Solitude's doors have remained closed for three months and as the Covid19 pandemic appears to be easing and lockdown restrictions lifting, a host of Cliftonville fans explain what the old north Belfast ground means to them.
A club of the people, they all simply bleed red. Brendan Crossan reports...
In the words of Chris Donnelly...
LIVING without that familiar Saturday feeling and experience has only enhanced my own sense of appreciation for the precious role filled by sport in my own life.
Solitude may be rough round the edges, but it is home. I miss the crumbling edifice that is the old stand, with its animated understand characters adding flavor and spice to the day’s proceedings on the big game occasions.
On match days I would typically aim to arrive early- and in Waterworks time that constitutes 10-minutes-to-three.
There are no seat numbers in Solitude, yet tradition compels me to seek out the same row of seats alongside Cathal and Mickey (two fellow teachers) and their kids for each fixture.
The game day experience involves chewing the fat on events that have occurred both locally and globally throughout the past week, ranging from the world of politics and sport to the workplace.
From our perched position in the McAlery Stand I observe the procession of familiar faces making their way through the solitary entrance point for all Reds fans to their seats, including those habitually tardy devotees, amongst them the late Michael Hearty. Years - and memories - pass before me in the form of raised voices, laughs and smiles from my childhood and later life experiences.
The taste of victory is all the sweeter when following a team for whom success has always been a relative concept.
I have been faithfully bringing my son to Reds matches since his first live football experience as a five-year old in January 2013 got him hooked on the Red Army.
Those early heady years gave him a misleading impression of Cliftonville’s place in local football, and in the intervening period he has become more accustomed to disappointment, making him appreciate more fully the little victories when the whistle blows and the crowd erupts. A lesson for life. -by Chris Donnelly.
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In the words of Johnny Madden...
WHEN I think of Solitude, I think of Paddy Madden (no relation) and the White House.
Many will rhyme off the league titles or other trophies won at Solitude, Geordie’s penalty or even Celtic in the Champions League as a special memory. Special memories they are, but mine is wee Paddy Madden letting us into Solitude for free.
When I was 11 or 12-years-old, a few of my friends and me would always go up and hang around Solitude on match-day. Being that young we barely had a pound between us and used to torture the folk going into the game: ‘Here mate, lift us over’.
We very rarely got lifted over and were usually left loitering outside the ground. After the game had kicked off, usually about 10 minutes in, wee Paddy would open the red door of the Whitehouse.
‘C’mon boys, quickly, get in,’ Paddy would say.
I’ll never forget it.
‘Thanks Paddy,’ as we bolt through the door, heart pounding at the fear of getting caught, mixed with anticipation of seeing the game. Running through the dark, damp hall by the changing rooms, the stench of wintergreen stinging our eyes, down through the tunnel our heroes had just walked and round to stand in the Cage to watch the game, buzzing that we got in.
I will be forever grateful to Paddy for letting us in to see a few games. He is a big part of me getting the bug for the Reds. Now, I love going to Solitude every other week with my daughter to cheer on the Red men of today. - by Johnny Madden.
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In the words of Brian ‘Smitty’ Smyth...
OCTOBER 1985, after badgering my Da for weeks to take me to the football ground up the road from our home and him steadfastly refusing, as he was a Glentoran fan and you don't go to support another team, son. I made the brave decision, I'll go on my own.
Ten-years-old and armed only with my £1 pocket money for the week, I set off from the Artillery flats and all the way uphill, New Lodge onto the Antrim Road and then for the final ascent up the Cliftonville Road and to a rickety, old place called Solitude.
Paid my 50p in, unbeknown that I was signing up for a lifetime of extreme misery and happiness. Often with no in-between.
Glenavon were the opponents that day, must have only been 200-odd at it. I sat in the old main stand by myself, and quickly became mesmerised by the place; it's faded charm, characters and quirks. Grown men swearing profusely at anyone and everyone, the smell of half cooked burgers and watching a real game up close. Something more than cheering on the exploits of a teenage Norman Whiteside at Old Trafford via Match of the Day every Saturday evening.
The Reds won 1-0 that day. That was me hooked and as I made the journey through my teens and early 20s, it was a rollercoaster on and off the pitch.
Following Cliftonville felt like an occupational hazard in the 1990's, us-against-the-world, but it was a hell of a ride. Now, as I settle into middle age, and reflect on the trials and tribulations both on and off the pitch, families are part joy and pain, but still flesh and blood.
And that's what this football club from a little corner of north Belfast is. It's in the blood. - by Brian Smyth
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In the words of Stephen Rafferty...
I'VE been going to Solitude for many years with my brother and two cousins, and between us we could, I'm sure, write a book about our experiences.
However, I want to share a story which epitomises what Cliftonville Football Club is about: a family. Just before Joe Gormley left for Peterborough United in 2015, he had a picture taken with my son Matthew who was eight at the time.
That Christmas, I contacted Joe's mum, Marguerite, and asked if she could send the picture to Joe in England for him to sign it as a surprise for Matthew on Christmas Day.
Marguerite spoke to Joe, and said he would prefer to do something else. To cut a long story short, at about 4pm on Christmas Eve, Joe Gormley was sitting in my living room with the signed, and now framed photo, along with some of his personal Cliftonville memorabilia as a gift to Matthew.
When I brought Matthew into the living room, the reaction was priceless; my son in tears, my wife too, and me barely holding the tears back.
Joe spent about 45 minutes with us before I brought him back home.
A priceless memory that will stay with our family forever. Joe Gormley sums up what Cliftonville Football Club is and always has been for me: a club of the people, for the people. - by Stephen Rafferty
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In the words of Tim McGarry...
I TELL the old joke that I used to be brought to Solitude as a punishment if I didn’t behave myself as a kid, so my first memory of the place is not actually as a football fan but as a playground where we ran around the pitch and mucked about. There were 40 or 50 people in the ground, there was usually damn all happening.
We were brought there by my Da who dumped us off because my uncle Kevin [McGarry, the club’s long-time record goal-scorer] was still involved in the club; I think he was club president at the time. I was six or seven.
We were brought into the old White House and I remember that really powerful smell of wintergreen wafting through the place and the rickety stairs. I think the White House was held together by glue but it was always a nice atmosphere.
When we actually took an interest in watching the games you could change ends in those days. We’d troop round to the Waterworks end at half-time but the goals never went in that end either.
I stopped going for quite a few years and then we had a couple of kids and I started taking my sons to Solitude. My two sons contracted this terrible disease called ‘Manchester United’. They caught it from a cousin and they wanted to go and see Manchester United, so I said: ‘No, come on, I’ll bring you down to watch Cliftonville.’
It was the first time I’d been in years and I ended up in the White House because I knew somebody that knew somebody. It was a wet, miserable Wednesday night and we drew nil-each with Portadown. It was horrible. I came out holding my son’s hand and I said to him: ‘Well, what did you think?’ And he said: ‘Da, it was brilliant. Can we go back next week?’
He loved every second of it. So my sons revitalised my interest in the club and I haven’t stopped going since.
I miss not going to Solitude; I’ve found it harder than I thought I would have. You think: it’s only football, it doesn’t take up that much of your life. But the weekends just aren’t the same.
I have my lucky spot just below the directors’ box right behind the goal and I was there when Geordie [McMullan] put that penalty in to win the league.
I didn’t know the name Solitude came from the 1790’s. It was once farm area. It was far outside of Belfast town, which back then was made up of couple of streets in and around High Street. Solitude is just one of those places that I have a soft spot in my heart. - by Tim McGarry
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In the words of Jan Marie Reel...
MY Daddy (Michael Hearty) took us to the matches when we were toddlers, as it was probably an excuse for him to get out of the house. We loved it and then as we got a bit older there was a time when you didn’t want to go, but we were shrewd enough to know if we went with Daddy we’d get extra pocket money.
For Therese and me, it was as much about father-and-daughter. But as more time passed you got sucked into the place. Later, my kids were brought to Solitude and were carried in with their feeding bottles.
My Daddy was head steward for a long time at Solitude. Therese and me carry on that tradition at the club today.
We only do it to save the club money – that’s the honest truth of it.
Because he was steward, Daddy was given a coat by the club. But one of the young stewards wasn’t sure how to spell ‘steward’ and the coat came back from the shop spelt ‘Chief Stewart’!
It didn’t stop Daddy wearing it though and he laughed along with everyone else when the spelling mistake was pointed out.
I remember he was chief steward when we won the league in 1998. I was actually 10 days overdue at the time in my first pregnancy.
I remember Daddy saying: ‘Jan Marie, if you start to give birth and need to go to the hospital, I don’t think I’ll be able to leave the ground. It’s the biggest game in the club’s history!’
And I said: ‘If I go off, Daddy, I’m not leaving the ground either!’
It turned out I gave birth the following Tuesday. During the game I was actually minding Mickey Donnelly’s wee girl – Nicole – and The Irish News took my photograph on the step with her in my arms as we all waited for news from Linfield’s match with Coleraine.
The picture appeared on page three on the Monday and the headline read: ‘A Pregnant pause while a football legend is born.’
When Cliftonville played Celtic in the Champions League we hadn’t worked out our dates properly. Therese and I had booked to go to Cuba, so we missed the game.
But before we left, we painted the two changing rooms, we painted Tommy’s office and the referee’s office, I got a loan of a burnisher from school and we cleaned all the floors.
We were in Cuba with our Cliftonville flag hanging over a palm tree getting updates...
We lost my Daddy in March. He was buried with his Cliftonville jersey. We haven’t been back to Solitude since because of the lockdown, so it’s going to be very difficult for us when we do go back.
Cliftonville Football Club is our Saturday. It was a big part of Daddy’s life and it’s a big part of ours. It’s just in your blood. - by Jan Marie Reel
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In the words of Kevin Herron...
I CAME late to the Irish League. It took me until I was 16-years old to grace the product that was on my doorstep. I went along with a few mates to Donegal Celtic versus Cliftonville on March 10 2007.
Although I was standing in the home end with my friends I was captured by the atmosphere from the Red Army to my right, as Sean Cleary gave the visitors a hard-fought 1-0 win.
My first visit to Solitude came a week later as Cliftonville took on Larne on a miserable St Patrick’s Day. I remember getting the 12A bus from town and arriving outside the turnstile at the old main stand. I can still remember the song coming from the Tannoy system as I waited outside - Grace Kelly by MIKA
The game itself was a boring 0-0 and I probably should’ve been put me off going back, but I’d been bitten by the Cliftonville bug and have been making the trip to north Belfast on a regular basis for the last 13 years.
I’ve witnessed some memorable moments in those 13 years and some not so memorable from various vantage points. For the last six years the press box has been my adopted spot and you’re always made welcome by Ronan and David [Begley] upon arrival.
I’m also very fortunate to have met the voice of Solitude - Michael Hanna. Michael doesn’t live far from me and gives me a lift over to the games on a Saturday.
I really miss the Saturday and midweek routine during lockdown but hopefully someday soon we’ll return to Solitude, and no longer will we take a midweek League Cup round two match for granted. - by Kevin Herron.
