(c) Fliegende Südtribüne 1984 - 2010
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15.04.1989
We will never forget
"Pünktlich um 15 Uhr hat das Spiel begonnen."
"Ich hatte einen Sitzplatz, nur Graham wollte unbedingt hinter dem Tor stehen. Als ich das Chaos am anderen Ende des Stadions sah, wurde mir mulmig."
"Ab und zu schaffte ich es einzuatmen, aber dann wollte ich nicht ausatmen, ich hatte Angst, mein Brustkorb würde brechen."
"Die Menschen um mich herum liefen blau an und verloren das Bewusstsein, sie bettelten die Polizisten an, ein Tor zu öffnen. Reagiert hat aber niemand."
´"Ich erinnere mich an einen Ordner, der vor uns stand, eine Frau schrie in Todesangst, doch er blickte wie durch uns hindurch."
"Um mich herum zitterten, schrien und weinten die Menschen. Andere waren wie in Trance. Sie rissen Werbetafeln von den Seiten des Spielfelds und trugen die Verletzten darauf fort."
Bis heute ist der wichtigste Zeitraum der Stadionkatastrophe von Sheffield vor keinem Gericht der Insel verhandelt worden. Der Untersuchungsrichter im ersten Hillsborough-Prozess legte in seinem Urteil 15.15 Uhr als Todeszeitpunkt für alle Opfer fest, eine Viertelstunde nach Anpfiff.
Condolence Video
That Lad
by Peter Etherington
April fifteenth, nineteen eighty nine.
Semi-final day, the weather was fine.
Set off for Hillsborough in our mini-bus.
Laughing and singing, all twelve of us.
Bevvy in the alehouse. Reds having the crack.
We didn't know then some wouldn't come back.
Walked down the hill on the way to the ground.
This was dead weird, not many bizzies around.
There's normally hundreds. Usually loads.
They must all be busy blocking off the roads.
Forest fans in one way, Liverpool another,
"Can't have them meeting, don't want the bother."
One bizzy on horseback shouting over the din,
"Stop bloody pushing, you'll all get in."
"Come on lads, they've opened a gate."
"Hurry up, we don't wanna be late."
Straight up the tunnel and into the dark.
Couldn't even see the players out there on the park.
Something's not right. This is all going wrong.
My ribs are getting crushed in this massive throng.
I fell on the terrace, looking up at the sky.
God, I was scared. "I don't wanna die!"
Punch, kick, scrap, fight.
Got to do anything to get back upright.
I was like a wild animal. What's happening here!
Survival instinct. Stark bloody fear!
"Get outta my way lad. I can't get my breath!"
I didn't realise he was so near to death.
"Open the fence! Please! Let us out!"
That lad went under. It was his last ever shout.
Help me! Pull me up! Grab hold of my hand!
Get me out of this hellhole and into the stand!
I was safe. I survived. I was free from that hell.
How many dead. I just couldn't tell.
Looked down at the pitch, there was that lad.
A man weeping over him. That man was his Dad.
He was trying to revive him with the kiss of life.
But that lad was gone. How would his Dad tell his wife?
Many years on. Still no justice done.
That man's still grieving for his dear son.
Was it me? Was it my fault? Was I to blame?
I still ask That Lad at the Eternal Flame.
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