Dave McKay Interview
Tipster
Schooldays taught me to stand up for myself
Hearts and Scotland legend Dave Mackay is one of Edinburgh's own.
Here he tells of his childhood and his first steps on the path that
would lead to football glory.
I LIKE to think my first memory was the day I slipped under the big
iron entrance gates to Tynecastle and stood alone on the empty terrace
for a few breathtaking seconds. I remember swinging my little body
under a crush barrier before leaping back down the steps, diving under
the gate and running out on to Gorgie Road and back to our house in
Glendevon Park.
Hearts Football Club was as much a part of our local community as the
golf club and park at the bottom of my road, or the prison and the
school nearby, and you can't really intrude into a place that belongs
to you and yours.
I was born at 18 Glendevon Park, Edinburgh, on November 14, 1934, and
would live there until I found success as a professional footballer.
Tommy was a year older than me, Frank a year younger and Ronnie came
along just before the war actually broke out.
We were a tight-knit community - a phrase much-used these days. In our
case, it was true. Everyone knew everyone else. We were all in the same
boat. Nobody's parents had a better car because nobody's parents
had a car. I knew of no kids that had to steal to eat, or of drunken or
abusive parents, street gangs or prostitutes.
I expect one of the reasons us boys were encouraged to play outside was
that my dad, Tom, worked nights and slept during the day. He was a
linotype operator on The Scotsman.
Mum was the one who had the task of keeping four growing boys in order.
If we were late for tea or "coming-in" time, we knew we would get a
clip around the ear.
I don't think we ever played anything else other than football. Games
were fluid affairs that lasted all afternoon and into the early
evening. Team numbers could reach 20-a-side. By an early age, Tommy,
Frank and I were good wee footballers.
Bobby Baxter, my first Hearts hero, was a strong defender. He was also
a miner at the nearby Gilmerton pit and turned out for Hearts on a
Saturday an hour after coming up from the bowels of the earth. Perhaps
then I did identify with the midfield and defensive players more than
the average boy.
In 1939, I started at Balgreen Primary School. Everyone was football
mad at Balgreen. I was delighted when soon I was picked to play
alongside my brother Tommy in the school team. There was a problem
though: I did not possess a pair of football boots. Jim Hutton, a boy
in my class, had outgrown his old pair. He offered to sell them to me
for seven shillings and sixpence - no insignificant sum then. Mum
decided I could have my Christmas present early and handed me three
half-crown savings stamps. Good old Mum.
By this time, my brother Tommy had taken a job - in fact he had taken
two: a milk round in the morning and a paper round in the late
afternoon. I decided to join him. We earned ten shillings a week and
handed it straight over to Mum. We took a tennis ball with us and
played a game whereby he delivered to the houses on one side of the
road and me to the other, and we had to keep the tennis ball in play
whilst shoving the Evening News through people's letter boxes.
We did the same thing on the milk round and only occasionally did we
drop a pint of milk.
I think it was in my second-to-last year that I careered into a boy in
the year above me. During the lunchtime break, we played a chaotic game
of football with a tennis ball. There could be 50 or 100 boys charging
backward and forward.
"Sorry about that," I pleaded earnestly.
"On the field, Mackay, after school," he spat.
The afternoon was torturous. In two and a half hours, I was expected to
present myself on the playing field to fight one of the toughest boys
in the school. I was sure to be bashed to a pulp. I felt sick in my
stomach. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to feel
angry. After all, I had done nothing wrong. It was an accident. I was
younger and smaller, therefore the older boy was a bully and I have
never been able to abide bullies.
At 3.30pm, I was shocked to see over half the school was heading
towards Saughton Park to witness the massacre. I was determined to go
down fighting. Bang. Bang. I just kept stepping towards him. Bang,
bang, bang. If he returned a punch, I don't remember it. He went
down. The fight was over.
On the strength of about ten blows, I seemed to acquire a reputation
and the rough diamonds left me alone. My dislike of bullies has
remained with me throughout my life
At 11, I moved up to Saughton, the secondary school a mile and a half
from our house. After a successful 1947-48 season, the school was
entered in the Scottish Schools Cup in 1949. Before we knew it we had
won our semi-final and were set to play Kings Park, a Glasgow school,
at Hampden Park. I could not believe that I was playing at Hampden at
14 years of age. The match ended in a 0-0 draw.
But I was more delighted because drawing meant the replay would be at
Tynecastle. I would be playing on the Hearts pitch for the first time.
I was so proud to run out and hear the roars from the 5370 spectators.
This time we won 2-1 and the winning goal was scored by Tom Mackay, who
netted from a cross by yours truly. It was, up to that point, the best
day of my life.
Until then, I played football because I loved it. I also loved Hearts
and dreamt that one day I might play for them. After collecting my
medal against Kings Park, there were no mights. I was intent on
becoming a Hearts player.
I was picked to represent Scotland as a schoolboy against Ireland at
Kilmarnock's ground. We lost the game 3-2 and I didn't think I
played well. The Evening News, however, said two other boys and I
"compared favourably against smarter Irish opponents". Someone must
have agreed because I was picked again to play against England at
Wembley.
There is no other ground in the world where a Scot wants to win more
than at Wembley Stadium. A crowd of nearly 50,000 supporters was
waiting inside. I had been named a reserve.
By the end of the first half, when the trainer pushed me on to the
pitch, Scotland were lucky to be holding England at a goal apiece. I
was holding back the tears as we traipsed off having been hammered 8-2.
Back home, I even considered packing in football. Dad told me that
football, like life itself, is full of ups and downs and I should take
it on the chin.
He told me to accept defeat graciously and never stoop as low as
arguing with the officials, or hurting another.
They were principles I attempted to abide by all my playing career and
it may surprise you to know that I was never sent off in 30 years. I
well remember when Dad sat me down for a "talk".
"Well, son. It's time you decided what it is you'd like to do. Have
you any idea?"
My blank expression said it all.
"How about we get you on the print with me?" I told him I did not want
to take a job where I couldn't have Saturdays off to play football.
Dad's brother Louis got me in as an apprentice joiner at Lawrence
McIntosh Ltd. Lawrence McIntosh himself was a disciplinarian. He took
an instant dislike to my habit of leaning on cabinets. But he was a
fair man. I think he knew deep down I would not make it as a joiner.
Soon the big clubs started to take an interest. Hibernian asked me to
attend an interview with their famous manager Hugh Shaw. I had mixed
feelings about this. I was attached to Hearts.
I poured my heart out to Dad. He decided he was going for a walk. I do
not think he walked very far. I believe he walked straight into Hearts
groundsman Matt Chalmers' house, four doors down, and told him his
Davie was about to be offered terms with Hibernian. The following day,
I received a letter inviting me for an interview with Tommy Walker at
Tynecastle.
Tommy Walker offered me £10-a-week in the winter and £8 in the
summer, bonuses for winning and a £20 signing-on fee. I was on a
fiver-a-week with Lawrence McIntosh and the club were not expecting me
to resign my job there. This was good money for a boy barely 17.
Duncan McLure, of Hearts, walked home with me down Dalry Road. "Are you
ready to sign yet, David?"
"Yes, I think I am, Mr McLure."
"That's grand," he said, pulling a pen and some forms from his
jacket. So, up against the crumbling wall of a tenement block, I signed
for Hearts and fulfilled my first boyhood dream.
· The Real Mackay, The Dave Mackay Story by Dave Mackay with Martin
Knight is published by Mainstream Publishing at £15.99 on October 28.
To order your copy at the discounted price od £14.99, P&P free, go to
www.mainstreampublishing.com