Remembering 11 May 1985

10/05/2024 09:00

By Jason McKeown

The clock had just gone past minute 56 in Bradford City's final home game, two weeks ago, with supporters beginning to get to their feet for a minute's applause to honour the victims of the Valley Parade fire disaster in 1985, when Jamie Walker floated over a corner for the hosts, Richie Smallwood teed up Bobby Pointon, and the youngster smashed the ball into the back of the net.

The symbolism was powerful. Right at a moment many fans in the stadium were coming together to remember the tragic events that took place in this ground 39 years ago, the most Bradford City of Bradford City players produced a powerful tribute. As the cheers of the wonder goal faded, "Always remember the 56" echoed around the North West corner and the Kop. On the field, the Bantams were destined to miss out on the play offs – but on this matchday more than any other, a sense of perspective superseded any disappointment.

Bobby Pointon was born on 4 January 2004. Almost 19 years after the fire disaster which occurred on 11 May 1985. He grew up supporting his beloved Bradford City from the Kop. Like thousands of us who were born after, or who are too young to have been aware of, that awful afternoon, he will have read and heard the story of what happened. And learned to understand the significance of the darkest day in the club's history.

It is an important baton that we all have a hand in looking after and passing on to the generations who follow us. It's now almost four decades since fire broke out in the Main Stand, just before half time of the club's final game of the season. Where 56 people lost their lives. Hundreds of others endured physical injury. And where many more gained mental scars that have affected the rest of their lives. On a day that was supposed to be one of celebration – where supporters could rejoice in City lifting the championship and climbing out of the bottom two divisions for the first time in 48 years – happiness turned to horror.

When you become a Bradford City supporter – or you join the club as a player, manager, coach, regular staff member, director or CEO – you are soon taught what happened. A story that is scarcely believable. Especially when judged through the lens of modern times. It's a hugely important chapter in the club's history. A massive part of the heritage that we all inherit. For everyone connected with the club in present times, there's an important burden of responsibility. We simply must always remember.

Supporters as young as 11-years-old lost their lives that day. They should be here with us today still, celebrating their 50th birthday this year. Growing up, having their own kids, having careers. Experiencing the same ups and downs of cheering on Bradford City that we have all gone through over the last 39 years.

Others who died that day were in their 30s and 40s, and should have had the chance to grow old among us. The toll was huge. Across the Bradford and Lincoln communities, families lost dads, mums, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters. All because of attending a football match.

The story of what happened is well known, but always worth recalling at times like this. On Monday 6 May 1985, Bradford City had travelled to Bolton's Burden Park and won 2-0 to seal the third division title. A week of excitement followed, as City fans knew their heroes would get to lift the championship trophy at Valley Parade. A sold out crowd packed out the stadium, with the trophy presentation taking place just before kick off. The players performed a lap of honour with the silverware, and then everyone settled down for a game with nothing riding on it.

As part of research for a book on Bradford City a few years ago, I watched the full footage of what happened next. It's a video now widely used for fire safety training – my sister in law went on a course a couple of years ago, where it was shown to the attendees. What strikes you viewing the footage is how ordinary and run of mill everything seems to be before the fire breaks out. The game is pretty dull. Nothing is happening. It's typical end of season fare without any intensity. The match has almost reached half time, and everyone looks a little bored.

Then you can see an orange flame emerge. Within minutes, the game is stopped. And the history of Bradford City football club changes forever.

Fire broke out underneath the main stand, which was made of wood and slated to be knocked down after this game, replaced with a new structure. The cause of the fire was widely agreed to be a discarded lit cigarette that fell through the floorboards and set alight rubbish that had been built up over many years underneath. The exits at the back of the stand were locked during the game so people couldn't sneak in and watch, which trapped people in as the fire spread. There were no fire extinguishers around either, due to fears over vandalism. At the front of the stand was a large drop to the paddock terrace below, with a tricky wall to navigate. Escaping the flames was not easy. And, sadly for too many, unavoidable.

The fire brigade was summoned and arrived within four minutes. By then, the fire had consumed the whole stand. 56 people – which included two Lincoln City supporters – lost their lives. As the injured were rushed to Bradford Royal Infirmary, professor David Sharpe was able to call upon 10% of the UK's population of plastic surgeons to assist. Some of the treatments used were experimental, such was the unprecedented nature of the situation.

The inquest that followed was kind on the club, especially as Sir Oliver Popplewell – who led the inquiry – found evidence City had been warned about the fire risk posed by the rubbish underneath the stand, and yet had done nothing about it. But in general, the Bradford City community accepted the fire was a terrible piece of misfortune. An accident that said a lot about the state of lower league football at the time – and the inadequate safety standards within football grounds – but an accident all the same.

And that has set the tone for how the Valley Parade fire largely continues to be remembered. It is a largely insular, almost stoic outlook taken on by most of the survivors, and most of those who lost loved ones. Every year on 11 May, a crowd gathers in Bradford Centenary Square to pay its respects. A service takes place, everyone is invited into city hall after for tea and biscuits. It is solemn, dignified and sincere. No one is looking for attention. The disaster does not get the coverage of other football tragedies like Hillsborough, but it doesn't have the same level of controversy either. For the most part, everyone accepts what happened. They grieve in their own way. And they keep going. Always remembering.

It is here that the rest of us come in. Those of us who were not part of that day. But who stand shoulder to shoulder with those who were. It is not our personal grief, but this is our football club – and we care deeply about the idea that others paid such a terrible price, simply for supporting Bradford City as much as we do. We did not know the 56, but we do what we can to remember them.

As the years pass, it's a legacy that we newer supporters have a much greater responsibility to take on and to get right. That we remember the dignified manner the anniversary has almost always being marked, and we continue to honour it in the way that those closer to the events would always want us to.

That hasn't always been the case in recent years, sadly. 'The 56' has distastefully become a brand at times, appearing on hoodies and mugs. Meanwhile other City fans shout loudly at the rest of the football world for supposedly not paying enough attention to our sorrow. Talk to survivors, and they find the more recent extroverted approach to remembrance deeply uncomfortable. Some don't like the fact we do a minute's applause in the 56th minute of the last game of the season, for example, and may have been extra glad Bobby picked that moment to score and largely curb it.

Sometimes evolution in how we mark tragic events can be genuine progress. When I first started supporting City in 1997, there wasn't even a minute's silence held at each season's final home game. The first memorial for the fire that was put up outside Valley Parade was easy to miss. The club has got better at remembering what happened. And right now, with the help of supporters, it does an outstanding job in the way it handles the last home match of the season.

You can't help but feel proud of the way the players represent the club on such occasions. Of the fantastic efforts of supporter Georgia Thornton to create and sell claret and amber ribbons for the Bradford Burns Unit. Of the enthusiastic volunteering of others to stand by the entrances with collection buckets to raise more money, and the deep pockets that Bradfordians display in filling them. The communal signing of You'll Never Walk Alone at kick off. The complete silence, for a minute, upon the referee's whistle.

The whole occasion is full of class. A genuinely fitting tribute.

Nevertheless, with the 40th anniversary of the fire disaster coming up in 2025, and a likely increase in media coverage in the build-up, there is an important need to keep sight of what this anniversary is all about.

It's about something unimaginably sad, that still impacts thousands of people who experienced it happen. It's about remembering those who were taken away too soon, and the devastation it caused their loved ones. It's about celebrating the incredible heroics of many people on that day, who risked their own lives to save others. It's about the way the community who live on the doorstep of Valley Parade opened their doors up to help people affected. It's about the pioneering work within the city of Bradford that followed, through the terrific efforts of the Bradford Burns Unit. It's about the pride we can all feel in raising money each year for such an important cause, which now helps people all over the world. It's about the greater standards of football ground safety in this country that were born from awful moments like this.

It’s about bowing our heads. And always remembering the things that so many directly affected people wish they didn't have to.