Time to tear down a stand that was built on memories

THE GRADUAL gutting of the old place is well under way, judging by the activity involving men in hard hats and high-vis vests yesterday; given the number of nooks and dookits either built in or added on over the space of almost 103 years, there is plenty to be done before the wrecking ball is called in. As the bricks, mortar, plasterboard and assorted mystery materials holding Tynecastle’s main stand together are slowly exposed in preparation for the final farewell, however, it is important to remember that a home — especially this home — is built not on foundation stones, but on memories. In the company of former Hearts stalwart Jimmy Sandison yesterday, Sportsmail spent the lunch hour being reminded of that truth. Venturing into hidden corners, listening to Jimmy reminisce about former boss Alex MacDonald noising up the Hibs in his own bellicose style, the past definitely came to life. So, yes, it is certainly strange to think that Sunday will be the last time this living, wheezing piece of Scottish football history will witness the final preparations, half-time exhortations and full-time celebrations/recriminations associated with an Edinburgh derby. But the folk tales of all who have played there, worked there, or paid good money to roar and weep, laugh and rage at football’s maddening glory, right back to the grand opening in 1914? They won’t be forgotten. They’ll just move into the new superstructure, along with the emotionally significant bits of the old stand — the original tile mosaic at the front door, the plaque honouring McCrae’s Battalion — being carefully ported over. Standing in the home dressing room, separated from the (deliberately much smaller) away changing area by a narrow corridor, Sandison did not take much persuading to relive some great derby days under the famously fiery MacDonald. ‘I remember a couple of times, when we’d done really well, he’d stand at the door and shake everybody’s hand as they came into the dressing room,’ Sandison told Sportsmail. ‘Then he’d shut the door, stand … and just start to bang the door. He’d start singing: “Can you hear the Hibees sing? No-o…” He’d be banging the door, we’d be clattering our studs on the floor, just to generate a bit of noise so they could hear us. There were things like that. They’ll stick with me as real highs. ‘The away dressing room is small for a reason, too. Whoever designed it, we wanted it that way. The idea is that it was tight for the hampers to get in. It was tight for the players to be getting changed in. ‘And you’ll notice that there are a number of pipes going under the seating? Well, the manager used to turn the heating up to make it uncomfortable for the visiting team. ‘Any advantage you could gain before going out on the hallowed turf, it was fair game. ‘Annoy them, get to them. If they hated coming here for whatever reason, all the better. ‘Derby day was always different. Bigger than Celtic or Rangers coming here, definitely, because our dressing room was split maybe 70-30 between Edinburgh boys and Glasgow boys. ‘You could smell the fear of losing. But the manager knew

“It’ll be so sad when they pull this down... so much history”

that, so he would bring us in early for those big games. We’d come in about half-ten in the morning, get changed and go out on the park to work on shape or whatever. ‘So by 11 o’clock we knew the team, we knew our functions. Then we could go for a bit of pre-match food and just relax. ‘Everyone dealt with it differently. Gary Mackay never shut up. Wee Robbo (John Robertson) is still talking. These guys were always on the move, probably trying to hide their own tension. ‘Kenny Black was in the squad and he was a bit of a comedian. You dealt with it how you dealt with it.’ Sandison, eight years a Hearts player before moving on to Airdrie, is a regular visitor to Tynecastle these days, occupying a spot in the press box as he shares his wisdom for the benefit of club TV. Even being in and around the place every other weekend has not dulled the sensation he gets, though, from venturing into the inner sanctum of the home dressing room. ‘I still feel it when I come in here,’ he admitted. ‘It has been slightly updated because, when wee Robbo went away to Newcastle, the club got a bit of money — and part of it was used to address the issues in here. ‘Unfortunately, they took out the communal bath, made it a wee bit tighter in the changing area and gave us more room for showers. I remember that they put in a jacuzzi to help us recover after games, too. That was hi-tech in those days. ‘Before that, it was the communal bath. In terms of camaraderie, 16 grown men in a bath certainly brought us together. You lost your dignity quickly enough. I can’t imagine what it was like for hygiene or health, everyone in the same water! ‘You can still see the outline where the bath was. Although the shower room has been done up, it is still old. Go to any new stadium and you’ll see this is night and day. ‘Back here was the drying room. You would simply come in from a training session, strip your gear off, stick it in the basket with your number on it and basically just let it dry for the next morning. ‘I kid you not, it got washed once a week. You would come in and, because the hot pipes were running through here, your stuff was all crispy. You would generally have to break your T-shirt up in your hands before you put it back on. ‘It’s lovely just to be here and remember it all. That’s why it’s going to be so sad when they pull it down. There is so much history here — and not a lot has changed.’ Over the decades, rooms have been adapted to different uses, with space shaved off here and there. The basic lay-out has not changed, however. And the focal point for players remains that narrow corridor leading out towards the field of play. ‘We’d go out this door, the visitors would come out over there,’ said Sandison, leading the way. ‘And we’d line up old school — goalkeeper, right-back, none of your number 77 or 94, like a game of bingo. ‘Even standing here now, I still get a tingle in my spine, a nervousness in my stomach, that churning. ‘As a football player, you go out there knowing you’ve got friends and family up in the stand. You want to do well but you know it might go against you. ‘I love it. I love that feeling. ‘On derby day, the noise would be incredible when you ran out. That cover on the tunnel wasn’t there, so we had people hanging over the wall. ‘Your only thought was: “Right, we have to deliver”. ‘The terracing across from the main stand, that would erupt and you’d go into a different world. ‘When I was quite young, coming through, the older Hearts supporters among my friends would tell me: “You’re walking through the same door that Willie Bauld walked through, sitting in the same dressing room that Dave Mackay sat in…” ‘They’d start talking about all these players and you’d realise what it meant. ‘I had lots of pals who said: “I’d sell my house, sell my wife to do what you do. To walk out that tunnel on a derby day — and walk back up it with a win”. ‘When you hear people talking about that, you think: “I’m a lucky wee boy to have played even a small part in that massive history”. ‘There are still some local boys in the squad now — and it’s worth the coaches mentioning to them that this is the last derby in front of the old stand, so let’s go out on a high. ‘Because, while we all know the very good reasons for building the new stand, it will be sadly missed.’

“The last derby in front of the old stand. Let’s go out on a high”