The pressure was now on
The pressure was now on. We had entered mountainous country and our 51-seater coach made slow progress up, and later down, narrow twisted roads. I was fascinated by the trees, most of which had a bowl attached to collect sap, which I now understand was used to make turpentine and rosin. I was also taken aback at the apparent poverty. Farming was clearly a totally manual occupation. Whole families could be seen in the fields, each member wielding an adze-type implement to break up the soil. Crossing the bridge at Coimbra we looked down on women washing sheets in the river and spreading them out to dry on sandbanks.
Celtic supporters in Lisbon
Throughout the day we were on edge about getting to Lisbon on time. Even when we reached the outer limits of the city we were still concerned. We were driving on a long straight seemingly endless highway. Disconcertingly, for much of the length of this highway we looked out on an enormous shanty town. Behind a safety fence were countless huts built from plywood, chipboard and sheets of corrugated iron – a testimony to the 35-year rule of the dictator Salazar.
It was 3:45pm when we arrived at our hotel
It was 3:45pm when we arrived at our hotel and we were still concerned about getting to the Estádio Nacional in time for the 5:30pm kick-off. We checked in and were quickly outside again hailing taxis. In the event we managed to reach the ground in good time.
Just about everything that can be said has already been said about the 90 minutes of football that followed, so I won’t try to add to it. I’ll just note that we were at the end where all the goals were scored and despite the early Milan goal we still felt that we could win. It was tense and the quality of the football passed me by. It wasn’t until years later when I saw a film of the game that I realised just how impressive the Celtic players were.
The enormity of Celtic’s achievement
The jubilation that came from the winning goal was only surpassed by the celebrations that followed the final whistle. It was some time before order was sufficiently restored for Billy McNeill to climb the steps to collect the trophy and for the enormity of Celtic’s achievement to start sinking in.
We eventually started to settle down and I was still conscious of the fact I hadn’t been to Mass and it was the feast of Corpus Christi. I jumped into a taxi and after a short drive found myself in a church where Mass had just started. I suppose you could call it a Mass of Thanksgiving.
Back at the hotel I met up with Hugh White, who like myself wasn’t into serious drinking. We had a night of quiet celebration. There were few enough Celtic fans around as the vast majority were on there way back by air.
