It's the 6th already here so...
RIP The Busby Babes.
Shame we could not put in a performance to make them proud.
RIP The Busby Babes.
Shame we could not put in a performance to make them proud.
Munich Remembered - 6th February 1958
- Thread starter wr8_utd
- Start date
One cold and bitter Thursday in Munich, Germany,
Eight great football stalwarts conceded victory.
Eight men will never play again, who met destruction there,
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester.
Matt Busby's boys were flying, returning from Belgrade,
This great United family all masters of their trade.
The pilot of the aircraft, the skipper Captain Thain,
Three times they tried to take off and twice turned back again.
The third time down the runway disaster followed close,
There was slush upon that runway and the aircraft never rose.
It ploughed into the marshy ground, it broke, it overturned.
And eight of that team were killed when the blazing wreckage burned.
Roger Byrne and Tommy Taylor, who were capped for England's side,
And Ireland's Billy Whelan and England's Geoff Bent died.
Mark Jones and Eddie Coleman and David Pegg also,
They all lost their lives as it ploughed on through the snow.
Big Duncan he went too, with an injury to his brain,
And Ireland's brave Jack Blanchflower will never play again.
The great Matt Busby lay there, the father of this team,
Three long months passed by before he saw his team again.
The trainer, coach and secretary and a member of the crew,
Eight great sporting journalists who with United flew,
And one of them was Big Swifty who we will ne'er forget,
The finest English 'keeper that ever graced a net.
Oh England's finest football team it's record truly great,
It's proud successes mocked by a cruel turn of fate.
Eight men will never play again who met destruction there,
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester.
Eight great football stalwarts conceded victory.
Eight men will never play again, who met destruction there,
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester.
Matt Busby's boys were flying, returning from Belgrade,
This great United family all masters of their trade.
The pilot of the aircraft, the skipper Captain Thain,
Three times they tried to take off and twice turned back again.
The third time down the runway disaster followed close,
There was slush upon that runway and the aircraft never rose.
It ploughed into the marshy ground, it broke, it overturned.
And eight of that team were killed when the blazing wreckage burned.
Roger Byrne and Tommy Taylor, who were capped for England's side,
And Ireland's Billy Whelan and England's Geoff Bent died.
Mark Jones and Eddie Coleman and David Pegg also,
They all lost their lives as it ploughed on through the snow.
Big Duncan he went too, with an injury to his brain,
And Ireland's brave Jack Blanchflower will never play again.
The great Matt Busby lay there, the father of this team,
Three long months passed by before he saw his team again.
The trainer, coach and secretary and a member of the crew,
Eight great sporting journalists who with United flew,
And one of them was Big Swifty who we will ne'er forget,
The finest English 'keeper that ever graced a net.
Oh England's finest football team it's record truly great,
It's proud successes mocked by a cruel turn of fate.
Eight men will never play again who met destruction there,
The flowers of English football, the flowers of Manchester.
Did you know Duncan Edwards, Dad, I mean really really know?
It’s just you’ve kept so many cuttings from all those years ago.
And were the babes the greatest, the greatest ever team?
Or just enshrined here in this history, just a bygone boyhood dream.
Now I know you idolised them, Dad, you gave each one their own page,
the pictures are well faded now, but I suppose that comes with age
Dad, did Tommy Taylor really head a ball against the bar,
which Harry Gregg collected, it had rebounded back so far?
And was Duncan Edwards really, the greatest of them all,
with silken skills and feathery touch, thirteen stone and six foot tall?
Now there’s a contradiction surely Dad, but I’m going to let it pass,
but Billy Whelan must have played once, without first going to Mass.
And was Harry Gregg a goalkeeper supreme?
Were Eddie Coleman’s hazy runs like red blurs on swards of green?
And Dad can you explain to me how it ever came to pass,
that Roger Byrne, just five foot nine, covered every blade of glass?
Or how David Pegg whose swerving runs, like a scorpion you said,
always struck the ball with venom, yet left no one for dead?
Or how it was that big Mark Jones could soar into the sky,
yet still patrol his area, so that nobody got by?
Then there’s the team of Sixty Eight, and Dad I’d like to know,
how George Best was always missing, yet played five hundred games or so?
And how was it Bobby Charlton, who played so many vital roles,
could be both a great goalscorer and a scorer of great goals?
Or how Denis Law had chipped a ball from forty yards or more,
it came back off the crossbar, and yet Law was there to score?
What use was it that Pat Crerand could split defences with one pass,
when the ball only ever landed on a sixpence on the grass?
And was Stepney’s save at Wembley, the best you’ve ever seen,
or was it just that it resulted in the fulfilment of a dream?
So now to Matt Busby, or Sir Matt as he’s now known,
from a mining town in Scotland, yet still one of our own?
Then finally there’s the Munich clock, the disaster time still shown.
why do people say that they never intended coming home?
The boy looked up with pleading eyes, and his father gently said.
There’s a lifetime of old memories in the scrapbook you’ve just read.
And of course there is some fiction, most fact, some strange yet true,
that’s what makes players into legends, now I’ve passed them on to you.
Those pictures may be faded son, but I can see them all so clear,
as if it were just yesterday, and I hold each memory dear.
Now I’ve passed this scrapbook on to you, to treasure for all time,
And you too will find your heroes and build to them a shrine,
and you’ll add your bits of fiction, but don’t worry son that’s fine,
to make legends of your heroes and then place them alongside mine.
And you’ll understand in years to come, as you watch great United teams,
why it is we call Old Trafford, The Theatre of Dreams.
RIP. Never forgotten.
It’s just you’ve kept so many cuttings from all those years ago.
And were the babes the greatest, the greatest ever team?
Or just enshrined here in this history, just a bygone boyhood dream.
Now I know you idolised them, Dad, you gave each one their own page,
the pictures are well faded now, but I suppose that comes with age
Dad, did Tommy Taylor really head a ball against the bar,
which Harry Gregg collected, it had rebounded back so far?
And was Duncan Edwards really, the greatest of them all,
with silken skills and feathery touch, thirteen stone and six foot tall?
Now there’s a contradiction surely Dad, but I’m going to let it pass,
but Billy Whelan must have played once, without first going to Mass.
And was Harry Gregg a goalkeeper supreme?
Were Eddie Coleman’s hazy runs like red blurs on swards of green?
And Dad can you explain to me how it ever came to pass,
that Roger Byrne, just five foot nine, covered every blade of glass?
Or how David Pegg whose swerving runs, like a scorpion you said,
always struck the ball with venom, yet left no one for dead?
Or how it was that big Mark Jones could soar into the sky,
yet still patrol his area, so that nobody got by?
Then there’s the team of Sixty Eight, and Dad I’d like to know,
how George Best was always missing, yet played five hundred games or so?
And how was it Bobby Charlton, who played so many vital roles,
could be both a great goalscorer and a scorer of great goals?
Or how Denis Law had chipped a ball from forty yards or more,
it came back off the crossbar, and yet Law was there to score?
What use was it that Pat Crerand could split defences with one pass,
when the ball only ever landed on a sixpence on the grass?
And was Stepney’s save at Wembley, the best you’ve ever seen,
or was it just that it resulted in the fulfilment of a dream?
So now to Matt Busby, or Sir Matt as he’s now known,
from a mining town in Scotland, yet still one of our own?
Then finally there’s the Munich clock, the disaster time still shown.
why do people say that they never intended coming home?
The boy looked up with pleading eyes, and his father gently said.
There’s a lifetime of old memories in the scrapbook you’ve just read.
And of course there is some fiction, most fact, some strange yet true,
that’s what makes players into legends, now I’ve passed them on to you.
Those pictures may be faded son, but I can see them all so clear,
as if it were just yesterday, and I hold each memory dear.
Now I’ve passed this scrapbook on to you, to treasure for all time,
And you too will find your heroes and build to them a shrine,
and you’ll add your bits of fiction, but don’t worry son that’s fine,
to make legends of your heroes and then place them alongside mine.
And you’ll understand in years to come, as you watch great United teams,
why it is we call Old Trafford, The Theatre of Dreams.
RIP. Never forgotten.
To the Babes.
Shame we couldn't do them justice today. Funnily enough, Wolves were our title rivals back in 1958 and the season following the disaster.
My next drink is to them.
RIP, Flowers of Manchester.
RIP, Flowers of Manchester.
They are a big reason why United are such a massive club.
That's their legacy.
That's their legacy.
This really does put the Wolves game into perspective.
That picture was my wallpaper for so long. Great shot.
Tomorrow, I'm going to be at work, but I will have a minutes silence on my own, regardless of what every other cock is doing.
That was in my thoughts too -- that Wolves were our title rivals back then and the next league game after the disaster in '58 would have been at against Wolves at home.
The fact we didn't do them justice saddened me less than the fact we didn't play with black armbands.
RIP The Flowers of Manchester and the other victims of the Munich disaster. Every drink is to them and every thought is with them and their families on this day.
We played with black armbands on Tuesday, presumably that was in memory of Munich. I thought the closest match to the 6th would be when the team would wear them, but maybe they only do it on the closest home match.
RIP to the Babes
Rest in Peace babes.
City fans were a credit that day. Ironically, we didn't win that day as well.
I know the club only honours Munich on the home game closest to the 6th, and I won't go on about it. I just had a hope they'd do it today, the match being against Wolves and all.
Hopefully every player carried thoughts of the departed in their hearts, armbands or no armbands.
Forever and Ever,
We'll follow the boys,
Of Man United,
The Busby Babes,
For we made a promise,
To defend our faith,
In Man United,
The Busby Babes.
We've all sworn allegiance,
To fight till we die,
To stand by United,
And the Red flag we fly,
There'll be no surrender,
We'll fight to the last,
To defeat all before us,
As we did in the past.
For we're Stretford Enders,
With United we grew,
To the famous Red Devils,
We're loyal and true,
To part-time supporters,
We'll never descend,
We'll never forsake you,
We'll be here to the end.
For we all remember,
That '58 day,
And the plane that once stood on,
That Munich runway,
As it tried to take off,
For the third fatal time,
The immortal young babes were,
Cut down in their prime.
In the cold snow of Munich,
They laid down their lives,
But they live on forever,
In our hearts and our minds,
Their names are now legend,
For the whole world to see.
Why this club's a religion,
Spelt M.U.F.C.
So bow down before them,
And lift up your eyes,
For Old Trafford's glory,
Will always survive.
We'll follow the boys,
Of Man United,
The Busby Babes,
For we made a promise,
To defend our faith,
In Man United,
The Busby Babes.
We've all sworn allegiance,
To fight till we die,
To stand by United,
And the Red flag we fly,
There'll be no surrender,
We'll fight to the last,
To defeat all before us,
As we did in the past.
For we're Stretford Enders,
With United we grew,
To the famous Red Devils,
We're loyal and true,
To part-time supporters,
We'll never descend,
We'll never forsake you,
We'll be here to the end.
For we all remember,
That '58 day,
And the plane that once stood on,
That Munich runway,
As it tried to take off,
For the third fatal time,
The immortal young babes were,
Cut down in their prime.
In the cold snow of Munich,
They laid down their lives,
But they live on forever,
In our hearts and our minds,
Their names are now legend,
For the whole world to see.
Why this club's a religion,
Spelt M.U.F.C.
So bow down before them,
And lift up your eyes,
For Old Trafford's glory,
Will always survive.
Forever Young and Never Forgotten
RIP
Lest we forget.
Forever and Ever,
We'll follow the boys,
Of Manchester United,
The Busby Babes,
For we made a promise,
To defend our faith,
In Manchester United,
The Busby Babes.
We've all sworn allegiance,
To fight till we die,
To stand by United,
And the Red flag we fly,
There'll be no surrender,
We'll fight to the last,
To defeat all before us,
As we did in the past.
Forever in our hearts.
Forever and Ever,
We'll follow the boys,
Of Manchester United,
The Busby Babes,
For we made a promise,
To defend our faith,
In Manchester United,
The Busby Babes.
We've all sworn allegiance,
To fight till we die,
To stand by United,
And the Red flag we fly,
There'll be no surrender,
We'll fight to the last,
To defeat all before us,
As we did in the past.
Forever in our hearts.
I wish I was someone who could write poetry, because every year I sit down for minutes before posting in this thread, trying to think of something to write. Yet every year as I struggle for words to befit those that died, I end up with tears in my eyees.
So stay safe where ever you may be all those that died that day, for the United family where ever we may be have you in our thoughts today, and forever more.
RIP
So stay safe where ever you may be all those that died that day, for the United family where ever we may be have you in our thoughts today, and forever more.
RIP
R.I.P
We will never forget...
We will never forget...
So keep the faith and never fear, We'll keep the Red Flag flying here.
We'll never die.
We'll never die.
R.I.P.
Never to be forgotten
Never to be forgotten
R.I.P.
In our hearts and minds always.
In our hearts and minds always.
I get goosebumps everytime I see videos from this day.
Lest me forget. R.I.P.
As a club, everything we do is in memory of you all.
God bless and RIP
God bless and RIP
Shit, that always brings a tear to my eye. God bless the babes, you will always be remembered. You are always in our hearts.
We'll never die, we'll never die
R.I.P Babes
R.I.P Babes
RIP Busby Babes, gone but not forgotten
R.I.P the busby babes.
R.I.P the Babes.
Always in our thoughts.
Forever in our hearts.
R.I.P.
Remembered today and always
Forever in your debt
RIP The Babes.
Forever in your debt
RIP The Babes.
Would be nice to have a caf minute's silence at 15:03, perhaps a message could be displayed on the homepage.
yeah, could one of the admin put the site down for a minute?