I hurried to St Pancras station that Spring morning with an inner fervour that was palpable. I arrived early to meet with LFC London Supporters club, whom I had joined as soon as I became aware of them after my arrival in London from Ireland in 1988. Another economic refugee from the emerald isle seduced at 20 by the big smoke, but, this was the culmination of life in England for this football tragic, going to see Liverpool at the weekends. The train was all set and the trip was no aggro, in Sheffield before 12pm, I made straight for the ground as was my pattern in early and get a good spot. Be 12.30pm I am at the ground and although living in London feverish reading of sports pages had informed of me that due to the Police's preference for Nottingham traffic coming from the south, they had been designated the big end the Kop.
 As I wandered towards and around Leppings Lane it seemed a little odd, almost quiet, unaware that I was that most Liverpool fans were stuck in traffic. The London LFCSC had minimal ticket allocation so it was the usual back up plan of "any spares?" Unlike every other 'Pool game the lack of tickets at 12.45pm made me a little anxious, so it got the better of me and I went up to the Forest end, sure enough, there was plenty as predicted Forest were never going to fill that end. By 1pm I had positioned myself right behind the goal and was staring enviously at the travelling Kopites as they assembled at the opposite end, as I strategised where best to position for the game over the next 30 minutes or so it seemed to me that the centre of the away end was very busy. The players warming up distracted for awhile but by about 1.50pm it occurred to me that in fact I had a better position than the one I craved, with the travelling Kop. The unease continued from my perspective and I silently wondered why people were not being funneled to either side. Before kick off a small group of LFC supporters gathered on an elevated spot near the corner flag and the fateful vehicle entrance that would ultimately remain inactive. When the Peter Beardsley's shot cannoned off the woodwork early, the bizarre switch in attention had occurred where by that flurry of activity with the ball had taken my eyes off the away end. Shortly after a Forest fan sensing what was happening climbed up beside us to visually confirm his fears, within moments he was berating some other Forest fans for typical low level chants, with tears flowing down his face he shouted "there's people hurting down there".
         Being so near yet so removed I saw alot but not specifics, there were a few things that have never left me, I remember the Forest fan I just mentioned, I remember a young fella about my age being led along the sideline towards us with what seemed like a deformed arm, he had wavey shoulder length fair hair, I remember 1 ambulanc, I remember some locals hurling derogatory stats about the number of deaths from a car as I trudged towards the train, I remember the queue to call my girlfriend back in London, She said I cried in my sleep that night. The following morning the regional and social separation was revealed to me when I went to mass in a west London Catholic church hoping to start the healing with prayer, only to encounter my first experience of that numb helplessness when the priest spoke only of parish funds.
Listening to David Cameron's speech was the first time in 23 years that I had a different emotion at the mention of Hillsborough, I felt relief for the families as if I was floating because they had been unburdened. That felling abated when I read that 41 innocent precious lives could have been saved as the guilt overwhelmed me again, but I am a parent now and the Hillsborough families have taught me how to be a parent, your children are always your babies, so you fight for them. So as gratitude to Mrs Aspinall. Mr Glover, the Hicks family and all the other brave families I will fight on for the 96. JFT96 YNWA