it's a long way to tipparery

Unfortunately, nobody had told Arthur Caiger who for years tried vainly to lead the Wembley crowd in community singing. So we had One Song to the Tune of Another long before the panellists in I'm Sorry, I Haven't A Clue were asked to perform the feat. If you think a man in a lion costume is mundane fare then he is as nothing compared to the dire Arthur Caiger. Some traditions deserve to be discarded.

For me, the 4th May 1957 had got off to an unusual start. That very morning the postman delivered a package from Villa Park returning the away match programmes I had sent as evidence that I had attended 25 of the 26 away matches that season. It came with the sardonic note that "this was not enough to qualify for a Final ticket". Fortunately I had got one as a season ticket holder but even this only entitled me to the cheapest terrace ticket. Be warned.

But if I was condemned to a long distance view of the action, at least I was going to get to Wembley in style. Travel by car was an option available to very few in those days and coaches were still called charabancs. British Railways produced a claret and blue brochure describing the nineteen special trains they were running to London for the final. Proper trains of between twelve and sixteen coaches long. Three of them included dining coaches and I was going on to the most exclusive of them, from Snow Hill to the steps of Wembley

Stadium. The fare for all the trips was 23/3d (£1.171/2) but for precisely £1 more it was possible to have a four course lunch on the outwards journey and a four course dinner on the return. Perhaps I sensed then it was going to be a once in a lifetime chance to indulge myself on a Villa excursion. My Civil Service salary was £3/18/- (£3.90) per week.

The Barn Social Club on Brookvale Road had booked an entire dining coach to themselves on the previous cup trains and I was not going to miss out on this special day. I was especially privileged because I was the only 'under age' drinker allowed to go with them. Long story.

No replica shirts in those days. I wore my best blazer and flannels - I was dining out, after all - plus the essential scarf, hat and rosette. And I carried the obligatory rattle. Most were plain wood but I had lovingly painted mine in Villa colours.

The train arrived at Wembley Hill station at 1.30 and from there it was a few yards into the stadium. I do not even remember encountering any United supporters although I did buy the souvenir Manchester Evening News "flown in by air", to go with the morning edition Blue Mail and Sports Argus.

Admission was what now seems a derisory 3/6 (171/2p) but this was almost double the cost of standing at the Witton End. The price included tax. Over the intervening years I have often quoted the fact that Villa played in the last FA Cup Final at which spectators were charged Entertainment Tax.

There was never any doubt that the Villa were going to win. After all, just as they were leaving Birmingham, hadn't the team received a telegram from a certain F. A. Cup saying how much he looked forward to being with them again on Saturday? Nobody in Manchester had the wit to send one to their team.

Volumes have been written about the game and some of us often re-live it every time we see Peter McParland stroll across the North Stand car park before home matches.

The all-important question on the lips of Villa supporters was, would Andrew Pugh be allowed to go on the pitch at the end? Would he even get to meet the Queen? She was a regular at the final in those days before she decided that even duty has its price. I, and my friends, were totally jealous of Andrew. Here was this diminutive eight year old leading out the team every week. we were already too old. Whoever heard of a team having a teenage mascot? At least Andrew was an ambassador for the club. Sadly today's mascots, however much they may enjoy their day, do little but clutter up the centre circle and delay the kick-off.

Suffice to say that Andrew got his hands on the cup. Something very few Villa supporters were able to do, except at a cricket match against the Albion. It never occurred to anyone then to make money out of displaying it. The only drawback to winning the FA Cup now is going to be watching the insufferable Ellis milk it for all it's worth. It is too much to hope that he will see the ending of the longest drought north of the Sahara as an opportune moment to step aside.

The return train left Wembley at 5.44 and it was not the first to depart. Chaos would have resulted if United had equalised in those fraught last few minutes, but in truth nobody expected the cup final to go to extra time in those days of the W formation. Every man behind the ball belonged to the rugby codes.

The train was timetabled to take three hours to get back to Birmingham, allowing plenty of time for wining and dining. Except that most people present would have preferred to be celebrating at the Social Club. Even when we did get back there it was not long to go before last orders. Soberly and reverently we returned to Villa Park next day for the march past.

Pat Saward and I were back at Wembley four days later. He to play for the Republic of Ireland in a World Cup qualifier. Me to add the the exchequer in what was the last ever football match with entertainment (tax) thrown in. And I did get a better view of Stanley Matthews than Pat did.

My father had waited 33 years to see Villa at Wembley again. It never occurred to me that I would have to wait another 43 years. Not for my father the occasional visit in a consolation cup match in the intervening years. For me such visits to Wembley have never really been a consolation,. Not helped either, by having been to six other FA Cup finals and seen six other teams take home THE cup.

John Russell