A squealing colony of pimply-faced urchins stood expelled in the westerly corner of the Kop. Every other Saturday, little monsters – ‘extras from Oliver Twist’ as one fan described them – no older than 12, would shriek and curse their way through matches knowing it soon would be time to graduate through the crèche of fandom and into the real world.
The Boys’ Pen was meant to be a satellite community of Shankly’s vision: Day care for the offspring of seasoned Kopites - a place where sons deemed too diminutive for the genuine thing – would spend their Saturday afternoons cheering on the Reds and learning what it meant to be a Liverpool supporter. In theory.
The reality was quite different. The Kop was an all-welcoming society. The Pen - a caged jungle – was a holding ground for frustrated juveniles and sometimes a lonely place for newcomers outside the clique. Those that weren’t, didn’t hang around.
In one game some time in the 70s, as Liverpool cruised towards yet another comfortable home victory, the Kop was on its round of "Annie Road, give us a song", "Main Stand, give us a song" before arriving at the Boys’ Pen.
"Kopites are gobsh*tes" yelped the hyena pups.
Kids that stood in the pen were tough - the head to toilet flusher types from school. Regulars in the Main Stand, just across from the pen, would witness and be the recipients of their wrath.
“The Main Stand got a lot of abuse,” said Mick Potter, from The End fanzine. “There was a feeling that they looked down on the Boys’ Pen. We were the underclass of Liverpool and they were the gentry.”
Peter Hooton of The Farm, whose father acquired tickets through the son of former trainer Albert Shelley, started watching Liverpool from the obstructed view seats in the Main Stand.
“I was always fascinated by the Kop and this communion between fans’ and players,” he said. “The Boys’ Pen was different.
“You had to go in there with a mob to stand any chance of survival.”
There were some lighter moments.
In 1962, two goals from Kevin Lewis gave the Reds a 2-0 over Southampton to hand Liverpool the Second Division Championship.
"Just after the final whistle, everyone was going berserk and amid the celebrations I got thrown into the Boys´ Pen,” Ron Yeats recalled fondly. “We had a great sing along.
“They seemed like a nice set of lads.”
Escaping
Mick Potter, late of Scotland Road
LIKE A lot of kids from his part of town, Mick Potter would jump the 26 bus on his way to Anfield. “It stopped right outside the ground so it was a convenient way of getting to the match. I went with a gang from Scotland Road but there were groups from Breck Road, Walton, Everton and Vauxhall.
“Many of them were hard lads.”
Once inside the Pen, Potter says that like a prisoner of war, it was a detainee’s duty to escape.
“There was only one objective in the Boys’ Pen. And that was to get out. Every kid wanted to bunk into the Kop – it was like an obsession.
“I was nine when I first went. It was a night game against Man City and I think we won 3-2. My recollections are vague because I spent most of the game looking at people scale the barbed wire in an attempt to free themselves.
“The system worked with one kid climbing over and deliberately getting caught by a steward manning the fence. The steward would throw the sacrificial lamb out of the ground and while that was happening, 20 lads would jump over and escape.
“I probably missed some great moments on the pitch because I was so busy trying to get out. There were many routes– some of them more precarious than others. I think we sometimes annoyed the older fellas on the Kop but they must have been impressed by our determination.”
Life inside the Pen was arduous. When Potter was nine, a kid of around 13-years tried to pinch from his pockets.
“There was nothing in there. I’d spent all my money getting into the ground. He was a lot bigger than me, so if he’d taken something, I’d have probably stayed quiet.”
A game against Everton in 1970 saw the Boys’ Pen become a mock setting of Stalag Luft III for the afternoon.
“It was the Great Escape,” he says. “There were times when older fellas would pay the cheaper price to get into the pen, then try and get into the Kop.
“God knows how they got in. But two fellas brought iron bars and hid them under their coats. They managed to bend the steel on the fence of the pen and lead a break out. A screaming mob of kids broke free after them.
“For some reason, the club didn’t fix the railings afterwards. They were bent for months and months and were manned by an extra steward or a copper.”
The most adventurous attempt to flee came via the Kop toilets.
“They were directly below the Pen so you’d get some terrible smells wafting through. Hot air rises so there would be a bit of a pong. The sanitary conditions in the Kop were horrendous.”
Potter served his apprenticeship before finally gravitating to the Kop.
“Times were hard so sometimes I’d bite the bullet, pay the cheaper price and try and go through the pen and climb over, even though I was too old.
“It was a great way to learn about football matches. It was where I started supporting Liverpool. You get a lot of people slightly younger than me saying they started watching Liverpool in the Kop. I think that generation has missed out.”
Now a season ticket holder in the Kop, Potter would like to see an area at Anfield exclusively for children.
“Human rights would probably have a problem with it if it was anything like the original Pen,’” he jokes. “Its one saving grace was that it wasn’t as bad as Everton’s.
“The Boys’ Pen in the Gwladys Street was like a monkey cage. The bluenoses had no chance of getting out unless they brought some cutting gear to the match.”
The aftermath
Steve ‘Mono’ Monaghan
ON ANY given Monday morning, Steve Monaghan would hold service at his primary school, St Marks, in Halewood. A successful breakout from the Boys’ Pen 48 hours earlier would be the issue at hand.
“Sometimes, a crowd of around 50-odd kids would sit there and listen. Everyone knew that I went to the match every week and my classmates respected that.
“I would tell them about all the ways people managed to escape from the Pen and into the Kop. They couldn’t get enough of it.”
One of Mono’s first games in the Pen was Liverpool’s 10-0 win over Dundalk.
“My dad was mates with Bobby Graham so we got tickets. He’d sit in the stand and leave me with my mates to go our own way.
“It was a difficult place to be at first for a kid trying to fit in because unlike the Kop, it was suspicious of newcomers and outsiders.
“If you ever dared go in with a programme, it would soon be liberated from you by a bigger lad.
“But after a while, when your face became recognised, you got to know all the other lads in there and it was a great place to educate yourself.
“A lot of the lads I met there, 30-years ago, I’m still friends with now.”
Unity amongst the urchins led to many successful escapes.
“It was the main event. Being young kids, our head’s were being turned all the time.
“Skinny lads had an advantage because they’d be able to squeeze through the fence. Others would be more direct and go over the ‘Berlin’ – or straight over the wall. I didn’t fancy heights so I’d do my best to squeeze.
“The typical way out would be to crawl across one of the girders. It literally was like the Great Escape. If one of our own managed their way into the Kop undetected, a huge cheer would go up.
“If a copper got hold of him, we’d still cheer him on the way to the cooler.”
Mono acquired his first season ticket in 1973/74.
“I was still a kid – 13 or 14, but I felt liberated. You were with the big boys’ then and the Kop looked after you. I used to sit on the bar and people would protect you from the crushing.
“After spending time in the pen – it was a reward.”
A view from the outside
Brian Reade, Kop season ticket holder and Daily Mirror columnist
JOHANN Cruyff only played twice at Anfield. On one of those occasions, Brian Reade got to see him for free.
“I was 18 and I bunked in at three-quarter time,” he says. “I’d got down to the ground with my mates and fully intended to pay, but it was a lock-out for an hour and a half before.
“I hadn’t done it since I was a kid but I desperately wanted to see the game.
“It meant we ended up waiting in the pub with a few pints – it wasn’t on TV – and went back with 15-minutes to go.
“We’d beaten Barcelona away and managed to draw 1-1 at Anfield. We hadn’t won any European Cup’s at that stage (1976) so seeing Cruyff play was something special – even if it was for 15-minutes.”
Reade became an Anfield regular as a child, again finding his way into the Kop at three-quarter time.
“I’d rather have waited until three quarter time than have gone in the Boys’ Pen. It seemed like alien territory to me. When you’re a kid, territory is everything it’s not a nice feeling when you’re an outsider.
“There was no ranking if you went in at three quarter time because you charged in and found whatever space you could get.”
Soon enough, when he could afford to watch the whole match, Reade ended up in the Anfield Road. Hailing from Huyton, that end of the ground was easier to reach on a matchday.
“Traditionally, geography played a big part in the side of the ground you stood or sat. I always ended up arriving on somewhere near the Arkles, so naturally, I’d end up in the Anfield Road or the Kemlyn Road. We’d get a bus to West Derby Road then walk through.
“I always liked the view from the Anfield Road because kids could get at the front and it seemed like a better spec than right at the back of the Kop in the Boys’ Pen. Even if you were a kid at the front of the Kop, it was difficult to see the whole pitch because of the slope that subsides at that end of the ground. In the Annie Road, you could see everything.
“I’ve never stood or sat regularly on the west side of the ground. For one year, I had a season ticket in the Main Stand and it just didn’t feel right because I had to walk right round Anfield before the game to get to my seat.
“Even when I did work in the press box, I didn’t like it because it didn’t feel natural to me. Psychologically, I think a fan gets used to a vantage point and anything different makes you think it might be unlucky.”
Reade, who studied at De La Salle, didn’t know many lads that dared to venture into the Pen.
“In the mid to late 60s, the Annie Road was more dangerous than the Kop or even the boys’ pen because all the away fans were there and there was no segregation. With all the boot boys and the skinheads, there would be a lot of trouble.
“At 11 or 12, I used to take a stool to the game and on one occasion I went flying and hit my head on the barrier in front of me because of the movement of the crowd. I nearly ended up in hospital.
“There was definitely more problems in the Anfield Road than at any other part of the ground. The atmosphere was cutting edge and I believe that we ended up singing a lot more because the away fans were so close and we wanted to prove to them that we were louder.
“There’s sometimes a stigma left with Liverpool fans who stood in other parts of the ground other than the Kop.
“But I always say that there’s seems to be more songs these days about the Annie Road than anywhere else in the ground so it must have had something going for it.”
Reade, though, concedes that he missed out by not standing in the Pen.
“I did feel later on that I missed out on an apprenticeship. I was lucky enough to have witnessed some great nights at Anfield and some wonderful trips abroad. As a Liverpool supporter, I think I’ve experienced most emotions that go with the territory. Then someone will say, ‘ah, but you didn’t go in the Boys’ Pen did you?’
“It didn’t help because I was a bit of a sh*thouse.”
An area for young supporters, he concludes, is sadly missing from all stadia in the Premier League today.
“I despair in the number of kids you see going to the game. For me, it was the greatest time of my life. When I started going between ‘66 and ‘73, we didn’t win anything, but the atmosphere at Anfield and the thrill you would get going into the ground at half one would be brilliant. There would be hoards and hoards of kids.
“Now, when I walk up to the match, you see the odd kid with his dad that looks privileged. Instead, they’ve been replaced by fat 45-year-old men who are trying to squeeze into replica shirts.
“That’s just plain weird and wrong.”
From the Pen to the dugout
Phil Thompson, player, coach, assistant and manager.
PHIL Thompson is the only person in the history of Liverpool Football Club to have progressed from the Boys’ Pen to the manager’s seat.
“When Gerard (Houllier) was ill and they gave me the job, albeit on a temporary basis, I thought, ‘I started up there in the heavens of the Kop as a kid and now I’m picking the team – just like Bill Shankly did.
“I couldn’t get my head round that.”
Kirkby born, Thompson came from a divided family.
"My dad was a blue and my mum was a die-hard red,” he explains. “Luckily my mum had always gone to the game so I followed suit with her. Dad was a merchant seaman and spent a lot of time away so his influence on the football side wasn’t so big.
"I spent a bit of time in the Annie Road and the Paddock with my mum before I started going it alone with my mates in the pen. So I had limited preparation for what came."
Thompson had the legs to flee the Pen-keepers.
"It was a means to an end. My aim was to watch football regularly from the most famous terrace in world football. To get there, a fan would have to progress through the boys’ pen.
"I was desperate to stand on the Kop I used to get to the ground really early and do a runner. The earlier you got in, the easier it was because there were fewer stewards around. We used to call them guards.
"I frequently managed to get to the game for about 1pm so I could maximise my chance of escaping the pen. I was a good climber and nifty on foot so I have to say, quite proudly, that I was a prolific escapee.”
Like Terry McDermott and John Aldridge, who also spent time with the youthful steerage of the Pen, Thompson eventually played for Liverpool’s first team.
"I joined the club as in 1969 as a 15-year-old. When I was in the reserves, cleaning the boots and kit for Emlyn’s and Cally’s boots then on a Saturday afternoon, I was joining my mates in the Kop with my scarf on and getting behind the team.
"By 1972 I was making my first team debut.
"The sense of pride was unbelievable.
"When I looked up at the Pen during matches, it also felt strange.
“That was where it really started for me.”
