The general consensus of opinion is that the shift of power from Wednesday to United occurred in 1985. My view is that, one winter’s night in 1982, the fear myself and the rest of our main youngsters had for Wednesday was lifted after we had stood our ground against Wednesday’s main firm that night and created a massive shift in attitude within our pups.
The peace that had existed for the Leeds visit three months earlier had dissolved that same night as the two groups had clashed later in town. With Wednesday wounded that the Blades firm had had the audacity to even think of taking them on, they took it upon themselves over the nest few months to start smashing in everything that was red and white. Our firm of youngsters had discussed on numerous occasions about how and when we were going to take over who runs the show in Sheffield. For most of us it was bravado because we were still only 16- to 18-year-olds, I for one really talked the talk but deep down I knew I wasn’t really ready to walk the walk, yet.
Anyhow, around 25 of our young trendies were heading from the Penny Black pub in Pond Street that night to go and meet up with the rest of the older lads who had settled down in the Blue Bell on Sheffield’s High Street. As we walked up, around 40 Wednesday came around the corner and we bumped straight into them. We were edgy as Wednesday belittled us by spitting at us and telling us to ‘get home as it was past our bedtime’. I was looked up to by a few of our youngsters because I’d got myself a bit of a reputation for being game. So, in an act of bravado, I waded into Wednesday.
Our pups all followed me into battle and Wednesday were shocked at our attack. They back-pedalled a couple of yards but those couple of yards may have been a couple of miles as we had surprised ourselves in moving these snorters back. I admit at the time I was bricking it, after all I was only 17 and some of the geezers we had run into were double our age. The police thankfully came to our rescue, as Wednesday came back at us but we had done enough and I can still see the handshakes and high fives that our lot shared as we walked up to meet the rest of our firm. I was shouting, ‘I fuckin’ told you we could do them cunts.’ Although we hadn’t actually run Wednesday, we’d done enough and the fear and respect we once had for their firm was lifted.
On entering the Blue Bell, we couldn’t tell the older lads quickly enough of our semi-result. Sensing that Wednesday would probably be thinking twice about our up-and-coming firm, the older lads left immediately and headed down to the Penny Black. The 60 of us ran Wednesday back inside the pub after they had initially spilled out into the street to engage in combat.
The gamest Wednesday lad and the last to retreat was a black guy called Delroy, who has since passed away having suffered asthma attack. The pub was totalled and a couple of United’s main actors got lifted, one of which was Eyes.
That in my view was a major victory for the morale of our youngsters and we never had the same respect for Wednesday’s firm again.
With friendships between United and Wednesday firmly put to bed. Trouble between the two groups became more frequent than at any other period in time. Over the next couple of years, a power struggle evolved; one week Wednesday would come looking for the Blades mob, the following week United would go on the hunt. By 1984, it was a level playing field, and the battle for supremacy had at last begun, but, by 1986, United’s firm had all but taken over. Wednesday still had the odd result and turned out big numbers to try and counterattack this new breed of Blades thug but the damage had been done; the contempt they’d had for United’s firm had come back and bitten them on the bollocks. There was no turning back for our firm and, like a fox after a rabbit, we wouldn’t let up until we were totally sure the job was complete.
WEDNESDAY HOSPITALISED, THE HUNT IS ON
In 1985, a fight on London Road with a few of Wednesday’s big hitters led to a year of trouble and a year in which me and a lad called Howie were number one on Wednesday’s hit list. It all started late one night in the Lansdowne pub. Around 10 young United lads, myself included, entered the pub.
Inside, standing near the door, were six Wednesday lads, three white and three black geezers, whose reputation went before them. It was evident from the start that they were out to cause some bollocks … and bollocks is what they got. As we were all relatively young, Yifter, the senior Blade among us, took it on himself to try to pour oil on troubled waters.
This didn’t happen, and, when one of the black blokes wanted to fight Yifter outside, he took up the offer, even though you could see in his eyes he didn’t fancy it one bit; fair play to him, though, as none of us wanted trouble with this group but his pride carried him through. Everyone headed outside and I deliberately held back and was the last one out.
As the two groups squared up, the Wednesday lads were calling all the shots about how we were wankers and hadn’t got the bollocks to fight them. They had their backs to me so I walked through them, turned and faced up a yard away and without warning I chinned the nearest one to me. He went straight down and wasn’t getting back up by the look of him. It kicked off and, despite the odds now being two to one in our favour, they had a right go. One was shot in the chest at point-blank range with a distress flare and one by one they were overpowered. Four of their group were left unconscious in the middle of the road with two taken away by ambulance.
I knew straight away that there would be serious repercussions; these game lads had lost some face and anyone there that night would be on their shopping list. Sure enough, my name came out along with Howie’s, when 10 Wednesday informed two Blades that we were both dead meat, then the two Blades were twatted. Another United lad was assaulted in Sinatra’s nightclub by one of the black lads; he was out with his girlfriend and lost a tooth in the attack. This was seen by many as totally out of order, but it also sent out the message that they meant business. The week after the assault in Sinatra’s, United attacked a few Wednesday in the Hallamshire Hotel on West Street in revenge for the aforementioned wrongdoing. Both incidents were out of order but now the gloves were off and the rules between the two firms were that there were no rules.
To make matters worse, around two months later, a group of 15 blokes were out celebrating a stag night one Friday on London Road. They began singing Wednesday songs and, although a few of them were known to the young United firm that were drinking in the same pub, the 20-strong Blades firm steamed into their rivals with chairs and glasses. One was left unconscious with a broken jaw and a couple were arrested.
Again Wednesday vowed revenge and rumours of Wednesday coming down to London Road in big numbers to sort out this young Blades firm gathered pace by the minute.
MOLOTOV MADNESS, SIX MONTHS OF MADNESS
One Friday evening in late autumn 1985, 30 United lads were drinking in the Pheasant Inn on London Road. Nothing was different really, same lads out, same pub crawl, but this night was to be the start of two months of hostility between United and Wednesday that got seriously out of hand. The rumour mill had been in overdrive, Wednesday were turning up here, there and every-fuckin’-where.
That night, we got a tip-off, via the pub phone from a Blade in town, who told us Wednesday had up to 50 lads in town and they looked like they were heading our way. Sure enough, Wednesday walked a firm straight up to the Pheasant, it was like they wanted to try to stop this young Blades firm in their tracks and show them who was boss – wrong! When we realised our foe was on our doorstep, the pub emptied, with the snooker cues exiting as well. Hand-to-hand combat broke out in the middle of London Road and Wednesday were backed off before they turned and ran. One of their main men got captured and ragged a bit, as did a lad who had his dreadlocks ripped from his scalp Red Indian style. They were pinned on the wall of a pub on London Road as some sort of trophy with a little written sign underneath that read, ‘Wednesday dreads, ripped from head’! Another Wednesday lad was laid out unconscious and we were concerned about the state of him. Some