Roger Hunt he retaliated with a clumsy foul from which Bobby Moore planted a free kick invitingly for Jack Charlton to power a header down toward the goal, only to see it bounce just wide. Another chorus of ‘When the reds go marching in,’ echoed around the stadium as the fans continued to prompt England to greater efforts.
Another potential penalty appeal was waved away as Hunt looked to be deliberately impeded by Shultz, who guiltily ran away from the incident as Hunt picked himself up protesting.
In complete contrast, Haller’s histrionic dive when tripped by Stiles produced an angry response from England players and supporters who were well aware this player was plying his trade in the Italian league where acting and cheating is almost compulsory.
The German supporters had begun another chant of, ‘Uve, Uve’ and the English responded with ‘England, England,’ and this rang around the ground as England, again, put their foot on the pedal.
With just fifteen minutes left, another quick break saw Bobby Charlton feed Roger Hunt who squared for Alan Ball who suddenly seemed to have the goal gaping before him, and we yelled wildly in hope and expectation. Ball struck his shot forcefully and accurately, but a desperate German boot managed to deflect his shot into the side netting for a corner and the crowd’s expectation of a goal celebration turned into further demands for success from the resultant corner kick
We did not have to wait long, as from Alan Balls corner on the right the ball was only partially cleared as far as Geoff Hurst, who then cut into a shooting position from just outside the penalty area. He scuffed his shot as two defenders quickly closed on him, but the German full-back, Hottges, stuck out a foot and served only to balloon the ball high into the air, falling invitingly for Martin Peters to volley home with aplomb from around six yards out. 2-1
The England team celebrated exuberantly with Gordon Banks running to the halfway line to join in and the crowd was a kaleidoscope of red, white and blue colours dancing in delight amidst a cacophony of sound.
I did not think it was possible to feel so overwhelmingly happy and was smiling, laughing and shouting like a maniac; even my brother, whose military bearing had made him a model of British reservedness, was jumping up and down in delight.
‘When the reds go marching in,’ roared from my side of the ground with the chant of, ‘England, England,’ coming from the other side and a rather bizarre competition ensued with both sides of the ground trying to outshout each other.
England still seemed committed to attack, and Alan Ball went on an exciting run – skipping past two tackles before being abruptly halted by the right full-back, Hottges, who brutally chopped him down.
The free kick was cleared as Jack Charlton homed in on it but moments later his brother, Bobby, fired wide after a neat pass from Peters as England continued to press.
By now everyone was continually checking their watches, and I was consciously not trying to look for as long as possible. Whenever West Germany attacked, we felt our hearts flutter and willed England to keep them at bay. A neat move culminated with Schnellinger firing a fierce twenty-five-yard drive at the England goal that Banks caught contemptuously to our great delight.
To their credit, England still continued to go forward and Geoff Hurst put a difficult header well over the bar to relieve the stress for a few precious seconds.
The crowd, appreciating England’s efforts, began a chant of ‘We want three,’ and the team responded with another attack that saw Martin Peters, this time, lift an effort over the bar.
Apart from yet another free kick awarded against Jackie Charlton, who had got no favours from Mr Dienst all afternoon, the Germans didn’t really threaten, and the crowd then took up the Liverpool chant of ‘We’re gonna win the cup.’
By now everyone was in carnival mood and in a spirit of national fervour; a chorus of ‘Rule Britannia’ was started and soon spread all the way around the stadium. I couldn’t think of one place on earth I would rather be at that moment, furtively glancing down to check my watch, still well under the allotted time. ‘Britain, never, never, never, will be slaves.’ I bellowed excitedly.
By now, all England supporters were convinced only the referee could stop us winning the match. He, again, lectured Stiles after adjudging another foul on Held resulting in a free kick that Webber headed narrowly wide from just eight yards. He then followed this by lecturing Banks for alleged time wasting and ruled an offence against Bobby Moore who reacted angrily, summoning up England’s frustration with the official.
The tension was now almost unbearable, especially when the Germans forced another corner kick. The ball was cleared and England again attacked with another flowing move from Moore to Peters to Hunt and then Bobby Charlton who sadly scuffed his shot wide as he sprinted on to Hunt’s lay-off.
I noticed how the sun was now shining warmly again and felt this was an omen of good things ahead and decided that if I sang non-stop for the last few minutes the time would pass quicker and I joined in heartily with the choruses all around me.
The Germans were now reduced to punting long balls forward and we all cheered when Big Jack easily won a header over the back of Seeler some five yards outside our penalty area. Imagine our anguish when the referee blew for another foul at which Charlton angrily dispatched a few course words in his direction waving his fist in disgust
Emmerich took the free kick driving it straight at England’s goal and the ball was deflected off Cohen, to the feet of Held, to the left hand side of the six yard box – his shot then ricocheted off the standing Haller and spun across the open face of the English goal with Banks stranded. As if in slow motion, we watched the inevitable outcome as Wolfgang Webber drove the ball into the empty goal, and I felt the bile rise from my stomach.
As West Germany celebrated scoring this sickening equalising goal, the English crowd felt numb and were silent in contrast to the few thousand delirious German football fans that were now waving their flags and sounding their klaxons in triumph. 2-2
There was not even time to restart the match before the referee blew for full time and the prospect of a further thirty minutes ‘extra time’ play was now a reality.
Suddenly, from nowhere a shout developed that was taken over by hundreds of people around me, it seemed like an almost childish reaction as if this would somehow avenge the injustice of their last minute goal as the crowd bellowed, ‘We won the war, we won the war.’
The vociferous support seemed to re-motivate the players and I saw Jackie Charlton who had sunk to his knees at the final whistle lift his head and physically respond to the crowd encouraged by Alf Ramsey who didn’t want the opposition to think that his team were tired. “We’ve beaten them once, now let’s beat them again” Ramsey was reported to have said later
There was now a new steely determination to the English team who must have felt cruelly cheated just moments from glory and were not going to surrender without a fight.
Gradually, the players shook off their dismay and Bobby Moore began prompting and encouraging his team, some of whom had rolled down their socks, to lessen the effects of cramp and were sponging themselves with water from a white enamel bucket.
The Germans who had been celebrating wildly, were bemused that the cheers of their supporters were being completely drowned out
Cries of, ‘England, England,’ were still resonating and as if to show we, at least, had one player still full of running: Alan Ball picked up a loose ball on the halfway line and went on a direct, thirty-yard run to the edge of their box before firing in a dipping drive that Tilkowski was glad to tip over the bar.
Emmerich was finding Cohen highly motivated as he was bundled over for a free kick and then had a shot blocked by the same player. Bobby and Jack Charlton then combined neatly with Big Jack appearing on the left wing to float in a teasing cross that was punched from the head of Hurst by the goalkeeper.
Then the moment we all hoped for almost arrived as a Ball corner was worked back to Bobby Charlton on the edge of the area and he sent in a fierce right foot shot, low and hard, that beat the diving goalie only to rebound, agonisingly, from the post.
England continued to press with Hurst, again, going close.
The sun was now shining hotter than at any point in the day and I realised I was drenched in sweat with my shirt sticking to my back in discomfort.
When Held lost possession to Stiles he committed an ugly foul on the England midfielder that won England a free kick and the offender a rebuke from the referee, much to the ironic jeers of the crowd.
Then, with ten minutes of extra time gone came the moment that will be written indelibly into World Cup folklore for all time. An England break on the right found Alan Ball running into space from where he crossed first time to the near post. Hurst was anticipating the pass, which was hit slightly behind him, and, as the crowd roared in expectation, he touched the ball down, allowed it to bounce and then swivelled and drove the ball over the goalkeeper’s head only to see it cannon off the crossbar and bounce clear. Roger Hunt, who had followed up into the goal, raised his arms in triumph as the ball was then headed clear and the referee loudly blew his whistle.
Confusion then rained for a few seconds as the Germans insisted Mr Dienst consult his linesman who was flagging from the touchline.
Tofik Bakhramov of the USSR then became the hero of the English nation, and the villain of all West Germans, by confirming the ball had crossed the line, and it was a valid goal. 3-2
Although this was scored in the opposite end to where I was standing every Englishman around me was confident the goal would be awarded. The reaction of Roger Hunt who turned instantly with arms aloft was the signal for us all to give judgement to the accuracy of the official’s decision and despite modern scientific analysis and countless video reruns the fact remains – it was a goal!
The first period of extra time closed without incident and with the call of, ‘Ramsey, Ramsey,’ being taken up by the supporters as he marched onto the pitch to give one last set of instructions to his general, Bobby Moore.
The final segment of this enthralling match started with the West Germans attacking and a dangerous run into the box by Emmerich was thwarted with a timely tackle by George Cohen who then cleared well under pressure. This was quickly followed by another long range shot from Beckenbauer which was gathered easily by Banks.
An England break gave us hope but Hurst shot weakly at Tilkowski and we gasped, a moment later, as Held ran clear only to be flagged offside by our friendly Russian linesman.
Many of the players of both teams were clearly exhausted and reduced to walking pace whilst Alan Ball seemed tireless, and was still chasing every ball as if his life depended on it.
Another fine run from Ball fed Cohen overlapping down the right wing, but our cheers turned to groans as his cross sailed woefully over the crossbar with Hunt and Hurst in good positions.
Held replied for the Germans with a similar effort high and wide and the same player looked to be clear on goal moments later but was adjudged to have handled, to our great relief. The West Germans were now gaining the upper hand as they pushed for another equaliser and England desperately fought to protect their lead. Held was prominent in everything and headed another effort yards wide from a good position.
From a German corner, England broke suddenly, and Hunt charged down on goal before unleashing a fierce shot that flew wide of the static Tilkowski.
Mr Bakhramov then earned another huge cheer as he flagged handball against Haller much to the player’s disgust.
I was now counting the seconds rather than minutes and was terrified at the prospect of another late equaliser.
Beckenbauer tried another hopeful forty-yard shot that was easily blocked and, although the Germans had plenty of possession and were working the ball across the field, the English were leaving no space for them to get forward. Then, with one minute left, Schnellinger crossed for Haller to head down toward Seeler just six yards from goal. The sigh of relief was immense as the ball was somehow bundled clear and their last chance was gone.
A German chip into our penalty area was chested down by Moore who calmly played a one-two with Hunt before hitting a pinpoint forty-yard clearance that found Geoff Hurst galloping into space with the German defence out of sight. We screamed at the top of our voices as he bore down on goal before unleashing a thunderbolt shot that nested in the top corner of Tilkowski’s goal with the goalkeeper static.
The accompanying noise was deafening, and I have never heard anything to rival this at any subsequent football match.
I never even noticed that the match did not have time to restart before the referee blew the final whistle and we wondered for a moment if the goal had actually been awarded. Another huge cheer arose when the manual scoreboard with the large ‘Radio Times’ advert was then changed by a man in a white coat to read:
ENGLAND 4 W GERMANY 2.
Everyone was hugging everyone else as total strangers embraced unashamedly, and I saw more than one man weeping openly. ‘We done it, we done it,’ I was babbling hopelessly not sure whether to laugh or cry. Even my taciturn brother was jumping and shouting with a stupid grin beaming across his face and we hugged each other in delight and triumph. We shouted Alf Ramsey’s name raucously as he was notably conspicuous by his absence, as all the players were encouraging him on to the pitch. When he finally stepped onto the field to a huge roar arose and he actually smiled for the first time in a month as his hopes, ambitions, and predictions had all come true. We then waited, impatiently, for the cup to be presented.
The crowd continued to shout, ‘England, England,’ over and over again, and finally Bobby Moore made his weary way up the steep Wembley steps, pausing to wipe his hands on his shirt, before shaking hands with Her Majesty. She was beaming as she presented the trophy and finally, he turned to face the supporters and raised the tiny gold statue aloft. Now the whole world knew for sure that England were the World Champions.
A beam of sunlight seemed to reflect directly from the trophy as I watched, mesmerised. I was now feeling exhausted from the events of the day. We roundly cheered every England player as he collected his medal and waited for the lap of honour and a chance to see the trophy at a closer distance.
As the players descended the Wembley steps the band suddenly struck up an impromptu rendition of the National Anthem, which was sung with huge pride and fervour by all.
This was followed by a rousing musical version of ‘When the reds go marching in,’ which was cheerfully accompanied by the sing along crowd who now felt the party could begin.
Within a few moments, the crowd around me was granted its wish as first Bobby Moore, then a succession of players, took turns to display the trophy to the delirious fans in their lap of honour. Nobby Stiles performed an impulsive jig in front of us to huge cheers.
Finally, there was nothing more to cheer and I took one last look at the pitch to try and capture in my mind’s eye that glorious moment when I realised that I had been a witness to a momentous piece of English sporting history.