One disconcerting consequence of growing older is how the passage of time as we perceive it no longer bares relation to dates laid out in a history book. For example, we know the debut album by The Clash was released in April 1977, but can that really be 47 years ago? Indeed, for the purposes of this article, the 1974 Football League Cup Final was undoubtedly contested between Wolves and Manchester City – but reflecting upon it today with a half a century in between, feels bewildering.
But fifty years have, one way or another, slipped by, the distance from now to then growing ever greater with each tick of the clock. Yet the memories for a twelve year-old who had never been to Wembley before remain fresh and vivid. All the summers, winters, delight and despair of life to have happened since are somehow bisected when summoning images never likely to be forgotten.
The fondness in recalling Saturday 2 March 1974 stems mainly from Wolves winning the match, but that would be to disregard other new and notable experiences such as attending a third division fixture en route to the Empire Stadium (as it was still loosely known), which necessitated a seven am start from our Shrewsbury home. That lower league game was prelude to first impressions of the Twin Towers, looking across at the Royal Box and down at the green-glazed turf – all of which had previously been the other side of a television screen or in familiar photographs on the pages of football annuals.
At such a tender age your host here at SAMTIMONIOUS.com was obviously chaperoned on the grandest day out of his young life, my dad a travelling companion par excellence, football enthusiast of the highest order, but first and foremost a gentleman in every sense of the word.
He was also an old-hand at this going to a cup final with Wolves lark having been present when they won the FA Cup in 1949 and 1960. One inescapable irony for me in this wander back down memory way, Wembley Way if you prefer, is that my eldest son at 38 is now only four years younger than dad was in 1974.
In the seasons prior we had seen Wolves reach semi-finals of the League and FA Cup, progress to the 1972 UEFA Cup Final and twice finish in the top six. The club were back on an upward curve after a two-season second division sojourn in the mid-60s, a scarcely believable turn of events given the halcyon era to precede it. In my eulogy at his funeral three years ago last week, the long-standing family phrase was evoked, namely if a year between 1949 and 1960 was mentioned dad would always say, ‘good year that, Wolves won the league/Wolves won the cup‘, much to the wry amusement of his grandchildren – one of whom sought out the facts for themselves, discovering this slight exaggeration was rooted in truth.
To my lasting regret I never asked him if, when Bill Slater led the triumphant Molineux side on their lap of honour at the end of the 1960 FA Cup Final, whether he ever thought the next time Wolves were parading a trophy at Wembley he would have a wide-eyed, impressionable son at his side. Sadly, the answer to that will never be known, but it is nice to think such circumstance did occur to him at some point during a cool, but sunny March afternoon all that time ago.
Two days before the final on Thursday 28 February 1974, Britain had gone to the polls in a General Election. Called by Tory prime minister Edward Heath four weeks before due to stalemate in a pay dispute between the government and National Union of Mineworkers, a three-day working week and frequent power cuts had become consequences of industrial action being taken by the NUM.
Driving south down the M1 in a sky blue Ford Corsair, the colour perhaps a bad omen, although there is no recollection on my part of either of us mentioning it, the early departure was necessary due to attending a fixture at Watford – who by strange coincidence were playing host to Shrewsbury Town, our hometown team. This Vicarage Road encounter was brought forward to a noon kick-off in order to avoid clashing with the League Cup Final at nearby Wembley.
Walking to the ground, the Corsair parked up in Watford until our return much later in the day, election paraphernalia was still evident in front room windows and on lampposts. But the only results to matter (Labour under Harold Wilson regained power but without a working majority), in my small sphere of existence were of two football matches – the initial portents not good as Shrewsbury suffered a 1-0 defeat in a season that would ultimately see them relegated to Division Four.
Wolves, meanwhile, had rallied after an indifferent start to 1973-74, their fortunes improving with the onset of autumn and return to form of prolific striker John Richards (awarded his sole England cap in the Home Internationals of the previous season). His prowess and importance to a good quality team had been emphasised in splendidly taken Molineux goals that accounted for Liverpool in the quarter-finals and decided a tense semi-final second leg against Norwich City.
Despite the recent improvement which lifted them into calm, mid-table waters, Wolves would start as underdogs at Wembley, the favourites tag attached to Manchester City due to a brigade of high profile performers who were finally producing displays befitting players of such stature.
Having changed manager in November when Ron Saunders was enticed from Norwich to succeed Johnny Hart, City entered the League Cup Final with only two defeats in their last thirteen outings – an enviable attacking ensemble of England internationals Mike Summerbee, Colin Bell, Francis Lee and Rodney Marsh, along with Scottish maestro Denis Law (signed from neighbours United on a free transfer at the start of the season), now starting to make good on a mouth-watering team sheet.
They were not infallible, evident in a recent 4-1 FA Cup fourth round humbling at second division Nottingham Forest and neither did a goalless Molineux draw in November (three weeks prior to Saunders taking charge) offer much insight into what the final may have in store.
Nevertheless City, out for their first piece of silverware in four years, fielded a line-up where eight of the side had first hand Wembley knowledge against opposition containing just two players with prior experience. For Wolves central defender Frank Munro and Derek Dougan had made respective appearances there for Scotland and Northern Ireland, (veteran striker Dougan also on the losing Blackburn side when Wolves won the FA Cup in 1960), but even so Manchester City held a distinct advantage when it came to being equipped for the occasion.
Wolves boss Bill McGarry, now six years into his Molineux reign, was also forced into making a significant change to his team. Long-serving goalkeeper Phil Parkes suffered an ankle injury between the semi-final and final, fate decreeing Gary Pierce, signed from second division Huddersfield Town the previous summer and with only a handful of top flight appearances to his name, would take up position between the posts on his 23rd birthday.
While logic pointed to Pierce being faced with a busy afternoon from the 3.30pm moment of kick off, it was opposite number Keith MacRae who had most to contend with through an opening half hour during which Wolves took the intuitive. With skipper Mike Bailey producing a combative, industrious display in dominating the midfield and City making little headway against Munro and his partner in central defence John McAlle, the Molineux men enjoyed a greater share of possession as a steady supply of passes and centres went in the direction of Richards and Dougan.
When Pierce was called upon to make a save it was an excellent one, this a particularly resonant memory as the acrobatic dive and tip over to thwart a Marsh free-kick occurred in the goal right in front of where we were stood.
But the next decisive action took place at the far end. Ninety seconds before the break accomplished midfielder Kenny Hibbitt half-volleyed a cross from full-back Geoff Palmer beyond the outstretched arm of MacRae to give Wolves a deserved half-time lead.
Despite making a bright start to the second half, when Bailey was again prominent, most of those in old gold shirts soon found themselves with defensive duties to perform as Manchester City emerged from a so far subdued performance to monopolise the ball. Wolves survived double panic from one corner that involved a goal-line clearance and near miss header from Lee, but there was no such reprieve when a Marsh centre found an unmarked Bell – who levelled the score in shooting low past an unprotected Pierce from six yards.
With half an hour still to play it was becoming increasingly likely City would repeat their League Cup Final triumph of four years before in coming from behind to win (the side containing six survivors of the 1970 2-1 triumph over West Brom), with only Pierce standing between them and the lead on saving well from Marsh, Lee and Bell.
Foremost among my memories is dad saying, just after a rising shot from Bell had struck the crossbar, ‘the best Wolves can get out of this is a trip to Stoke on Wednesday for the replay,’ the observation looking well-founded as for the best part of a thirty five minutes they had done nothing but defend, their race apparently run in terms of attacking threat.
It was later revealed Richards, suffering from a pelvic strain that had put his involvement in doubt, was about to be withdrawn when Wolves made an 83rd minute substitution. But when winger Dave Wagstaffe pulled up with a hamstring injury only seconds before and clearly unable to continue, it was he young midfield man Barry Powell came on to replace.
Thus Richards remained on the field – his presence about to go from marginal figure to match-winner.
With five minutes left Wolves won a rare corner and although City initially cleared their lines were on the back foot once more when a superb Bailey pass found Sunderland in space on the right side of the penalty area. The ball was driven low into the goalmouth where it clipped the heel of Marsh – this deflection sending it toward Richards who from eight yards crashed an unstoppable drive into the bottom corner of the net.
With his first meaningful touch of the second half Richards won the game – and with it landed Wolverhampton Wanderers their first major trophy in fourteen years. It was also his last meaningful kick of 1973-74 as due to the injury he would be out of action until August, the current campaign ending at Wembley with his eighteenth goal of the season.
On viewing the match recently to enhance my powers of recall, there is a strong sense of the 1974 League Cup Final being a most watchable, often very exciting fixture. Wolves, naturally, were joyous winners, encapsulated at the final whistle when McGarry rushed on to congratulate Pierce in the way Bob Stokoe had celebrated with Sunderland goalkeeper Jim Montgomery at conclusion of the 1973 FA Cup Final.
While Marsh in disappointment is reported to have thrown away his runners-up tankard, Manchester City appear sporting losers, offering hand claps as a group when the victors collect the trophy. This respectful conduct indicative, perhaps, of a time when it was accepted football matches were sometimes lost – long before setting in of an attitude among some contemporary managers who view defeat as an affront to divine right.
Indeed, when consoling his beaten players City boss Saunders – who had just lost his second League Cup Final in twelve months having been in charge of Norwich for their 1973 loss to Spurs – could not have guessed what the next year would entail. Within two months he had resigned from his Maine Road position, but on quickly taking charge at second division Aston Villa would be back at Wembley for the 1975 League Cup Final when they overcame former club and fellow Division Two side Norwich, both winning promotion to the top flight at the end of the 1974-75 season.
At the end of the 1974 final, however, the glory was of an old gold hue, yet when Bailey lifts the cup it is hard to desist a rueful look at the screen when ITV match commentator Brian Moore remarks, ‘This could be the start of a whole new era for football in Wolverhampton‘ – history revealing the era was closer to ending than beginning as two years later Wolves were relegated.
But smiling at such a quote does not compare to the happy feelings of luck and love which allowed me to be present on that March day in 1974.
It will not be the first time dad has not been here to remember March 2 – as the years went by and the day came around we never failed to mention where we were back in time – but is the first occasion he has been absent when the date has fallen on a Saturday, somewhat ironic being the 50th anniversary.
For me, fifty years on, it will bring a long bask in the glow of reminiscence, a raised glass, a tear or two – while somewhere overhead that most genial gent will be affording himself a smile and wry chuckle at his comment of Wolves’ best hope as the 1974 League Cup Final drew to a close was holding out for a draw.
He won’t mind me telling you that………….
The 1973-74 Football League Cup Final (2/3/1974):
Manchester City 1 (Bell 59) Wolverhampton Wanderers 2 (Hibbitt 44, Richards 85);
Manchester City: Keith Macrae; Glyn Pardoe, Willie Donachie, Mike Doyle, Tommy Booth, Tony Towers, Mike Summerbee, Colin Bell, Francis Lee, Denis Law, Rodney Marsh. Substitute (noy used): Frank Carrodus;
Wolverhampton Wanderers: Gary Pierce; Geoff Palmer, Derek Parkin, Mike Bailey, Frank Munro, John McAlle, Kenny Hibbitt, Alan Sunderland, John Richards, Derek Dougan, Dave Wagstaffe (Barry Powell 83);
Referee: D. Wallace (Crewe). Attendance: 97,886.
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NEIL SAMBROOK is also the author of MONTY’S DOUBLE – an acclaimed thriller now available in paperback and as an Amazon Kindle book.
