Thomas always said he was just a supporter who got lucky. He played at Celtic for 14 years ...that’s not lucky
LIFELONG PAL GERRY COLLINS LEAFS THROUGH THE STORIED PAGES OF A SCOTTISH AND CELTIC LEGEND TEN YEARS AFTER HIS UNTIMELY DEATH
IT seems a far cry from soho street. It seems a long way from The Gravy. The gleaming structure of the emirates Arena appears to nod to the sunny present rather than a cloudy, grimy past. But the playgrounds of the great, the testing grounds of the survivors and the lost are only a taxi drive and a lifetime away.
A black cab sits in the car park as preparations are made at the stadium for a Davis Cup tie. The car is ready to take its occupants back to the era of football on the street, lives on a knife-edge, fate largely decided by choosing one road and shunning another.
It was a world inhabited by such as Hughie Farrell, Jamie mcGoldrick, Willie Howie, John Rice, Wee mick, Father John mcGinlay and Thomas Burns. It is recalled by the cab driver who glides through its passageways with a familiarity born of experience.
Gerald Collins, known as Gerry to everyone outside mile end and Calton in the east end of Glasgow, is both driver and guide.
‘John Rice was the jannie at Kerr street,’ he says. ‘He told us: “Remember you have two roads. If you go the right road, you will have a good life. If you go the bad road, it is drink, drugs and a bad life. Try to stay on the right path”.’
The school was opened every night during the week more than half a century ago for boys to come in to train by running up the stairs or play by hitting a ball against a bench.
‘some people said: “That’s not for me”. It was for me and Thomas,’ says Collins. ‘God rest Thomas, but he would have told you. The fitba’ thing for us was the saviour. We didn’t hang about street corners, we went to the club. The polis didn’t come to my door for me. They never went to Thomas’s door.’
A time for formal introductions. These doors were at 43 soho street. Thomas was to be known to the world as Tommy Burns, Celtic legend. The street is gone, replaced by a school. Burns died ten years ago but his flame-haired presence burns on in the memories of football fans and friends.
Gerry Collins shared a bedroom with him on soho street when Thomas — always Thomas in mile end — came down from his home upstairs to spend the weekend with the Collins’ family. The life of Tommy Burns is celebrated by an emotional, powerful film that will be broadcast next week. The day after its premiere, Collins — a taxi driver to trade, a former pro footballer by inclination and a storyteller by vocation — picks up this hack and so begins the investigation of games played and won, lives lived and lost.
The preamble must be fuelled by Thomas anecdotes. Two are delivered at a pit stop over a roll and sausage at Coia’s in Dennistoun.
‘I was assistant manager at Partick Thistle and we were playing Celtic at Hampden when Thomas was the manager and Parkhead was being renovated,’ says Collins, 63. ‘We beat Celtic 3-1 and Thomas was not pleased. He was blaming the ref. I told him he should put his hands up and admit that Celtic were outplayed, outthought and outfought, which is unusual for a Celtic team.
‘He put his finger right on my nose and said: “Don’t ever tell me about Celtic Football Club. You never played for this club”.
‘I said: “Don’t point your finger in my nose”. It was sort of broken up. Remember, our wives would be sitting together in the boardroom. We were more than just pals.
‘Anyway, the phone rings at two o’clock in the morning and it is Thomas. I am thinking right away that there is an apology coming. He says: “You know why you never played for Celtic, Gerald. You weren’t good enough”. And then brrrrr… he’s put the phone down.’
Collins takes a bite of the roll and his face creases in laughter in remembrance of a shard of east end penitence.
The second story illustrates how darkness is no defence against the brilliance of Glasgow humour. Burns was in the Royal Infirmary in Glasgow being treated for the skin cancer that was to take his life. Collins visited him most nights.
‘One evening Father John mcGinlay came in to say mass for Thomas,’ says Collins. ‘Halfway through it, the fire alarm goes off. Thomas has to leave his bed and he is standing in the corridor holding on to his drip and it is mayhem with people running everywhere. A wee wummin comes out of a ward. she has just been woken up. Thomas asks her: “Is it your birthday”. she says: “No”.
‘Thomas looks around at the priest, policemen, firemen and nurses and says: “Well, somebody has ordered a lot of kissograms”.
Coia’s is left behind and The Gravy is approached. It is a patch of ground behind st mary’s church in the Calton. Collins peers through the fence at the overgrown grass that almost licks at the crossbar of a dishevelled set of goalposts.
‘Aah, The Gravy,’ he says. ‘It was named that because it was the graveyard. We played every sunday after mass against boys who were bigger, stronger. This is where Thomas became a coach. He used to organise us, set us up.’
It is only steps away from Kerr street. ‘In the gym hall, there was a bench. The rule was three-aside, one and off. That is, if the other side hit the bench with the ball, it was a goal and you were off. It was Thomas, Hughie Farrell and me. We could be on for 30 minutes. Nobody could get the ball off Hughie or Thomas.’
Collins is dismissive of his role but he was good enough to play with Thomas at maryhill Juniors when his pal was loaned there by Celtic to toughen him up. Collins went on to play for Albion Rovers, Ayr United, Partick Thistle and Hamilton.
‘my best day was beating Rangers in the scottish Cup at Ibrox,’ he says of Accies’ 1-0 win in January 1987. ‘We had a free-kick in their half and Lambie (Accies boss John) was screaming for me to pass it back to the goalie to waste time. I hit a diagonal, Davie mcPherson (Rangers centre-half) missed it and sprotty (Adrian sprott) scored.’
Collins, of course, managed Partick Thistle and when that ‘went pear-shaped’ he coached Glenafton to a league cup and a West of scotland Cup.
‘I signed Willie Howie for them.’ he says. ‘Hard as nails. From the east end. Things hadn’t gone right for him. He was hit with an axe in a pub and spent a long time in hospital and that impacted on his career. He was brilliant for me.’
As the cab wends its way back to London Road, Collins recalls such as Jamie mcGoldrick who emerged from these streets to become an influential figure at the United Nations and others who forged successful lives. But the road always leads back to Thomas.
‘This is the guy I grew up with,’ he says quietly. ‘Thomas Burns. He doesn’t walk by people. He would phone me up. “Wee mick’s died,” he would say. “I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to the funeral”.
‘That would mean a lot to people. They would see the Celtic manager and say: “That is my dad’s pal”. But Thomas didn’t do it for that. He did it out of respect. He did it because that’s what you should do.’
He adds: ‘Thomas always described himself as the supporter that got lucky. He played for Celtic for 14 years. That’s not lucky. The way he lived his life was geared to doing that. The only luck he had was having Rosemary as his wife. It was all about family for him. He met a person that he loved and brought the kids up brilliantly and they shared that family life.’
The cab rolls back into the emirates where I am to be dropped off. ‘Thomas had dedication, application, determination. You are made of ations,’ he says.
Thomas Burns and Gerald Collins, of course, were made of more. The precise ingredients remain elusive. But they can be glimpsed through the windows of a cab and heard in the words of a friend who still grieves and who will always love.
Produced by purpleTV, Tommy Burns will broadcast on BBC ALBA on Friday, September 21, at 9pm
Football was the saviour for us...the police never came to my door or Thomas’s door