In season 1957-58 Burnley had played forty-two matches and gained forty-seven points, just about the highest position in the League secured since 1948. One must recall the circumstances which had been experienced that season: first of all no manager, then Billy Dougal seriously ill and Ray Bennion carrying on for practically five months. Grateful thanks. Now Harry Potts as manager, bedded-in, was working like blazes, ready for anything. On that note we left in May to play a few matches in France, Vienna, Warsaw, Lodz, and so on. This tour took us into the lands of the Communists. The experiences there were such that one has no wish to return. Everybody has a right to his own way of life but theirs certainly is not in keeping with mine.

Another director - Mr. Frank Hartley - returned early with me in order to attend the League's annual meeting in London. At the Football 'Parliament' there was argument and contention surrounding the proposal to raise the wages of the players to twenty pounds a week in the season and seventeen pounds a week in the summer. But the Burnley chairman was genuinely happy when the proposition was passed and finalised. Up to that time one always had a feeling that the maximum wage of first-class footballers was not in keeping with the cost of living. When one recalls that in the pre-war 1930's a first-class player could command a maximum of eight pounds a week and bonuses, and that there had been a tremendous rise in the cost of living, twenty pounds a week twenty years afterwards wasn't enough.

But we could progress only in stages. The controllers of League clubs were not then ready for the abolition of the maximum wage; in fact I was not. But it was something. The players were making progress-deservedly. In Burnley's case we were delighted to pay higher wages and were all set for the new season of 1958-9. The scouting system was in order, coaching was better than ever, training facilities appeared well-nigh perfect and, above all else, we could look forward to perfect team-spirit in the board-room. And that is the first essential for any successful club. If everyone is working in harmony at the top the goodwill eventually fills other departments.

By October Ray Pointer, at centre-forward, had experienced a season's initiation in Central League and in some First Division football. But the board was not unanimous that he would measure up in the top class. So, worried by the feeling that directors are not the people to decide the possibilities of young players, I flew with the manager to Belfast in November to watch a player named Thompson, centre-forward of Glentoran. I beg his pardon, but from the kick-off I was all eyes on another young player, barely seventeen years of age. He stood out a mile, one thought. He was playing at left-back for Glentoran and even thus early in life his volleying and kicking with either foot were top class; positional play was brainy, anticipation excellent, heading good and forceful. His whole approach to the game was impressive. Here, one felt, was a part-timer who took football really seriously. The name is Alec Elder. The chairman had nowt to do with this young man eventually coming to Burnley. The chairman still says managers and only managers should select talent. One cannot help feeling 'bucked' at backing a winner, however.

Elder arrived at Burnley early in 1959, entered the Central League side right away, made his Football League debut in the following September against the United at Newcastle, and here is the sign of a lad with the right make-up - jumped three feet in the air when we scored our first goal, although he was fifty yards away. Enthusiasm, spirit, the spark they call divine - that is what you want in a football team, as well as skill. I remember, as a youngster, being told by an ex-director of a Football League club that in the days when each player carried his own bag, one of the team, on reaching the dressing-room, tossed his bag on the seat, saying, "That's the worst of this life - Saturday afternoons!" See what I mean?

Well, we had gone to Belfast looking for a centre-forward and found a coming international full-back. Now, when we got off the plane from Belfast at Manchester, we found the so-called doubtful quantity, Pointer, had played A1 and helped to beat Tottenham Hotspur by 3-1. The question backstage at Turf Moor was: Had we gone and signed a centre-forward when, now, we did not need him? That's football all over. Pointer has made good. We regard 'The Blond Bombshell' as one of the best match-winners in first-class football today.

We finished the season one up, with forty-eight points, seventh in the table, and in high spirits. During 1960 we learned that there was to be an American Soccer League Tournament in the close season. Quite a number of us had always wanted to go to New York and Canada, and with a little bit of luck we might be the club chosen to represent the English League there. We were often in touch with the League about it, and what a happy day for all of us it was when Burnley were selected for this distinction!

Early in March Mr. William Cox, the promoter of the tournament, came over from New York and we met him at the Football League headquarters in Preston in order to make arrangements for travel, hotels, games, and so on in New York and Canada. That night he was chief guest of the club at the Tottenham Hotspur match at Turf Moor, which incidentally was refereed by Mr. Howell of Birmingham, and which Burnley won by 2-0. We did not then know we would travel as Champions of the First Division. This came to us in the last match of the season on Monday, May 4, by a 2-1 win over Manchester City at Maine Road. You have no idea what it feels like in the last few minutes of such a decider, and how you feel when the whistle goes at long last and you're on top of the football world with all other clubs below. My heart practically stopped. I am sure it missed one or two beats.

As usual on occasions like this, everybody wishes to shake you by the hand, to congratulate you, and, some of them, to jump on the bandwagon. But there was one person present who had every reason to be down in the mouth - Stanley Cullis of the Wolves. If we had only drawn, Wolves would have been on top, with a hat-trick Championship (very rare feat) and, as events proved, the F.A. Cup as well (an achievement quite unique). Over the years I had learned to respect Stan Cullis highly, because of his outstanding principles and football ability. He was one of the earliest to congratulate me, at the same time whispering words of wisdom into my good ear. A word of caution about interviews. How true in my case, that was to prove! In March 1962, for instance, the League announced that a letter had been received from George Swindin, then manager of the Arsenal, stating that the person concerned in the publication of an article "has already apologised to him for using parts of a private conversation without permission".

Once again the link between Burnley and Manchester City. Once again a thought about the homecoming of Burnley's old Cup winners forty years before. What was waiting for the chap who had cried, "Do you want any meat today?" It was sweetmeat we were offering now. It was well past 11 p.m. when we approached Rawtenstall and thousands of people lined the road. Cheers all the way. As we approached the Summit at Burnley the cheers were repeated all along the line. We were greeted very graciously by the Mayor, Alderman Miss Edith Utley, who spoke of the honour brought to the town of Burnley. The Big Shout arrived for a Lady Mayor. Very nice. Home to bed at 4 a.m., at peace with the world. Then telegrams and phone calls all next day. Next, a luncheon given by Burnley Corporation, and presentation to Jimmy Adamson of the Championship Cup by the President of the Football League, Mr. Joe Richards. We had at last won a pot. Joy-bells all the way. Then noise with a different note.

We left Burnley for America on May 18, travelling by the United States liner from Southampton, a gesture to the players agreed on before they won the title. We were treated as V.I.P.'s. Soon the Manhattan skyline was in sight. The first glimpse of it tells anyone that here everything is Big; the sky's the limit; 'No one can touch us.' On arrival Mr. Cox, the promoter of the tournament in which we were to take part, greeted us, and our party left for their hotel in Brooklyn. I went with Mr. Cox to the airport to greet the Scottish, Irish, and German sides competing in the tournament. Also among the party was Mr. Denis Howell of Birmingham, who had been appointed to referee a number of the matches, and quite a few English Pressmen. I had been given to understand that our hotel was a first-class place, but I was soon to learn what the Burnley party thought about it. Most of them had declined the lunch. What a contrast to our expectations! We made known our displeasure, and Mr. Cox replied that if we weren't satisfied they would find us another hotel.

Catalogue of Complaints

AFTER a search of several hours we found a hotel in Seventh Avenue, New York, and soon, to our happy surprise, discovered the manager to be a middle-aged Yorkshireman from Huddersfield. He was most kind to us throughout our stay there. In my negotiations with Mr. Cox we made arrangements that he would consider paying some of the extra cost, but that is as far as it went. Although our change of hotel was, by arrangement, private and secret, we had not been in our new quarters many hours before the Press boys were asking questions. The fires were being stoked for some of the worst publicity being sent home that Burnley Football Club has ever encountered. On the second day we were to be received by the Mayor of New York, on the Town Hall steps. The German, Scottish, and Irish clubs' representatives were there. We presented Wedgwood china to the Mayor. He shook hands with our captain Jimmy Adamson, stood for his photograph being taken, then disappeared into the building. That was that.

All this is summarised in a report I sent afterwards to the Football League, but the luncheon given by a beverage firm to the Scottish club Kilmarnock must be mentioned. The chairman of Burnley was asked to follow Mr. Willie Waddell, the Kilmarnock manager, in replying to the toast of the visitors, but they never got round to the Englishman! One of Mr. Waddell's remarks, telling how Kilmarnock had become Scottish League runners-up, was, "We get on with the game first and play football afterwards." This was intriguing. Maybe I misunderstood his actual meaning. Anyhow, after beating the German team by 3-0 - a very interesting game, without the slightest incident - we had to play Kilmarnock at the Polo Grounds, referee Mr. Denis Howell, M.P., of Birmingham.

This game started in furious fashion. Kilmarnock went in for the kill - to prevent our side playing our usual type of constructive football. We of course approached this tour as missionaries of soccer from England. Secondly, we had hoped that by playing in our scientific style we should win the tournament. However, it was not to be. This match contained 'scenes' during play and afterwards. I did say a few words to the referee after the game, for which he reported me, but the Football Association Disciplinary Committee, months afterwards, dismissed the case. My record there is no worse but they could not dismiss the publicity. Better draw a curtain over the scenes after the match by saying they were no credit to British football.

By this time every member of the Burnley party was receiving letters from England including Press cuttings, "Burnley storm out of hotel", "Burnley big-heads cannot take it." Such was the news going home. Some of it - I don't say all - was from Albert Sewell, Sam Leitch, and Desmond Hackett. One statement was that the hotel in Brooklyn should satisfy any reasonable person, but the journalists did not stay there. In due time we had the opportunity to inform one of the Daily Mail's Birmingham reporters of our exact side of the case, so some of our news reached England in proper perspective.

As this was the first American tournament, Burnley were asked by the English League to report afterwards how it all went off. What a catalogue of complaints we had to enter!

Send-Off Boost: There was, for a send-off, the call to the chairmen of all the competing clubs to assemble at the airport to greet the Scottish, Irish, and German teams when they arrived so that there could be a boost for publicity. This fell flat. Flop number one. It was just a wasted journey. The French representatives were not there, anyway. The contract said all must arrive (for this spring section of the tournament) no later than May 23. France arrived on June 2.

Hotel Trouble: This I've already mentioned. We were appalled at the district. Some bedrooms were old-fashioned and a bit like the aspidistra age.

Five Hours' Search: That is what it took us to find another hotel in New York, and there we were very comfortable. (It is significant that all the teams arriving later for the final section of the tournament stayed there.)

Press Leak: It was agreed that our change of hotel would be kept from the Press except merely that we were changing quarters. To our surprise, the promoter, Mr. Cox, told us he had informed the Press we were moving because we were not satisfied, explaining that "if you want publicity you have to keep well in with the Press boys". This philosophy was continued.

Training Grounds: All managers were asked to meet at the Polo Grounds to fix training schedules. Burnley were there but no one else. More wasted effort. We did not at any time receive there for training such necessary amenities as baths. The Polo Grounds is a baseball ground, for which it is all OK, I presume, but in football we had never experienced such a playing surface. Three weeks previously it had been partially re-sodded, and it was possible to pick up sods by the hand and replace them, they were so loose. Any soccer player would hesitate to go into a tackle on such a surface. Everyone had tried to make a presentable pitch, but to a team from first-class circles it was a wilderness. Teams touring abroad have encountered weird playing pitches, but in our experience this was the limit.

Fine Stadium But . . . : The Roosevelt Stadium in Jersey City was really good. For soccer purposes, however, the pitch was poor indeed. On one half of the arena sand patches were dotted about, and it was possible for the ball to land in them and stop. Good football cannot be shown under such conditions, let alone missionary displays. Accommodation, for up to 30,000 people, was very good.

Prices of admission, $11 to $41. For soccer teams the dressing-room conditions were primitive this includes washing facilities - and the two opposing teams were expected to use the same dressing-room. Mark the scope for trouble!

Food Costs: When we changed hotels the promoter of the tournament agreed to increase our allowance for meals from $5 to $6 a day apiece. We soon found that $6 dollars would not sustain an ordinary person, never mind an athlete. One boiled egg, 40 cents. Plain lunch, $3 to $4. Dinner, about $6 to $7. Toilet, 10 cents. These items are listed merely to show the difference from what we are accustomed to pay in England.

Relations Deteriorated: This was because of the happenings already outlined, and the fact that appointments failed so often to be kept that we made a point of contacting the promoter at his office.

English Press Reports: These were unflattering to Burnley and after due inquiry we found that information was being given from official New York tournament sources. These authorities agreed to hold a Press conference with the British representatives but it never took place.

Return journey: More complications. The reason there was contention and publicity about our return journey by plane was that our party, including directors, had to be home by June 20, and by now were not prepared to be pushed around. Thus we asked for our last game to end no later than 4.10 p.m. This was necessary for the air trip and because some of the tournament matches stretched out as long as 2 hours between kick-off and 'Time' through the delays of sponsored television and publicity shows.

All told, we listed seventeen points for the English League's consideration. These included such items as: Payment for games was due a day in advance. At one period Burnley were owed fees for two games, three weeks' food allowance, and three sets of bonuses due to the players. The two competing teams were expected to travel to the ground in the same coach, although it was sometimes well over an hour's ride. Yet on two occasions there were not enough seats for our players. The French party from Nice included a player's wife, and she occupied a seat; the promoters were threatened that if she could not travel with the team Nice would not play.

Arrangements for the return journey after a match were such that one team, in most cases, left the other stranded. Dates of games and times of kick-off were often changed at only two to three hours' notice.

The two competing teams were not only expected to use the same dressing-room: there were no seats for the players. Several times the teams, although stripping together, entered the field wearing the same colours (once, white jerseys, black pants). Often, on returning to the dressing-room at half-time and full-time, the doors were found to be locked. No one in New York Soccer Club administration knew how to calculate goal average. Until shown by a member of the Burnley party they divided the goals for into the goals against. Now you know what Burnley-England's Champions and representatives-had to contend with. Now you know reasons for what were called our antics.

Verdict: We had reason to believe that the second part of the tournament was more successful, that the promoters learned from our experiences and protests. But we had to lay these facts before the English League, and we concluded by asking the League to bring these deficiencies of administration in New York to the notice of any other English club invited to participate in the year ahead. No doubt Everton, who followed us, were so informed. How they fared I do not know. What I do know is that after Everton's visit the English League decided against further participation in this American tangle. The bad publicity meted out to Burnley in the newspapers meant that our club bore the brunt. But we cleared the ground; and soon the English League cleared the lot! Poor old 'John Bull'! He received much blame but in the end derived much satisfaction.

WE HAD been behind the Iron Curtain. Now we had experienced America. In the Tournament there were childish preliminaries such as the teams lining up on the far side of the field, each man to await his call by the commentator on the public-address system. The name was called, the player was required to make a bow and run out of the line - something similar to the end of a pantomime when the performers enter the stage one after the other to receive the applause of the audience - the Principal Boy to be cheered, the Demon King to get his deserts. This is not our idea of the preliminaries to a soccer match. Imagine it at the F.A. Cup Final at Wembley! Comparison with pantomime just about fits it. On return from New York I felt that whilst I cannot agree with any of the principles of the Communist regime - I deplore them, I hate them, I think they are rotten - I felt that Khrushchev is not entirely to blame for the world situation. That is being frank and truthful.

As Champions, we felt that 1960-61 would contain heartaches as well as rejoicings, and perhaps honours. First we defeated Arsenal, after a struggle, at Turf Moor by 3-2, Jimmy McIlroy having one of his excellent games. Soon came the European Cup, an experience we were to share with great clubs like Manchester United and Wolverhampton Wanderers. We were jolly soon to find out the way of going about it; the many points to be watched in dealing with these fly Continentals were all part and parcel of the job.

Having received a bye in the first round, we were drawn to play the French Champions, Rheims, in the second round. The first leg of these home-and-away pairings was at Burnley, on November 16 1960, and brought our debut in this tremendously exciting and popular competition. About 40,000 spectators were thrilled by the display of cultured, scientific football. To everyone's satisfaction in our part of the world we won by 2-0. After the game there was a lot of conjecture as to whether two goals' advantage would be sufficient to win the round.

The return match was played in Paris on November 30. We arrived at the ground there an hour before the kick-off. Remember this was an all-ticket match, but a crowd of about 40,000 was already present. Such was the interest. As usual, when Burnley visit Continental grounds, all the party inspected the dressing-rooms, then went out and had a look at the pitch and its surroundings. We were in for a shock. There were fantastic scenes. Immediately a section of the crowd recognised us as members of the opposition, cat-calling, ferocious whistling, and the throwing of fireworks (bombers and rockets), oranges, and banana skins were our lot. What a French reception! No wonder they cannot get a stable government. I always understood that in the wars we had preserved this country from strangulation by the enemy. And, as this was only a football match, it was reasonable to expect some reciprocation in our reception. More antics were to follow. The game in the first half resembled that at Burnley -wonderful football by both sides - our Jimmy Robson scoring the first goal. Half-time came and Burnley (aggregate score 3-0) seemed to be sitting on top of the world. The referee from Spain, let me emphasise, had also shared in this capital first half.

During the interval the Rheims team must have had serious tactical talks, as the game recommenced with a different type of football from the French side. Their whole idea was to use the long ball into our penalty area, and the charge of the light brigade-except that it wasn't so light-began by nine-tenths of their players following up. It is no exaggeration to say that Adam Blacklaw, in goal, had a fifth column to combat in Press photographers. They encroached on the field of play, taking shapshots of Blacklaw jumping to catch these long, high balls. This was bad enough and, of course, should not have happened, but there was also the distraction of flashlight snapshots in his range of vision. Something we were not prepared for, as it is an imposition on any goalkeeper and would not be allowed in Britain. In this tormenting second half the Burnley team had to endure all the characteristics of Continental crowds. Brian Pilkington, at outside-left, jumped yards when a firework rocket burst under his feet. All kinds of distractions, all kinds of unfair tactics, both by spectators and players, were used against us. I wish to give you the impression that the Continentals, in spite of all the praise they receive from their Press and certain sections of ours, just have not got it and most certainly cannot take it.

Now came the explosion. I say emphatically that everyone in football knows Harry Potts to be a gentlemanly, upright manager. The incident which caused all the commotion was said by some people to be completely out of character. I disagree entirely. From that moment to this I have never thought he did anything wrong. He had nothing for which to reproach himself. Many will disagree, but few English people witnessed, let alone experienced, the extreme provocation. The first free kick given against us in this half was for an offence committed wide of the penalty area on the left-wing in the Rheims half. The referee blew his whistle, turned his back to run towards the goal area . . . and while he was so doing the free kick was taken from quite a different position. It is no exaggeration to say that for this and other free kicks twenty to twenty-five yards were stolen - on every occasion. This because the referee, for some unknown reason, did not give the same attention to requirements as in the first half.

Well, Harry Potts was sitting on a bench close to the touchline and halfway line. An offence was committed twenty yards from the halfway line on this right flank and in the Rheims half. The right full-back, to my amazement, brought the ball forward and was actually placing it in our half of the field near the half-way line, stealing at least twenty two yards. The referee had his back turned; he was busy running into our penalty area.

The right-back had placed the ball for the free kick two yards from the touchline when, unable to bear this unsportsmanlike attitude of Rheims players any longer, Harry Potts walked quietly on to the pitch - only about a couple of yards - and rolled the ball back to the place where the kick should have been taken. He was immediately accosted by the Rheims right-half, but did not remonstrate: he simply walked back to the bench beside the line. By this time the referee had learned of the commotion and raced back to where Harry was sitting. The referee had not seen the incident - this I emphasise as showing how he was missing all this stealing of yards behind his back. The referee then ordered the manager into the stand, and, thank heaven, he arrived there safely. He had to walk a matter of twenty yards to reach the seats of the Burnley directors and while making his way to us he was pushed and shoved and manhandled by French spectators, and the incapable French gendarmes just stood there motionless, watching the scene. British police would have been prompt to give him protection.

This match was shown on European television and was seen throughout England. I am given to understand that the B.B.C. commentator, Kenneth Wolstenholme, described the incident as it happened without explaining all the incidents and provocation which led Harry Potts to make this timely, physical protest. I use those words deliberately: our manager's action brought more common sense into the remainder of the game.

True, Burnley lost by 3-2, but we won the round on aggregate (4-3). Let me add this in all sincerity: Potts did something which created better control by the referee in the remaining stages of a mad match and which drew attention to the difficulties and handicaps British teams encounter abroad. In due course he was punished by the Football Association - an event referred to later in the chronological section of our story - but here one must add this. With all these goings-on, in the sweat and swelter of that broiling European Cup-tie, with their own club being 'robbed', our F.A. representatives apparently could sit a couple of yards from the unguarded touchline and not intervene. They were not there to realise the enormous extent of the provocation, which called for the serenity of an angel.

My summing-up of Continental football is that they are marvellous winners but damn bad losers. Their acts of sportsmanship are insincere; they play a scientific style of football, it's true, but when we employ similar methods - especially on Continental grounds - they resort to unfair tactics. We taught them to play football, but they have manufactured underhand, unsporting actions of their own. If the finest club teams in England met any Continental sides or Latin-American sides under an efficient referee of strong character - a referee who stands no nonsense in any shape or form - I say that English football would come out on top nearly every time.

Real Madrid? They are perfect when winning; they have the ability. But let's wait and see what they're like when their tails are down.

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