We were knocked out of the European Cup. We failed at the last hurdle on the way to Wembley. Has any team ever had such great hopes killed in such a short time? One Monday we were in everybody�s thoughts. By the following Saturday we were, I suppose, football�s forgotten men. That�s football. What went wrong? I wish I knew.

We flew off from Manchester Airport that Monday morning in great fettle. Within an hour of arriving in Hamburg we were training at the Volkspark Stadium, where the European Cup quarter-final was to be played. Next day there was another training session. We spent the afternoon walking around and sitting by the lake in the centre of the city. Wednesday, the day of the match, we took things easy. So there we were, fit and relaxed � the ideal state for any set of players to be in.

If you remember, we had beaten Hamburg 3-1 in the first leg at Burnley. That two-goal margin was a useful lead, but our plans didn�t include any idea of playing just to hold on to it. At the pre-match talk it was agreed we should go out for a quick goal. But it was the German team that scored first before a crowd of 70,000. Only eight minutes had gone too. We kept pegging away without getting into our real rhythm. Then, only three minutes before half-time, our two goal lead was rubbed out. Hamburg got a corner on the left. Uwe Seeler, the centre-forward � and a great player on this showing � headed in a beauty. The cheers from the crowd might have been heard in Burnley. The Germans must have felt great as they went off for the interval with the aggregate now at 3-3.

The atmosphere was tense as the referee restarted the game. We realised we had a fight on our hands. The Hamburg players now knew they had a great chance. The cards were down. And we drew the first ace! Ten minutes had gone when Gordon Harris scored. Our outside-left, playing in his first game of this kind, cracked in a snorter from 25 yards. One or two of our supporters were so delighted they dashed onto the pitch to congratulate Gordon. They were quickly hustled off and the struggle went on.

It finished in Hamburg�s favour. They levelled the score with a goal by their outside-left. Uwe Seeler, our bogy man that day, got the winner. The last blow was delivered by a goalpost. Our left-back, Alex Elder, came up in attack. He found me with the ball. I middled it. Jimmy McIlroy headed for goal. The ball curled past the goalkeeper and smacked against the woodwork. So that was that as far as the European Cup was concerned. We were disappointed, naturally. A bit annoyed as well. We felt we could have played better. Maybe March 15^th 1961 just wasn�t our day. So it was back to London and on to Leamington Spa for the second chapter of a fateful week for Burnley � the F.A.Cup semi-final against Spurs at Villa Park.

Was it wrong to play two such important games within four days? Perhaps so, but Burnley had no choice in the matter. Our Hamburg date was decided by the German club. The semi-finals had been fixed long before the season opened. I don�t feel even now that the timing had anything to do with our two defeats. It was bad luck that beat us on Aston Villa�s pitch as much as Spurs. We did enough in the first half-hour to show we had got Hamburg right out of our system. Spurs hardly got into the picture as attackers. Then, in a break away, Bobby Smith scored for them.

We all thought we were on level terms when Jimmy Robson headed what looked a great goal. The referee, Mr Ken Collinge, had a different idea. He disallowed the goal on the grounds that Jimmy had pushed Maurice Norman, Spurs� centre-half. Well, the referee was close up at the time. Before the end, the Londoners got two more goals to really lay us low. Out of the European Cup. Out of the F.A. Cup. What a double blow! To crown it all, Aston Villa later k.o�d us in a semi-final replay in the League Cup.

It will take a long time for me to forget that week, but it is another match that will live in my memory. That was the day we played Rheims at the Park des Princes Stadium, Paris. We had beaten Rheims 2-0 at Burnley in the first-leg of that European Cup date. It seemed their supporters were determined we weren�t going to win in Paris. Before stripping for the game, we went out to have a look at the pitch. As soon as we appeared, a hail of rockets, crackers and bangers whizzed and banged all around. One rocket just missed Brian Pilkington. The crowd was in a frenzy. When the supply of fireworks ran out, rolls and chunks of bread were thrown onto the pitch. It was pandemonium.

I�ve played in front of some noisy crowds � they can make some racket at Burnley � but nothing to equal that night in Paris. Naturally enough, the infection spread to the players and we had some hectic moments. Sometimes we were all back in defence, but eventually we came off winning 3-2. The final whistle was never more welcome, believe me. In spite of all that, everybody at Turf Moor is eager for some more. Disappointments are soon forgotten and, given the chance, we hope to do better next time.

I think there will be a next time too, because I seem fated to be right in on something or other. I was demobbed from the Royal Horse Artillery in the summer of 1957 and joined up at Burnley before the start of the season. In less than two months I was picked to play in the first team. Before my present club became interested, I had spent six weeks at Blackpool, and took part in several trial games. At the end of the six weeks, I went back home to Cramlington, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, not knowing what was in the wind. Some time later, when I was still playing with Dudley Welfare Juniors, Charlie Ferguson, scouting for Burnley, contacted me. He asked me if I would go to Burnley for a trial. Feeling Blackpool had forgotten about me, I went. And that was how it all started.

Before the beginning of the next season I was called up for the services. But Burnley didn�t forget. They kept in touch, and were keen on my playing for them any time I got leave. That made a nice change from Belsen. Yes, that was where I was stationed, not far from the notorious concentration camp. And now I hope no Burnley supporter will make a crack about that when I happen to have a bad game in the claret and blue.

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