Tuesday 23rd June 1998
THE BIG DAY !!!!!

Rising around 7.30 a.m, we get prepared to head to St. Etienne and the biggest Scotland match in living memory. Habro and Robj now seize their chance to don their kilts. The Wee Man heads out for some early morning car practice. Habro Snr serves us coffee, we elect to pass on the Heinz Baked Beans with a 1995 sellby !! We seal up Montchallon, not without incident, as Habro Snr receives a wasp sting or two as he disengages the electricity supply. Robj, has rather conveniently, brought some Dettol antiseptic cream. We head to Saulieu to visit un supermarche, where we cause a minor stir with our kilts and our need for truly fresh jus d'orange. An English lady gets involved with the sourcing of the Orange Juice and we could have had pamplemousse juice instead. We hear our first "Bonne Chances" of the day and "Vive L'Ecosse". - these words will resonant in our ears for the rest of this truly remarkable day.

We also procure some croissants, brie and bananas. Wee Man does all the driving, some of it Le Mans style, but overall an accomplished competent display.
Robj subjects the audience to his "Planes, Trains & Automobiles" world Cup tape, the opening tracks being a modified Wild Rover, with the chorus "and by plane, train or taxi, Come on ye Scots" and the second track has us singing some Jock'n'Roll with "Scotland be Good". Kraftwerks "autobahn" doesn't do much to enliven us and Nick Cave's "I don't believe in an interventionist God" causes much enthusiasm to come to the fore around said Mr. Caves songwriting talents. After passing through Lyon and alongside the Rhone, we arrive in St. Etienne around noon. First we need to locate Hertz to return the car, and are ably assisted by petrol station staff where we fill up with diesel - we receive two goodluck keyring/bottle openers and Habro Snr provides the friendly folks with bonbons !! Hertz is conveniently situated nearby the SNCF gare Chateaucreux. We unload the car and walk towards the gare with many other Scots in kilts and Scotland tops milling about. Bags are deposited in left luggage and we head for a bar/cafe.

Habro's Fez is popular with the Maroc fans!

The first bar is pleasant, nice half litre kronenbourgs on tap, and with a piper on hand we sing for the first time that day. The scene is very special as we witness many Tartan Army footsoldiers heading to the main Square. The hats, tops, faces painted, kilts, pipes all add to the spectacle, also there are a few green & red outfitted Moroccans with their drums. Several Kronenbourgs later...

The Wee Man meets someone he knows from Linlithgow. We hear rumours of a parade to leave from the Square so we head up towards where really all the action is. And this Square is full of sights & sounds to behold.

Several Kronenbourgs later…

The Scots are mainly congregated on the stairs and statues of a Civic building. The sun is getting warmer and the songs getting louder, the main ones that will live on in our memories being :- "Stand up if you hate England, Sit down if you hate England" ; "Doe a deer, a female deer, ray a drop of golden sun" "Flower of Scotland" "Scotland, Scotland - I'd walk a million miles for one of your goals" "2-1 to Romania" ; "Englands going home" "Irn Bru, Irn Bru, Irn Bru" - or alternatively, "Bonsoir, Bonsoir"

Needless to say there are a few Braveheart salutes taking place - even some of these are well-choreographed with 4 lads having SC, OT, LA, ND appropriately and respectively decked out on said arsecheeks.

The locals are loving it too, the atmosphere is something to behold and will be something that will live with us all for ever. The colour mixture between blue, white saltires, yellow & red lion rampants and the green and red of Morocco will provide some amazing photographic memories. There are Scotland flags from nearly every town and village we have heard of. The cacophony of sound between bagpipes and Moroccan drums adds to the incredible Carnival atmosphere. Everyone is wishing everyone else "Bonne Chance" and "Vive L'Ecosse/Le Maroc".

Habro Snr looking distringuished next to the Wee Man, not very difficult!

We are all swept along on a tide of emotional nationalistic pride. We decide to eat before the parade and head to a restaurant called "Hippo". The Wee Man requests a sourire from the po-faced waitress who dons a Bresil shirt. Needless to say the Wee Mans additional request to swap teeshirts is ignored. The food is somewhat average - burgers, lamb and chilli. We engage conversation with some very friendly Marocs, debate the outcome etc, - and have a chorus or two of Ole Ola. We also meet Paul Rynn from HP in the restaurant. On leaving, we go to the other smaller, shaded square with fountain and pond. This place is heaving with the Tartan Army - we witness great scenes of singing and bathing fully-kilted in the fountain.

And now we are ready to take our place in what will become our over riding memory of the entire trip, the march to the ground through narrow lanes and streets of central St. Etienne. All along the way we are greeted very warmly by waving locals from balconies. The scene is truly memorable. The singing reaches fever pitch - switching rapidly from one song to another and back again. Some of the most vivid magical scenes are when masses of the Tartan Army sit down (cos they hate England) - Robj is feeling like a freelance photographer.

"Sit down…if you've got nae shirt"

Probably the song that just would never end is "Doe a Deer" - truly the song that will stay with us to remind us of the march. The atmosphere lightens slightly as the streets widen and the echoes are lessened. We are still euphoric and filled with huge amounts of anticipatory emotion of what may lie ahead. We pass a 70s-style block of flats with all the inhabitants waving to us, a huge chorus of "Bonsoir, Bonsoir, Bonsoir" is chanted - amusing and very poignant we thought.

We are now in an industrial area near to the ground and pass by the first ticketing checkpoint. People are climbing up on every vantage points, large gates, office blocks etc. We grab a final few tins of Kronenbourg at a stall near the ground. A clutch of pipers strike up "Maries wedding". The waiting is nearly over. We may be about to witness the most historic night in Scottish footballs history.

We pass through the final checkpoints at the ground and Robj snaps rather naffly, in Habros opinion, a photo of the HP stall. The Habros head for the Blue stand (Pierre) and the Wee Man and Robj head for the Green stand (Henri).

Robj pulls a goal back in the celeb spotting stakes, when he spies Gilles Rousset at the (soft) drinks stall. Wee Man gets his photo taken - which it has to be said, required a vertical zoom frame to accommodate the height differential between Monsieur Rousset and the Wee Man.

Gilles Rousset is honoured to meet the Wee Man

And so we take our seats in the Geoffrey Guichard stade, we encounter an obnoxious French man who has his feet draped across the Wee Mans seat - a few terse words in broken French rectifies the situation quickly. The Tartan Army are in fine voice and we pelt out the National Anthem as the nerves start to take hold. Probably less said about the game the better. We sat in silent disbelief for long periods, watching what can only be described as a slow death of our World Cup dream - deja vu, been there done it come to mind, but the agony is still the same. At 0-2 with 10 men we feel only a glimmer of optimistic hope, at 0-3 its miracle time or more realistically, Goodnight Vienna. Let the wake commence.

The songs carry on at the end, the ovation resembles scenes I would only have expected had the result been correct. The Moroccans are sad too due to the Norwegians unbelievable result against Brazil. We file out of the ground in a dark and depressing line of defeated Tartan army troops past the Bonsoir flats and back to the rail station for the TGV to Paris. The Habros pass us by in the courtesy coach. We reclaim our bags and await the departure of the TGV to Paris, Gare du Lyon. Habro and the Wee Man decide to part with half of their salaries for greasy frites and the now entirely infamous and well-travelled whole poulet.

So there it was, its now gone midnight, and the long weary trip home during day 4 begins - and we can only dream of what might have been.