Just one of many proper Everton traumas. Birmingham away, late 70’s mid-winter. Unemployed but managed to go home and away every week. Hitch-hiked from Lancaster and got dropped at a service station further down the M6, all good, bags of time.
2 younger scouse lads joined me hitching the next lift at the services exit, also heading to the game. Not great but hey ho. An old Austen Cambridge pulls up, you lads want a lift ? Yeah we’re going to Birmingham. Me too he says, jump in.
The guy is obviously a weirdo, talking bollox from the off. The younger lads not taking much notice, I’m in the back. He turns off the M6 heading for Chester. After a few challenges, time for action, mate stop this ‘kin car right now or I rip your head off. I’m sure your friends would rather come back to mine and have a party, he says.
Whack, stop the kin car now or I totally spark you. He stops, I shout at the young uns, out we all get out and leg it up the embankment to the road above. What’s parked there, motorway rozzers dozing, doing nothing. They immediately grab us and demand to know why we’re walking on a motorway.
Mate we were in a car with a guy who was trying to get us back to his house for fun with these young lads. (Don’t think the word paedo was widely used, but he deffo was one) We escaped. Ok give me your names and addresses. I gave them mine, the 2 lads gave theirs. Mine checked out, the 2 other lads were no such names at those addresses.
Having thought the trauma was over for me, the traffic cop then drove down every back country lane in Cheshire, before booting me out of the car, in the middle of nowhere, enjoy the match mate…were his parting words.
I eventually hit Walsall in the dark, jumped a train to Birmingham and made it to the ground just in time to meet my mates coming out and getting on the Preston coach home.
2 weeks later, a summons arrives to Chester magistrates court for walking on the motorway….got done, but never received the notice. Next thing I’m lifted at home for non payment, taken down the local nick, pending a ride to Risley.
The one bit of luck, the local rozzer knew my ma, found her and got her to cough up the £12 fine, to avoid the Risley gig.
I often wonder if those 2 lying raggy arses are on here !