The Celtic Rising: David Potter on The Day Everything Changed – Part 3

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The Celtic Star

·24 April 2026

The Celtic Rising: David Potter on The Day Everything Changed – Part 3

Part 3 of an extract from David Potter’s wonderful bestseller The Celtic Rising. The Celtic Rising got underway on this day in 1965 when Celtic won the Scottish Cup Final, against Dunfermline our first trophy of the decade. It would not be the last…

Celtic on the other hand, their team having been picked and briefed, were able to have a short stroll on the pitch. It was not the habit in those days to have a warm-up on the pitch as they do now, and they were all in civvies as they waved to the crowd, giving the impression of being totally relaxed, a relaxation that presumably they did not feel.

The teams that appeared were as follows; Celtic: Fallon, Young and Gemmell; Murdoch, McNeill and Clark; Chalmers, Gallagher, Hughes, Lennox and Auld. Dunfermline Athletic: Herriot; W Callaghan and Lunn; Thomson, McLean and T Callaghan; Edwards, Smith, McLaughlin, Melrose and Sinclair. Referee: Mr H Phillips, Wishaw.

Billy McNeill won the toss and elected to play towards the King’s Park end. The actual 90 minutes are of course well reported in contemporary newspapers and are available on YouTube, but they do not begin to convey the sheer emotion involved on that day. The standard of football by both sides was amazingly high considering all that was involved, and the Celtic performance, particularly in that second half was such that quite a lot of Celtic supporters given to mysticism wondered whether it was all “meant.”

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One recalls the statement of the Second World War veteran who had played his part in the liberation of Italy, as well as other great Celtic triumphs involving Jimmy McGrory and Patsy Gallacher in the past who stated quite calmly in reference to the events of 24 April 1965 that he had “never seen anything like that!” Frankly, money could not buy the memories that day produced.

But to the game itself. It started briskly and Celtic playing with the wind had the better of the opening exchanges. Dunfermline’s centre-half Jim McLean was warned for a rough tackle and then John Hughes had a good run. One or two shots went wide or high, and it was clear that nerves, as one would expect in a Scottish Cup final, were playing a part. We also knew that there was a long way to go. It would be nice to take a lead, but we also knew that it wouldn’t necessarily decide the issue.

In the event, it was Dunfermline up at the distant end who scored first. It came from a throw-in which Thomson then hit up the field to Sinclair who knocked the ball on to Harry Melrose who in turn hooked the ball into the roof of the net. It was a well-taken goal, but it could easily have been prevented with a little more concentration.

The knots of Dunfermline supporters (Celtic supporters would have outnumbered them by about 20 to 1 at a conservative estimate) cheered their early lead, but for Celtic supporters, that sinking feeling, that all too familiar emotion in the early to mid 1960s, began to manifest itself once more.

We were aware that there were still about 75 minutes to go, and that there really was plenty of time, but we were also aware that the loss of a second goal could effectively kill the contest. Funnily enough, that loss of the goal seemed to settle the Celtic players, but the equaliser when it came was an unusual and dramatic one. It came originally from the boot of Charlie Gallagher, who picked up a pass from John Clark in the middle of the Dunfermline half, made a few yards and shot for goal.

Those of us clustered behind that goal had a brief moment of seeing the ball heading towards us, and we were all set to cheer a great goal, but the cheers turned to anguish as the ball hit the bar and soared up into the air. It might have soared out of play for a goal kick, but here the capricious wind played its part, for the ball went straight up into the air, and the ever-alert Bertie Auld took his opportunity to get there before any of the Dunfermline defenders. Thus, Celtic were back on level terms as that terracing behind him erupted into ecstasy.

That was in the 30th minute and Bertie had to be disentangled from the netting, just like Patsy Gallacher in his great Cup final of 40 years earlier. Now we felt that we might get somewhere. We might now be able to even get ahead before half-time, but sadly it was not to work out like that, for it was Dunfermline who scored again just before the interval. Young was adjudged to have fouled Sinclair a few yards outside the penalty box. It looked like a fair challenge from the far end, but Mr Phillips was in no doubt. It was a dangerous position, and the Celtic defence lined up to face what they thought was going to be a shot from Melrose.

But Melrose tapped the ball to John McLaughlin, and at that very point the public address system started to make a pointless announcement about something to do with the imminence of half-time. No-one will ever know what it was all about, for McLaughlin hammered home a fine shot. To what extent Celtic were put off by that announcement we will never know – they certainly never complained about it after the game – but those around me in the Celtic end were convinced that it was a distraction, and the more paranoid thought it was all deliberate!

Half-time came soon afterwards with the Pars all cock-a-hoop at their team going in 2-1 up at the break. The Celtic community was stilled. We had been built up and now we had been knocked down again. There remained another 45 minutes of course, but it was still a depressing experience. Jim Farrell, the Celtic Director (and father-in-law of Jim Craig) tells the story about how he was on his way to the Directors’ Lounge along with Mrs Stein. She was of a different religious persuasion to her husband and tended towards Rome rather than 121 George Street, Edinburgh. She said as a joke to Mr Farrell that a prayer to St Anthony might be no bad thing. St Anthony, apparently, had jurisdiction over things that were lost, (like a house key or a wallet, for example) but might yet be still found. “Celtic were like that at the moment,” thought Mrs Stein.

Far away from such theological and celestial speculations, more concerned with the mundane and the pressing, we on the East Terracing made a big mistake. We decided to go to the toilet. Quite a few men did not bother about such niceties, and simply did the necessary where they were, but we were of a decent family and made our way to the none too hygienic toilets.

One had to climb the huge terracing and descend the steps at the back to try to get there. It was a crush, but we managed it. The problem, however, was then that we could not get back in. It would remind the learned of Virgil’s Aeneid, when Aeneas was told that there was no problem getting down to the Underworld. The problem was getting back! “Hic labor, hoc opus est!” We certainly could not get back to our old places and were condemned to watch the second half from the top of the terracing where heads and other things got in our way.

It was not entirely without its advantages. One certainly got a fine panoramic view of the distant proceedings, both of the ground and the surrounding streets, and the amount of the “out of the game” drunks still lying on the banking. The allotment gardener was still there with a spade and a wheelbarrow, and once again, I envied him. No-one was bothering him; he was not bothering anyone, although he cannot but have been aware of the passion, the drama and the noise going on not all that far away from him. Maybe he had a transistor radio with him.

But we still had the problem of seeing the game. Celtic equalised through Bertie Auld (who else?) after a fine one-two with Bobby Lennox, but our view of it was obscured by heads. We came out of the terracing and walked along the path at the back before we eventually managed to get a reasonable view of the action holding on to the post numbered “25” at the very back of the terracing.

Beside us stood a black man – not all that usual in 1965 Glasgow – a refined soft-spoken gentleman, and a few youngsters, and we actually had a good view once the crowd settled down. We saw Fallon’s great save from Alex Edwards, which seemed to have got behind him, and we saw Clark getting something stuck up his nose after a facial knock, and we saw the battle raging.

Dunfermline used the wind rather badly, often over-kicking the ball and putting it too far ahead of their forwards, while Celtic played more sensibly against the wind, keeping the ball low and with Auld and Murdoch in the middle of the field spreading passes to Chalmers, Hughes and Lennox. Celtic were having more of the play, but if someone had offered a 2-2 draw and a replay on Wednesday night, I probably would have taken it – such had been the gut-rending emotion of it all.

Once again, I thought with envy of the gardener planting his potatoes and of my mother, who was no great football fan and was often amazed by the intensity of it all, quietly making her tea and listening to the radio commentary, more concerned about whether her wee boy would get home safely rather than who was to win the 1965 Scottish Cup!

But then Celtic won a corner on the left after a run by Bobby Lennox. Across trotted the ever-reliable Charlie Gallagher to take it. One of the things that we had noticed since Jock Stein’s arrival in 1965 had been the increasing frequency with which Billy McNeill would go up for a corner kick. The Pars defence was not as prepared for it as they should have been, and Billy rose majestically to head home that magnificent iconic goal that changed everything.

I have no clear recollections of the goal, although I do remember thinking that it might have been Tommy Gemmell who scored (same colour of hair and I was, after all, about 250 yards away!) but the veteran beside me kept saying “Billy McNeill! Billy McNeill! Billy McNeill!” as we were engulfed in a tidal wave of celebration, scarves waving and people hugging you and jumping on top of you.

David Potter

To be concluded on The Celtic Star today…

An extract from The Celtic Rising by the late, great David Potter.

David’s bestseller The Celtic Rising ~ 1965: The Year Jock Stein Changed Everything is completely sold out in print on but is available on Amazon kindle, with all the photographs of the hardback edition, for HALF PRICE at just £3.49…

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