Munich Air Disaster, 6th February 1958

Munich Air Disaster, 6th February 1958

The Munich air disaster occurred when a British European Airways charter plane, flight 609, crashed on its third attempt to take off from a slush-covered runway at Munich-Riem Airport, West Germany, after stopping there to refuel following a European Cup tie against Red Star Belgrade. On the plane was the Manchester United football team, nicknamed the “Busby Babes”, along with club officials, supporters and journalists. Twenty-three people – including eight players and three members of the club’s staff – suffered fatal injuries. 

The accident occurred at 4.04pm local time – 3.04pm GMT – and news of the tragedy quickly spread. Since many of the boys from St Gregory’s travelled home via Piccadilly and the city centre, they were among the first to hear rumours about the crash, rumours that soon turned to reality as headlines were already being displayed on placards outside newsagents. At first, exactly what happened was unclear but, as more facts and information about the crash emerged, a great sense of shock and sadness was felt throughout Manchester and beyond. For some boys the experience was one of those “Where were you when you first heard about it [the crash]?” and has remained with them, and others, ever since.

Munich Recollection by Tom Clare

As previously stated, Tom Clare was a St Gregory’s pupil. A lifelong United supporter, he published a book in 2009 entitled Forever a Babe: Growing Up With Manchester United. The word ‘Babe’, of course, is a reference to the ‘Busby Babes’, a group of young, talented players whose manager was Matt Busby. With Tom’s permission, the following excerpts have been taken to illustrate how news of the Munich disaster broke, and how the experience affected Tom, his family and friends, and the general public in Manchester. It is a vivid recollection of one youngster’s experience. Tom writes:

“Although I was just 13 when the tragedy of Munich happened, my memories of that time have never dimmed. The tragedy happened on a Thursday afternoon, and I can remember the day vividly. It was cold and bleak, and some areas of Manchester experienced snow that afternoon. It was dark before four o’clock in the afternoon. After school, I had trudged down Ardwick Green, schoolbag on shoulder, and crossed Downing Street into Rusholme Road. On the corner of that junction was Wyman’s pet shop, from where I would start my dog food delivery round. My spirits that day were so high following United’s marvellous performance in Belgrade the previous day. Following the 3-3 draw with Red Star, many United supporters were hoping the team would be drawn to play Real Madrid again in the semi-final of the European Cup. Revenge was sought for defeat at the same stage of the previous season’s competition.

…The first time that I had any foreboding, any sense that something was wrong, was when I walked down Store Street, under the long railway arch beneath London Road (now Piccadilly) station, and out onto London Road itself… There was a newspaper man there every night, selling the Manchester Evening News and the Manchester Evening Chronicle. As I crossed over to his side of the road, he had just finished putting up a poster with the headline “Stop Press – United Plane Crashes at Munich”. The Stop Press was a column on the right-hand side of the newspaper’s front page which contained a late headline for any breaking news that had not been in the wires before publication time…I hurriedly paid my tuppence for the Chron, but all it said was: “Manchester United’s Plane has crashed at Munich Airport – more to follow in later edition.” At first, people assumed it was something minor, and nothing to worry about. As I got further down London Road, and into Downing Street, news had started to filter through about the crash on the wireless. The publican at the Old Gog and Magog was the first to tell me that there had been fatalities, although he couldn’t say who they were. It was almost six o’clock in the evening by the time I got back to Wyman’s, but Jean and David knew nothing of the unfolding tragedy. I ran all the way up Rusholme Road, to my home in Royal Street, where I found my father sitting beside the fireplace with tears streaming down his face. He’d arrived home from Henshaw’s Blind School, close to Old Trafford, where he was training to be a joiner after losing his sight, and he had heard the news on the wireless.

News trickled through intermittently. The hours passed. It was as if we were all in a trance, as though time had stood still.

The atmosphere in the city during the days that followed was surreal. A great pall of mourning was omnipresent. Adults openly shed tears. Each day I cried so much, and I could not eat. I had no interest in play or doing any of the things that young boys do, so much so that Mum had to keep me off school for some time. In hindsight I know I was suffering from shock, and years later my parents agreed that this was the case.

…Even my schoolteachers voiced their concern to my parents, as I became disinterested, difficult, very introverted, and was only happy out on the sports field. I would play ‘wag’ (truant) from school, and walk all the way to Weaste Cemetery just to stand in front of Eddie Colman’s grave, as his was the only one that I knew how to get to … At that age, knowing that I would never see them [the deceased players] again had a profound effect upon me. I was United ‘daft’ in the truest sense of the word.”

(Tom’s book, by the way, has received critical acclaim.)

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