Bullens, Bib Kits and Bramley Moore | An Evertonian's memories of Goodison Park

The sun is starting to set on the world’s first purpose-built football ground, its illustrious history slowly fading, so I thought I’d describe the delicate situation I recently found myself in regarding the Old Lady.
 
My first trip to Goodison wasn’t actually for a match, it was a trip to the Toffee Shop: exactly like being a kid in a sweet shop, in that it was full of delightful treats for an avid young Everton fan with Christmas money to spend. I was growing up in Lancaster, an hour away from L4 4EL, and had decided to support Everton in the ‘86 cup final because most of my friends supported Liverpool, I’d heard Gary Lineker was good and I quite liked the infamous ‘Bib kit’.



My parents drove me down for a souvenir shopping spree. I’ll never forget walking around, almost crying at the royal blue everywhere which I’d only seen on TV during the odd live match and the official history video - I’m filling up now, writing this, at the memories (and also because I still have the cassette, alas no VCR to play it on) - then being in amazement at the view inside the stadium from the Park End / Bullens Road entrance.

The EFC in the seating, the STAY OFF THE GRASS signage, the smells from the previous match: all stay with me, three and a half decades later. The friendliness of that security guard, mainly, recognising in my young face the excitement and awe at my first view… letting me step inside when it’d probably be against his job description now. That initial taste, it’s unforgettable, even though there was nobody around; just me and my folks and the security, but it already felt like home.

The (in)famous 'bib kit'

I made it to my first game the following year, I only remember bits, such as me throwing my scarf over my head at the second goal (against Derby County, just after Christmas in 1990) thus losing my bobble hat. The kindness of strangers, just like that steward, shone through. Someone picked it up, several rows passed it back to us and I believed this was the best place in the world, where anything was possible and (almost) everything was perfect.

Goodison Park, 1990

Years passed and I came to live in the city as a student mainly so I could get a season ticket. I stole bits of the centre spot after Coventry in 1998, revelled in special nights like Villarreal and Fiorentina, experienced the highs and lows that come with ‘enjoying’ twenty or more games every season, losing myriad derbies and cup semifinals. Meanwhile I fell in love with another ‘older lady’ and decided to give up the ticket as we saved for a wedding and later, two kids.

I didn’t miss it that much; married and family life took over and many special memories were made without relying on eleven men kicking a ball. But then, over the last couple of years, welcoming the team amid blue smoke before countless relegation deciders, stood agog after the Palace comeback, watching with father’s eyes as my own son climbed the steps of the Bullens Road stand for the first time and cried at the roar of the crowd, subsequently falling in love with the blue, concrete and steel... something changed.

Other memories stand out, too. I’ve brought my daughter, as I brought my wife, for their first tastes, and every time I go now as we prepare to depart I think of my dad, father in law and grandad and how they too must have felt accompanying me to matches, plus all the new friends I’ve made around the ground. Even during the ever-decreasing returns of the Dycheball era, I’d definitely got the bug again and realised I now felt ready to return to the bi-weekly hopes and disappointments, even after years of no glory and wondering if I’d ever want to go dive back in.

The timing wasn’t great, with the new stadium (literally) on the horizon.
 
I pass it regularly, watched it grow out of the dock, with fervour growing as every drone video and milestone is shared with the world. Taking my son there on numerous occasions to witness the progress firsthand, I’ve felt the same awe and excitement as on my own first trip to Goodison (at the same age he is now) but as more details about allocation arrangements were released, believed I'd struggle to attend even the half-dozen or so games a season I currently manage.
 
Then, one day in December, things shifted again: I opened an e-mail decreeing that I did indeed qualify for a season ticket at Bramley Moore.

Everton's new ground at Bramley Moore

I cautiously shared the news with a few close friends who had already chosen their preferred area of the new ground. Finances were pored over, and a long-awaited pay rise offered potential solutions, but the stumbling blocks of planned home renovations and my son not yet qualifying for a seat meant I couldn’t share the news with the family immediately. Enquiries to the club made (alas to no avail) then, finally, a surprise hour spent over a Christmas drink in the local pub gave an opportunity to update my wife.

Thankfully she took it well, I got the green light – she clearly understood and had probably guessed for a while I’d been agonisingly mulling over whether the opportunity would come. I’ve still not told my son, though – I'm waiting for the right time, agonising though it is, and secretly hoping something else might come up in the meantime. I do think he’ll understand, eventually, and when a miracle happens and he can finally sit beside me it will be worth the wait (and the dilemmas I’ve faced).

I realise I’m very lucky. Many have been disappointed, a minority don't want the upheaval and change. Whatever happens, I will forever love the feeling I got - still get - from seeing the blue seats, the patterned stands and mysterious signage of that wonderful place we’ve called home for 132 years.
I hope the new one brings the same emotions for me and fifty thousand others who know their history... and, one day too, my son.


This piece was kindly written for @TFHBs by Jonathan Greenbank - you can follow him on Twitter @jongree and if you want you can read more of my musings at www.jonathangreenbank.com 


©The Football History Boys, 2025

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