Memories of the Goldstone Ground: Chips, floodlights & Brighton penalties

I was nine-years-old when Brighton bid farewell to the Goldstone Ground. Whilst most of my classmates in Year 4 at school supported Manchester United, Liverpool or Arsenal on Saturday 26th April 1997, I was sat in the South Stand behind Stuart Storer when he crashed in one of the most famous goals in Albion history to beat Doncaster Rovers 1-0 and move the Seagulls off the bottom of the Football League.

Thanks to a decision that would these days end up in some sort of child cruelty charge, my parents had been taking me to the Goldstone since just before my second birthday.

That gave the Goldstone the best part of eight years in which to impart lifelong memories on my impressionable young mind.

And do you know what I remember the most? The chips. Midway through the first half of every home game – no doubt with Brighton losing – my father would pack me off with a couple coins to go and get some chips.

Take a right at the top of the South Stand stairs, pass by one of those four imposing floodlight pylons, down some steps and to a brick hut with a questionable hygiene rating.

Less than a quid later and it was back to the seat with a box of chips slathered in ketchup and salt. Jamie Oliver and his healthy kids eating campaign would have hated the Goldstone, as would Paul Barber. Cheap chips, greasy burgers and hot chocolate for 50p. A far cry from £3.20 for a bag of Starburst.

My sweets for games at Goldstone – proper penny sweets rather than rip-off Starburst – used to come from a shop on Old Shoreham Road next to the Hove Park Tavern.

Evening games were a particular treat as no time for dinner before setting off meant extra sweets to fill the void.

In complete contravention of any sort of Good Parenting Guide, my parents did not have a problem with taking a young boy to 7:30pm kick offs on a school night.

Nor did my mother think it unwise to take me out of school for Tuesday night trips to Hull City, Rotherham United or Rochdale. That was until the school reported her, after which I conveniently fell ill whenever the Albion were away from home.

The family car used to be parked near Aldrington Station and we would walk from there to the Goldstone, via the sweet shop.

I can recall the excitement whenever the floodlights would loom into view, climbing onto and walking along a small wall where Furniture Village and the Shell petrol station now stand to get a better view of the crowds making their way towards the ground.

Fred would be selling his Evening Argus with the familiar cry of “Eveeeeennniiinnnnggg Arrggguussss”. Gulls Eye fanzine floggers stood on the corner of Newton Road and Old Shoreham Road. Get your Goldstone Gamble half time draw ticket.

Fans could leave the South Stand after the full time whistle by walking out the front of the stand and onto the perimeter track around the pitch. That used to be a thrill for a nine-year-old.

The temptation was always there to run on the pitch. Instead, I settled for sometimes dragging my hand along the edge of the turf.

You could not do that at Old Trafford or Highbury. In fact, I do not think you could do that at any other ground anywhere in the country.

Our family’s Goldstone Ground attendance was not just restricted to watching Brighton flounder around the Football League – we went to reserve games too. Like I said, child cruelty.

At these matches attended by a couple of hundred people, the West Stand was the only side of the ground open.

This seemed like a treat to me as it meant the chance to stand on an actual terrace. I was too young to ever make it into the North Stand.

Whilst watching the stiffs, I would open the gate at the front of the West Stand and sometimes walk around to sit in the South Stand. Nobody batted an eyelid at this; if anything, the club seemed to find it helpful.

There were no ball boys at reserve team matches so by allowing mischievous kids to slink off behind the goals, the Albion suddenly had slave labour in closed parts of the ground to retrieve loose balls. That saved the respective goalkeepers having to do it.

One of my strongest memories of the Goldstone was when I found myself being pulled from the crowd for an FA Cup second round replay at home to Fulham in December 1996.

The game was on Sky Sports and whilst the teams were warming up, there was seemingly some panic over the lack of ball boy numbers.

A ball disappearing into the unused East Terrace and there being a bit of a break in play whilst it was retrieved was never a problem during a regular Endsleigh Division Two game.

With the eyes of a nation watching Brighton host the Cottagers, the club decided they needed things to run as smoothly as possible. Which meant more boys to collect balls if they got hoofed into the East.

Matt Hicks asked my parents if they would let me help out. They said yes and so I was out of the South Stand, given a tracksuit three sizes too big as it was designed for your regular 15-year-old ball boy rather than a scrawny child of eight, and told to stand high up the back of the East Terrace, near the North Stand.

The view seemed incredible to me – especially when Brighton missed three penalties in a 4-1 shoot out defeat. One particularly woeful spot kick disappeared high into the North Stand and in the ultimate piss take, the Fulham goalkeeper took and scored a penalty.

Beyond that embarrassing experience, I do not actually remember much of what happened on the pitch during my time watching Brighton at the Goldstone Ground.

Paul McDonald’s late penalty in front of the South Stand during that chaotic 4-4 draw with Leyton Orient in the 1996-97 season is one of the few football memories.

I cannot recall Storer’s goal but remember vividly the pitch invasion after. Likewise, the York City riot a year previously.

My mother was in hospital at the time with a broken ankle and my father did not want to trouble her with what had happened, so we were not to mention it when we rocked up the Royal Sussex to visit that evening.

Too late; the goals being torn down at the Goldstone was headline news on all four channels. Little did we know at the time that it would bring so much desperately needed attention to the Albion’s plight, marking a real turning point in the battle to save the club.

A few days after the Brighton v Doncaster game, we took a family trip back to the Goldstone Ground. My father knew the head of security and had gotten wind of a rumour that the gates to the Goldstone were not locked. The demolition experts had not yet moved in either.

This rumour turned out to be true. For around an hour on a midweek afternoon after school, we were free to take as many souvenirs as we wanted.

The usual had all been obtained following the Doncaster match; a piece of turf and our three seats from the South Stand.

This additional hunt though yielded other treasures. A kettle from the burger hut on the South East Terrace. More plastic seats from the South Stand and wooden seats from the West. Advertising hoardings for Admiral and South Coast Radio. Bits of plastic from the tunnel.

Huge chunks of pitch which my father used to fill in a rose bed in the garden. We even wandered into the home changing rooms, securing a player’s peg and writing on the tactics board fixed to the wall. My mother penned the message “RIP Goldstone Ground.” I went for the much less-ceremonial “Scott was here.”

Strangely, I can still remember the silence as we walked away from the Goldstone that day. Neither of my parents said anything, knowing they would never again set foot in a place they had watched Brighton since the late 1970s.

We returned home with a car full of memorabilia and two large advertising boards strapped to the roof rack of the Vauxhall Cavalier for a hairy and probably illegal journey back up the A23.

It is easy to forget when looking back at the Goldstone Ground through misty eyes that it was a crumbling mess by the end. There is a reason that a succession of boards had tried to leave, stretching back to Mike Bamber in the 1980s.

Eventually, the Albion did get a new home. It took 14 years from the Goldstone closing, two groundshares at Gillingham and Withdean Stadium, countless planning battles, the sheer determination of Dick Knight and Martin Perry and finally the deep pockets of Tony Bloom.

To watch Brighton in the Premier League at the Amex is about as far removed from propping up Division Three at the Goldstone Ground as you can get.

We are lucky to have a modern day, state-of-the-art stadium to call our own given how close the Albion came to oblivion.

And yet I still miss the Goldstone. It was after all our crumbling mess. What I would give to have just one more game there.

To walk along Old Shoreham Road, see those floodlights, have a bag of chips – and watch the Fulham goalkeeper score a penalty to knock the Albion out of the FA Cup.