IT WAS THREE o' clock in the morning, the roads were nice and clear, as we made our way from Northallerton to Ferrybridge in Jamie's Ford Fiesta. The car felt like the cockpit of a Spitfire as we listened to themes from films like 633 Squadron, Dambusters, The Longest Day, The Great Escape, etc. Along with a few England football songs like World in Motion, it was just what we needed to raise the spirits for the start of what was going to be a long journey.
Once at Ferrybridge, we saw a coach pull up with the words 'Pat's Coaches - North Wales' written at the back of it. "That can't be our coach", we thought, "can't get taken on an England trip by a bunch of Taffs!" But sure enough, it was. To be honest I couldn't care less if they were from Outer Mongolia, so long as they were to get us to Warsaw on time.
At first they seemed all right, although the main rep looked like a cross between Droopy The Dog and Mark Lawrenson. Looking like Droopy The Dog is bad enough, but Mark Lawrenson, that's just taking the piss. As we were the first to be picked up, and the only fans to be picked up at Ferrybridge, it meant we were able to take our seats at the back of the coach which I was delighted about. We would later come to regret it.
We then departed to Hull to pick up the rest of the coach load. After passing the attractive Humber Bridge we arrived in Hull and were joined by another 40-50 people. They were all big lads, some of them quite hard looking. To be honest, I wasn't complaining. Poland sounded like it could be quite dangerous - if we were to get caught up in any trouble we would be in good company. Apart from a few Doncaster fans, they were all Hull City. Although all friends, there seemed to be a rivalry between those from West Hull and those from East Hull, each one thinking the other side of the city was crap. After each paying #20 bond money in case of damages, the coach full of Hull City, Doncaster, Darlington, and one Gooner, was finally ready to go to Poland.
The loudest bunch of the Hull City fans were sat just in front of us and spent the journey to Dover ribbing each other at every opportunity. Particularly one lad who got it bad when it was discovered that the pillow he had brought with him had a nice flowery pattern on it.
After five hours of the journey I was disturbed to find out that we were only at Lakeside Services in Essex. It was there where we would meet up with a second coach load from Northern Holidays, coming via the North West and mainly full of Manchester City and Oldham fans, and they would follow us on our journey.
By the time we arrived in Dover, we were already two hours behind schedule. There seemed to be no urgency from the drivers to get there in time, which annoyed me as it meant less time to look around the centre of Warsaw. Being two hours late was helped by the fact that we stopped off at service stations for a total of one and a half hours. The reason at the time - "We're ahead of schedule lads." Incompetent Welsh twats.
Whilst on the ferry, myself and Mel went up to the top deck with a couple of pints and watched the white cliffs fade away into the distance, while reminiscing about the time we'd had in France the year before during the World Cup. Once in French waters, we were able to throw our empties into the sea and join the others down below as we arrived in Calais. After stocking up on beer in a cash and carry, we were out of France and through Belgium within about 4-5 hours. By the time we crossed the German border, light was fading and alcohol levels were rising. The coach was becoming full of life as everyone was on their feet and singing "Two World Wars and One World Cup, we won!", followed by the whole coach with their arms outstretched like the wings of an airplane, and singing the theme from Dambusters. It must have been a sight for other drivers on the motorway.
This must have gone on for about an hour until we were pulled over by the police. It quietened everyone down, as all we wanted to do was show the police that we were all nice quiet lads who just wanted to carry on with our journey. Mind you, 40-50 pissed up England fans singing on a coach can hardly be described as disturbing the peace. Well, from the point of view that we weren't harming anyone on the outside. They soon let us go and we were on our way . . .
