Heading across to Lille, with Twittersphere and the world’s press now in overdrive, stoking tensions of further trouble on the streets, I must admit to feeling more agitated than excited… There had been fresh skirmishes overnight and, as the train pulled into Lille, it wasn’t quite clear what kind of situation we were walking into. But surely things couldn’t be as bad as they had been down south.
A short stroll into town, past the FanZone, a familiar sound soon became audible, and it gradually got louder and louder as I approached Lille Flanders station, where the early-bird fans of England and Wales had gathered outside a handful of small bars just off Place de la Gare.
We’d all seen the posts on social media that suggested that England and Wales fans had become a ‘band of brothers’ in northern France, but it was good to see it for myself. Of course, the back-story was of the continued threat of attacks from Russian mobs, but it was fantastic to see old St. George versus the Dragon rivalries cast aside, as the last thing we needed was inter-Brit grief right now. The good people of Lille had also come out to join in with what was a unique sing-along.
What was less palatable, once again, was the vast numbers of press cameras that were trained on the revelers – all hoping the mood would turn as dark as the skies to ensure their headlines – many of which had no doubt already been half-written. Where the Queen Victoria was Marseille’s ‘zoo’, Tavern Flamande and Le Napoleon was where all the press vultures were now circling.
Along with a myriad of French locals, I found a brother and sister, part of Lille’s Muslim community – her wearing a traditional hijab, but both wearing beaming smiles as they were made to feel part of the party. They were even joining in with the songs. Welsh fans were being held aloft on the shoulders of England fans… But the cameras were turned off.
I mingled and chatted with the fans, all were looking forward to the game in Lens the next day, but all were wary of what could happen later in the evening.
The game between Slovakia and Russia had started so hooked back up with Billy who I’d left in a hotel bar desperately trying to upload the second part of our video blog from Marseille – the French wifi had been shocking throughout our trip it has to be said. It was frustrating, as we wanted to get out videos up quicker… we got there in the end though… as you will see by clicking the link below.
Some more of our mates joined us straight off of Megabus or train connections during the half time break, with Marc and Reg, two Sheffield United fan pals, agreeing we could dump our bags at their AirB&B close to Republic, before later heading to a bar to watch the France-Albania game with the locals. Our own hotel was miles out of town, in a motorway service station closer to Lens… but we’d worry about getting there later. Much later.
With Russian and Slovak fans arriving back in town after their game, the vibe had clearly changed… I chatted to fans from both nations about the match as they came into the hotel bar where we were, with the Slovaks delighted with the win… However, fans of four nations were now mixing in close city-centre proximity… it was a powder keg situation… But would sparks fly again?
All of a sudden there was a massive bang several blocks away from Flanders station, the same noise that had signaled the Russian attack inside Stade Vélodrome. Trouble was brewing… and it didn’t take long for the first sniff of tear gas to arrive. This was a far, far stronger vintage than the Provence style. Sadly, I felt I was becoming a connoisseur.
I was stunned by the attitude of several Russian fans I spoke to, who claimed to be oblivious to why there was repeated confrontations. Scared to tell the truth? Probably.
Things became chaotic again, with groups of men running this way and that, as well as the disturbing sight of an England fan collapsed on the road-side having had an epileptic fit. A group of us tried to move him to safety and comfort him before I ran over to get some medical help. Fortunately, with so many emergency service personnel around, he got the right attention pretty quickly.
I’m sure he was alright, as was Stan Collymore, who had been ‘running with the bulls’ and Periscoping live as fans chased around the streets… a slightly bizarre situation we all agreed, with social media voyeurism taking a new dimension and the former footballer risking running the gauntlet for reasons best known to himself.
To be honest we’d had enough of this toxic atmosphere, and like the vast majority of England fans, we headed away from the centre, in search of a Lille unaffected by the riot police and disorder. Some find safety in numbers – while others head away from the crowds completely. But that’s what most had done in Marseille, only for the trouble to find them regardless.
Marc and Reg’s AirB&B was stunning, but because of the booze ban, illogically, we weren’t allowed to be served wine and beer in the supermarket opposite to drink in the flat… So we headed to a great bar called L’Alchemiste on Boulevard Jean-Baptiste Lebas, where we watched France waste chance after chance, but end the night with a two-goal bang.
The locals drove past beeping their horns in continental style celebration, while we found a Chippy and contemplated how the hell we were going to find our way to Henin Beaumont where our digs for the night were.
After all, we had a big day ahead of us.
Dave Lane
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