Liverpool victory parades have long been the stuff of folklore. I have vague memories of the 1986 bus, sponsored by Dentyne chewing gum, following the first big trophy wins of my life as a Liverpool fan. In 2001, there was a song about going to Cardiff twice and me ma should put the champagne on ice so when the treble was completed, that year, "Tell yer ma we did it" was adorned across the back of the bus. 2005 was the first time I watched and thought "I have to get to one of them". It might well have happened in 2019, when an overnight ferry from Belfast was discussed and quickly dismissed as I was exhausted from watching the match and had completed a triathlon earlier that day. As we sat and watched the explosion of red delirium on tv, my late mother in law Eleanor, produced some photo's from the 1965 homecoming after Shankly had led us to our first ever FA Cup. She was a teacher in Liverpool at the time and was friendly with a local newspaper photographer who gave her the photo. 60 years later, I'd be attending my first parade with her only grandson, with the goal of trying to get a picture of the players on the bus with the trophy that was even half as good as that one.
It seemed like Liverpool had the league won months before but it wasn't confirmed until April when Arsenal dropped points yet again and we beat Spurs at home to clinch that elusive 20th title and more importantly to do it in front of the fans. I'm not one for celebrating before it's done but on 12th March, I booked our flights for a parade on the 26th May that had neither been announced or earned. The final game of the season was the 25th and there was a bank holiday the day after. It was a safe enough bet to get the flights booked early before the prices went up. Following a draw at home to Crystal Palace, the Premier League trophy was held aloft by captain Virgil Van Dijk while the fireworks exploded and the crowd cheered 35 years worth of cheers, I told my son Arlo we were on the early flight to Manchester the next morning to go to the victory parade.
At 7am, it was pissing down in Belfast and that would be part of the story of the day. The flight was full of families like us travelling over for the parade. We took off on time and hoofed it from the terminal to the station to get the pre-booked train to Manchester Piccadilly and change for Liverpool Lime St. We were on a tight schedule but the train from the airport was also on time so we were in good shape. This would come to an abrupt end as we arrived at Manchester's biggest train station. The platform was teeming with Liverpool fans all waiting to get the next train to our spiritual home. When that arrived, it was already full and no one was able to get on. At this point, we were all left wondering what we were going to do until we got herded towards an adjoining platform and onto a train bound for Southport. I asked a steward where should we change for Liverpool and was told to just get off somewhere. This wasn't much help to me. I was pretty sure Southport was north of Liverpool but I didn't know how far north and how long this train was going to take to get there. The clock was ticking. It must have been about 11am at this point, the parade was starting at 2 and we had planned to catch it at the beginning. At least it wasn't raining. We got off at the next stop and got a good price for an Uber to Liverpool.
I'd planned for us to spend a couple of hours with my Uncle David and Aunt Irene in Woolton. I hadn't seem them for a good few years and they also lived near Allerton so it meant we weren't out on the road for more hours than we needed to be. David is my mum's brother and he moved from Ireland to Liverpool in the early 60's and has been there since. The whole family are Evertonians and David even has a brick at the new stadium, he showed us a picture, it has his name and date of birth on it and Arlo was able to work out that David was approaching his 90th birthday. Irene is a similar age but both of them are still very independent. Indeed, Irene drove us down to Allerton, showing us where Strawberry Fields was on the way and explaining that she'd never heard it called Allerton Maze - the starting point of the Liverpool Victory Parade 2025.
As we said our thanks and goodbyes to Irene, the next part of the plan was upon us. We were meeting Arlo's friend, Fintan with his dad and brothers. They had taken their car over on the ferry the day before and stayed with family in Manchester. We started getting text messages from Olly, the dad, who had lived in Liverpool for several years. There were hundreds of people dressed in red lining the streets at Allerton Maze, a high street junction. I got talking to a man from Skelmersdale who had cycled and probably trained it down (just checked where it is on maps). He was impressed by us travelling over from Belfast just for this. Next thing Fintan's older brother, Oran, appeared and we could see Olly and the younger two, Fintan and Oisin, driving past, carefully avoiding the people on the street, beeping the horn which started a lot of other horns sounding as the anticipation continued to build ahead of this great celebration. They disappeared around the corner and I wondered where they would park but Arlo and his pal Fintan were soon stood together on the footpath at the junction and my new friend from Skelmersdale was handed a phone to take photos of us all. The rain that was forecast arrived at about the same time but the excitement was such that we hardly noticed it. We were trying to figure out which way the parade would come past us. The left? the right? or from behind us. Allerton was now packed with Liverpool fans. The noise was increasing by the minute. People were up trees or traffic lights and on lamp posts, at upstairs house or flat windows and shop premises. Everyone trying to get the best vantage point to see our champions. As Olly and I chatted about our longer term plans for the day, the shouting, horns beeping and screaming reached a crescendo. There was an explosion of noise and red smoke mingled with the rain as the buses came from our left along the road. There was music, I couldn't make out, blasting from the bus and through the now thick red smoke we could make out "Ours Again" on the side of the bus and the players came into sight on the open top. I was filming the moment on my phone and could hear Arlo screaming "ARNE!! VVD!!" as the players and manager held the Premier League trophy over the side of the big red chariot to show the people what we've been chasing for so long. As suddenly as they arrived, they disappeared down the road in the haze of red smoke. We tried to follow them but only got a few yards before we met a wall of people. I tried to lift Arlo up onto my shoulders like I've done from he was a little baby but he is a lot bigger and heavier now so my lower back was creaking though I managed to get him up there for a minute to see the last few frames before the bus and the noise disappeared behind trees and houses and people.
Olly and I had made a bit of a plan the week before and I suggested not going to The Strand because it would be too busy but the thought also crossed my mind that there might be some sort of threat. Maybe a disgruntled fan from another team or something but I didn't mention this to Olly as didn't want to seem silly but I suggested we try and catch it at Leeds St. before it hit the final straight. We headed into the city and were able to drive quite far down Hanover St to find a car park then we braved the rain again to head across town. On the way, we stopped for food and the boys bought some vuvuzela type things which were part of the noise of the day. Olly was left reminiscing about nights in Shenanigans as we approached what looked like the loneliest pub in the world, stood there all alone. As we crossed Dale St and made our way over to what we thought would be a good spot, the crowds confirmed this. The rain was now persistent and the BBC updates on my phone seemed to suggest we might have a couple more hours to wait. We had to get back to Manchester Airport for about 7pm and it was now getting on for 5pm. We gave it another while, now standing beneath trees trying to get whatever shelter we could but the endless rain and the long day had drained the energy out of Arlo so we decided to head back to Manchester. I can clearly remember the rain because Arlo and I have just suffered a similar soaking at St. Tiarnachs Park in Clones, Co. Monaghan at the 2026 Ulster Championship Final.
We said our good byes to the boys, who stayed on as they didn't have the same tight schedule as us. We walked along Dale Street and headed for the train station. Suddenly there was a helicopter overhead and the familiar noise from earlier was heard again and we knew the parade was coming past. I text Olly to let him know. We caught a brief glimpse as we turned up towards St. George's Hall but we were all in for heading home though so were thousands of others. The fans who the parade had just passed all were running for the station as well and when we got there, it seemed to be closed. Surely this was a mistake, we had bought return tickets. People were walking round to the side of the building where there was a queue to get in through one door. It was about 6 wide on the footpath and there was maybe 100 to 150 in front of us. More and more men, women and children joined it to the extent that it didn't feel very safe. The clock was ticking also. We went to see Harry Styles at Slane Castle a few years ago and as the 80,000 made their way out after the concert, I was looking for somewhere to throw Arlo to safety, in case there was a stampede. I was making similar mental preparations here. After about 15 mins of queuing and not moving we walked around to The Adelphi Hotel, ordered a taxi to pick us up outside while we went to use the toilets inside. When I came back out Arlo had been given a big Liverpool flag by the concierge as the decorations for the day, started to come down. There were more queues starting here as other started to look for taxi's out of town too. We chatted to the doorman who admitted he was a blue but he was really sound. Luckily, we didn't have to wait too long for the Uber. I asked the driver if I could charge my phone but I couldn't because there was too much moisture inside it from the rain. I was worried about not being able to show my digital boarding passes at the airport. Arlo was fast asleep almost as soon as we got into the car. It took about an hour and 90 odd quid to get to Manchester.
I thought the rain was the worst part of the day but at the airport we started to find out there had been in an incident at the parade and people were injured. I started getting messages from home, from David and Irene and from friends but I didn't know exactly what had happened. I text Olly to check they were all ok. They didn't know something had happened either but they were safely on their way out of Liverpool. I phoned Emma to tell her we were ok. Arlo was oblivious to it all - changing into dry clothes we'd brought, eating KFC, spicy pringles and looking forward to his bed. Before we boarded the plane, I was reading tweets about people stranded in Liverpool and Liverpudlians offering lifts, beds and even money to get them home. At that stage we didn't know if some of the people who went to the parade would ever go home again. I didn't try to find out anymore at that point but I was aware of a video being sent around on various WhatsApp groups and was pretty sure it had landed in one of mine. At Manchester Airport, Liverpool and Man United fans, returning home from their final game the day before, were in the queue for the plane ribbing each other. A kid started Liverpool songs and all the adults joined in. He had the full repertoire. We were all laughing as the celebrations continued onto the plane, I checked my phone again, unable to resist finding out a bit more about what happened, Someone had driven a car into crowds near the Strand. Had the 24/7 winding up on social media sparked a rival fan into doing something heinous? Was it a mental health episode? Drink or drug driving? Terrorism? Nationalism? I didn't watch the footage until I got home. "Holy fuck, people must have died". We waited to see who did this and why. I read through the many WhatsApp messages on various groups. One said he had been on Water St. 10 minutes before the incident. I forgot he had rented a place down there, overlooking the finale of the 2025 parade. I wondered if I'd have thought about changing our plans to go there but probably not.
The next morning on the way to work, the Liverpool Parade was headline news in Belfast. Northern Irish people were on radio talking about being injured or having a near miss. On X, the fall out was as mental and varied as you'd expect. Blaming fans for travelling from everywhere to be in Liverpool for the parade "Support your local team" and when blame had to be apportioned many were quick to say "Muslim immigrants did this". Hundreds were unable to get home because of no trains. The rail companies had totally underestimated how many people would be travelling to and from Lime Street for the parade. I complained and got the money back for the taxis. Football and Liverpool have been a big part of my life for as long as I can remember but I started to question it all. I hoped no one died and everyone injured would pull through. Paul Doyle, a man from Liverpool, was sentenced to 21 years for mowing down dozens of men, women and children in his car. Incredibly no one was killed but many were injured, some seriously. The Judge concluded it happened during a fit of rage.
It's a year ago since we celebrated Liverpool winning the league for the 20th time and a lot has happened in since. A few weeks later, we lost one of our Premier League champions, Diogo Jota and our defence of the title was over in October. All this reminds us to cherish the good times and celebrate them like it might be the last time we ever get to do it. I took some still images from the video of the parade but nothing as good as the 1965 one. In the days following the parade, I finally caught up with Olly and asked him did they get to see the parade as it passed Leeds Street. He forwarded me on the photos his oldest boy Oran took. I think the Photographer in 1965 would have been proud of those.
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