William Leece stands with the crowds as emotions run high at Anfield to remember those who died

‘FORGIVE us our trespasses,” the Lord’s Prayer beseeches us, “as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

But, if the truth is to be told, there was precious little forgiveness in the air at Anfield yesterday when it came to David Duckenfield and Kelvin Mackenzie.

Take a trip along Anfield Road and look at the tributes piled up by the Shankly Gates and along the back of the Anfield Road Stand. Read the messages if you will, but they do not make comfortable reading.

There is still a bitterness hanging in the air like a Scotch mist, even 20 years after the Hillsborough disaster in which 96 Liverpool fans were killed.

The day had started almost like a home game. Knots of fans walking up Everton Valley, with only a seriousness in their faces to show that this was an occasion any different.

And also the fact that there were no away fans, even though there were many to be seen wearing the colours of other clubs.

A whole boys’ team wearing the colours of Dungannon United Youth FC, from Northern Ireland, passed almost un-noticed.

Nobody batted as much as an eye at scarves from other clubs: Everton, Aston Villa, Arsenal, Barcelona – they were all there.

At first they piled into the Kop. Usually it is the Kop and just the Kop that stages the Hillsborough memorial services, but this time parts of the Main and Centenary stands were opened up.

And then more of the stands, and more. No sooner had stewards put a barrier down a stand then it had to be moved, until eventually the whole length of the ground was filled and latecomers were directed into the Anfield Road end.

The final arrivals were lucky. They caught the emotional heart of the service, as one by one the names of the 96 dead were intoned to the tolling of a bell.

Some names seemed familiar, those whose families have taken a high profile in the campaign over the years for some sort of justice for those who died.

In the alphabetical order of those who died, everyone, but everyone knew, with an imperceptible tightening of the stomach, that after the name of Sarah Louise Hicks would come that of Victoria Jane Hicks.

But others were names not on everyone’s lips, just humble folk who had gone out to enjoy themselves and then never returned.

One of the many questions left hanging in the air was that of where the victims would be now had the disaster not happened.

No sooner was the question posed than Lord Mayor Steve Rotheram read the mood exactly. He had been a humble brickie from Kirkby, out to support his team at Hillsborough, and to worship at the feet of Kenny Dalglish. Indeed, he still worshipped Kenny, he admitted, as the great man sat just a few feet away.

Now he was a family man, and Lord Mayor of Liverpool. What would have happened to the others? There was no answer.

If the mood had been sombre for the naming of the dead, it turned to ice for the two-minute silence. Immaculately observed, it has to be said, with just the voices of a few fractious children echoing round Anfield. Their parents must have wished the earth would open up and swallow them, but for them at least the forgiveness was unlimited.

Andy Burnham was a young Everton fan at the other semi- final that day. Now he is a government minister, and although the assembled Reds were all of a mood to accept the solidarity of Evertonians and others, the charity stopped short of the Government.

Burnham the football fan was a welcome guest, but the Government he represented fell a long way short of popularity.

He was heckled from around the ground, to muttered shushing noises from those intent on keeping up the decorum. Duckenfield and Mackenzie were fair game, but there was a ripple of embarrassment at the way some people treated Burnham. As for the minister himself, well, he’s a politician and used to dealing with difficult crowds. He’s seen far worse at Question Time in the Commons and lived to tell the tale.

But if the recital of the names and the two-minute silence had been the high point of grief, and the treatment of a minister a moment best forgotten, the mood became almost celebratory from then onwards. Liverpool against the world – and winning, events at Stamford Bridge notwithstanding.

It started with the presentation of the Scrolls of the Freedom of the City to the Hillsborough families.

It was led by Trevor Hicks, father of the two teenage girls who died that day, and it was brought to a fine conclusion by Gerry Marsden himself for the club’s adopted anthem, You’ll Never Walk Alone.

Hillsborough may have been a disaster never to be forgotten, Liverpool may be out of the Champions League, but there is always another match, another season ahead. And that bitterness.

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