Memories of England

Hope and heartbreak across the years

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I’m not the world’s biggest football fan. But I make an exception for the England matches, the World Cup and the Euros. The infrequent nature of these - and the drama of (some of) the matches - creates a series of vivid memories, often as much about the place, or time, as the game.

My first memory of an international football tournament was surprisingly late: the 1994 World Cup. England hadn’t qualified, so I remember being told by my Grandpa that we had to support Ireland¹. They went out in short order, and that was that.

By 1996 I was in secondary school, with the tournament taking place in England and Three Lions mania in full swing. It was sung endlessly in school, in the corridors, changing rooms and playground. I learned that England’s international matches are all too often decided by penalties - and got a first taste of our inglorious record.

1998 saw David Beckham’s foul against Argentina, the battling on with ten players, and the exit - again - on penalties, hope crushed beneath a red card.

I have few memories of Euro 2000, probably because we exited in the group stage. But then in 2001 came our triumphant 5:1 victory against Germany in the qualifying stages. Hope beckoned.

My strongest memory of the 2002 World Cup is watching one of the games - I think against Denmark - at Winchester College, on a training session as part of the Physics Olympiad. The team and two reserves (I was one of the latter) had gone there for three days of intensive, incredibly hard, physics, and I vividly remember, in this school the likes of which I’d never seen before, surrounded by boys in incredibly posh uniforms, nevertheless breaking from physics to squeeze in to a crowded hall to watch the England game. A good tournament - the best of my life until then - where there were no penalty shootouts, we made the quarter-finals and lost to the champions (not on penalties!).

2004 and 2006 were the university years, watching in pubs or the college bar. England seemed to have found its natural level: qualifying, getting through the group stages, and going out around the quarterfinals, usually on penalties. We were a good team, but never one of the great teams - though the hope was always there. I remember attending a talk by Geoff Hurst, scorer of the dubious 'goal' in the classic 1966 World Cup Final, who spoke of his experience of being in that winning squad, and was charmingly eyewinkish about whether or not it had actually been a goal ('the referee said it was', I believe, or words to that effect).

2008 we weren't in it and 2010 was a fallow year for me. I was living alone, without a TV license, and didn't always manage to make it to the pub or a friend's house to watch the games. 2012 I was far more interested in the London Olympics.

In 2014 I was living in Manila, far from home. We watched the matches in the Embassy - a wonderful memory, sadly not matched by England's lamentable performance. I'd never approved of Sven Goran Eriksson as England manager, but Roy Hodson was severely testing my belief that someone English should manage the team. Something that was only reinforced when we went crashing out to Iceland in 2016.

2018 was the start of the modern era, the Southgate era, the time when, in defiance of all expectation, England actually started doing well. I watched the England-Tunisia game in a sports bar in Abuja with colleagues, where I was travelling on business. I was the only white person in the bar and people kept buying me drinks: fortunately - I presume due to rivalry against Tunisia - the whole bar was supporting England, meaning I was a welcome guest! We won the match and went on to reach the semifinal, my first semifinal.

2020 was the Plague Year, so Euro 2021 - my first ever England final - was in Great Yarmouth, in our first post-Covid holiday. I watched with my Mum and with Eldest; his first England tournament, and one where I had to caution him was not representative of our usual experience. He sat on the edge of his seat through extra time and cried when we went out on penalties.

2022 saw another semifinal, with Harry Kane's missed penalty - something I recently learned that Eldest has been nursing a grudge about for two years (though hopefully forgiven after last night).

Now 2024, and Youngest as well as Eldest is watching, calling out, 'That was so much a foul' every time England lose the ball. We've had the solid win against Serbia, the dismal draws, and then last night's 11th hour reprieve and victory, when two brilliant goals saved us from crashing out. Will we go all the way? Well, it always might be could be coming home.

And a moment to philosophise, after the memories. In a society which can seem ever more divided, where the multiplicity of streaming services as much as political polarisation chip away at the special moments we share, there are still things that can create shared national memories. Maybe, like me, you're not a football fan, and will never follow the intricacies of the Premier League, but you can still thrill to England. Maybe the royals don't mean much to you, but you can still celebrate with the rest at the Jubilee. At a local level, whether it's the Christmas Market, the Remembrance Day parade or the summer fete, cherish them. And if not, if it's really truly not your thing, don't rain on someone else's parade.

Let them play Rule Britannia at the Proms, as they always have. Let the England squad kneel for BLM, if that's what they want to do. Let them burn the Guy. Don't go after book festivals or their sponsors. Don't be snobby about 'sportsball', or Taylor Swift, or, Harry Potter.

The traditions, the ties that bind and the things that can create shared memories are not so many that they should be cast off with ease, or damaged via constant battles. Treasure them. And where new ones arise, treasure them, too, whether they last or not.  We can often find joy, and belonging, in more than we think, if we give it a chance.

1. I suspect they would not return the favour!