BERT Tyldesley followed the fortunes of Bolton​ Wanderers through eight decades and kept a diary of his time in the terraces. With the kind permission of his family, we bring you his reflections on that journal, entitled: 75 Years a Wandering.

The Bolton News:

LET’S face it, the 1957/58 season wasn’t a particularly good footballing year at Bolton except for the fact they happened to win the FA Cup and be involved in the best knockout tie ever seen at Burnden Park, against Wolves.

I saw every round of that particular cup run, including the Ralph Gubbins inspired semi-final against Blackburn Rovers at Maine Road but I missed the final for a very good reason: I now had a baby son and a telly.

Of the game against Wolves, played on March 1, 1958, my abiding memory is of the first Bolton goal, scored by Dennis Stevens at the Great Lever End.

I was standing with my brother-in-law, Jack Hill, and I can still see the build-up as clearly today as I saw it then.

In a letter to a distant friend at the time I described how Nat Lofthouse took Billy Wright (then England captain and centre-half) to show him the clock thoughtfully provided by Magee-Marshalls, the then Bolton brewers, some 25 years previous to celebrate the Wanderers’ return to the First Division after a couple of years away. They provided two, in fact, one over the Main Stand and the other one over the Burnden Stand and they remained familiar landmarks until around 1976.

It was to the clock over the Burnden Stand that Nat thoughtfully shepherded Billy that March afternoon , pointing out the time to him as he despatched the ball from the centre line to little Brian Birch standing on the Manchester Road touchline, alone and unoccupied opposite the penalty area in front of us. At the same time Stevens was sprinting down the centre of the pitch in the area normally patrolled by Wright, noticed by Birch as he promptly planted the ball neatly in front of the on-rushing centre-forward. Not one to pass up such an opportunity, Stevens scored.

Two minutes later, the clock now showing 3.30pm precisely, Mason headed home Deeley’s centre to level the score. Was it the great Eddie Hopkinson’s fault we asked at the far end of the ground. No, never, came the reply from those who could see more clearly!

Ten minutes into the second half Lofthouse broke clear and seemed all set to add to his vast repertoire of goals when Finlayson, the Wolves keeper, advanced beyond his penalty area and handled the ball at Nat’s feet. He would have been sent off today (1998). Nevertheless, Ray Parry’s trusty left boot despatched the ball into the goal in front of the Railway Embankment to make it 2-1.

The Bolton News:

The rest is history. When old men gather over a pint or a mug of tea they will tell tales of what is often described as Wanderers’ Alamo – except this turned out to be a victory.

During the next half-hour or so, Derek Henin was crippled with a muscle strain and Parry was carried off with concussion. There were no substitutes, remember, so the Wanderers had to sustain a relentless barrage of pressure.

That they did survive was down to some truly gritty defending and magnificent goalkeeping from Hopkinson. My nephew David says they were lucky, but I say they were great.

That titanic struggle would be followed by another in front of 74,800 at Maine Road as two goals from the great Ralph Gubbins despatched Second Division Blackburn Rovers. Ralph would of course be a spectator in the final.

Everything has been said of the final against Manchester United. Lofthouse scored in the third and 54th minute, the second of which involved a controversial bundling of keeper Harry Gregg over the line. Apart from one shot from Bobby Charlton that hit the post, the Reds never offered a serious threat. To say the least, it was a disappointing final.

It did have some consolation for us Wanderers supporters, both those who were there and those who watched from a distance like myself. Personally, I was delighted this homespun team had withstood the sentiment, even the prejudice, that had threatened to engulf them again and gained their reward. What is more, I was still working with a covey of United supporters at White City, all of whom made a contribution to the book I opened on the event, much to my pecuniary benefit).

It was with that group of men that I had looked out of the windows at our White City office when news came filtering through on that evening of February 6, 1958, of the tragedy at Munich, gazing across the rooftops hardly believing what we were hearing and seeing, praying that those floodlights would burst back into life and it would all be a bad dream.

Just like the memory of that terrible night, that of the game at Wembley will never be erased from United minds, even to the third and fourth generations. In 1994 I was setting up a rail journey in Manchester and was asked to provide identification, producing among my many cards a Bolton Wanderers Membership.

The young girl nearly went berserk. “We have a colleague who is always going on about Bolton Wanderers and it really gets on our nerves.”

She handed me my ticket, on the week Bolton had beaten Aston Villa to book a sixth round tie against Oldham Athletic.

“I hope you beat Oldham,” she said. “And then we can get revenge for the 1958 FA Cup final.” And it had all happened before she was born.