The Year Of The Melee

When a Campbell and a McNally meet on the field of play, get as far away as possible. Let me explain. As a pacifist myself I wouldn’t be fond of the fighting. At the same time I wouldn’t be afeared to take a swipe at anyone who annoyed me to breaking point. Herself would be more of a boxer and I’ve often been on the receiving end of an unmerciful hiding after absent-mindedly admitting that Masie McDonald from the back rampart was looking good in her long skirt and breeches or something to a similar effect. I now know to keep my eyes firmly fixed on my shoes when we’re out at the Mass or Post Office.

However, there was one particular year that will remain with me for the rest of my life as one that I’d rather forget. There was something in the air that May in 1954 when Derry took to the field to play Tyrone in the Ulster Championship first round. The heat was almost unbearable yet it was a cloudy, even drizzly day. The mood was menacing. Both sides had met earlier in the year in the Lagan Cup final. Four from each side were sent off as the match descended into anarchy as the crowd invaded the pitch with only 15 minutes gone. Men, women and children were battering anyone they encountered with umbrellas, high heels and hard scones amongst the weapons being used. The referee, Antrim’s Jimmy Flynn, had to abandon the game with Tyrone attacker Peter ‘The Plasterer’ Campbell from Coalisland admitted to Magherafelt hospital with a stiletto stuck in an embarrassing location by Derry defender James ‘Long Arm‘ McNally. The Derry Journal’s headline on the Monday morning said it all - “Pure Hallions”.

Getting back to the match in question, the mood for revenge was lingering all over this contest, both in the stands and on the field. On the road to Clones I noticed many cars with Derry and Tyrone number plates seemingly crashed into ditches helplessly, probably after a shunting session. Hundreds of men were engaging in bouts of boxing in fields close to the ground and women up to the age of 80 were easily spotted trailing other women by the hair up and down Clones Main Street. Things had spiralled out of control and, as a neutral, I could only look on in horror, perhaps laughing the odd time. Luckily enough an army of guards had arrived to shoo the fans to St Tiernach’s Park for the match and the prospect of a fine Championship game seemed to quash the bad feeling emanating from the tie.

Both teams took to the field in an orderly fashion with opposing players swapping gifts in an attempt to foster some goodwill between the sides. The captain of the Derry team, Brian McFettridge, gave the Tyrone captain, Jody McNeill, a spirit level. McNeill in return offered McFettridge two hammers and a wrench. An uneasy calmness settled over the proceedings as the game commenced on time with Derry leading 0-4 to 0-2 after 15 minutes. In a sweeping move, Tyrone full back James Hanna hit the ball long and hard towards midfielder John MacOscar. MacOscar noticed Campbell was free and launched a pin-point ball in his direction. To the amazement of MacOcsar and the rest of those who attended that day, Campbell chose to ignore the pass and made his way to the Derry wing back McNally, the thoughts of the stilleto not far from his mind. Reaching down into his left sock he pulled out the spirit level he had obviously nicked from the dugouts and clattered McNally over the head. A dazed ‘Long Arm’ turned around and the two of them couldn’t be seen for the dust that spiralled up as they went at it hammer and tongs. Well, that was the signal for bedlam. Spanners, hammers, wrenchs and all kinds of tools were produced from both dug outs as the game descended into chaos. Soon spectators had spilled onto the field. From my vantage point on the Hill I could see deck chairs, wellie boots, metal bins, trout, eels, spades, false teeth and tin whistles being used as weapons.

I decided to make my way to the exits, disgusted with the proceedings, when I was hit with a packet of Tunes on the back of the head. I turned and saw a 90-odd year old man grinning and beckoning me towards him for a scrap. The rest was a blur. I woke up the next morning in a field in Emyvale, covered in head to toe with manure, which was a mystery as no one was to be seen. The last I could remember was being dragged through Smithboro by the leg by a woman from Bellaghy who was herself being pulled by the hair by a group of women from Urney. The match was abandoned and both sides were reprimanded appropriately. Since then the Derry/Tyrone rivalry has simmered beneath the surface. Both sets of fans are acutely aware of what would happen if a Campbell and a McNally met on the field at the same time