It was a case of thank you for the memories, said Daniel Gardner, 35, from Catterick. A win would have been nice.
Well, better than nice, he admitted. It would have reset the clock on the years of hurt since the last major trophy for the men’s team (it will be 60 by the time of the next World Cup) and elevated new heroes alongside Bobby Moore, the Charlton brothers and Geoff Hurst.
But in England’s loss 2-1 to Spain, there was some gain for the 50,000 England supporters in Berlin. “For me, giving the kids this experience is the most important thing,” said Gardner of his sons, Jacob, 14, and Elliot, 12.
Chris Dempster, 44, from Darlington, hale and hearty, had not even considered defeat to Spain but he was sanguine. “I said when he was born that we could come to a final,” said Dempster of his son Frankie, 12. “Getting here is what matters.”
The two families had decided after England’s winning performance against the Dutch in the semis to embark on a road trip from the north-east of England on Friday evening to arrive in Berlin, weatherworn, but in good time for kick-off. “They’ll remember it,” said Gardner of the children.
The grand finale of the European Championship at the Olympiastadion in Berlin had been an opportunity, yes, to rewrite England’s national story of hope repeatedly dashed, but it had also been an all-too-rare chance to create more personal lifelong memories and anecdotes to share for years to come. That, at least, was secured.
It is a stereotype that it is also true that an England men’s game can be an excuse for young men to cut loose. That was the case for much of Sunday on the riverbank near Murphy’s Irish bar by the Weidendammer Bridge, where Friedrichstraße crosses the Spree in the central Mitte district of the German capital.
There are countries whose support loves nothing more than a fanzone, the sterile Disneyland football experience of big screens and DJs, but that is not the England way.
It was acknowledged by the German police that England fans would accumulate at the most convenient Irish bar in the centre of the city, and so they did – and it was not always pretty.
An online headline for a report by the German tabloid De Bild on Sunday read: “England fans drink, pee, and fight”.
In the hours before kick-off, there were chants of “10 German bombers”, the unfortunately catchy song about “the English RAF” shooting down planes, and it was a sad truth that riot police had to be on hand throughout.
It was also true that this was just one part of the story.
England games of this scale, and it has not got any bigger than the country’s second Euros final, are also about family, identity and memories.
England flags claimed ownership of patches on both banks of the Spree near Murphys, each shouting out the identity of their owners. Arsenal away. Brentford. Castle Brown. Chesterfield FC. The Reeky boys NN1, whoever they may be.
These are the platoons of England’s travelling support but it is the family that is the origin of “the little platoon we belong to in society”, the philosopher Edmund Burke had said.
It was notable just how many of those had travelled to Berlin; young parents with boys and girls in hand, but also fathers in their 50s and 60s with grownup sons and daughters, hoping that Gareth Southgate’s team could curate some special moments for them.
Eight hours before kick-off and Mike Burrow, 42, from Wigan, had been walking his son George, five, just as close to the Olympiastadion as the scaffolding of barriers erected by Uefa would allow.
“United by Football”, the ever-present marketing shouted. Well, maybe. “We are just soaking in the atmosphere,” said Burrow, who has lived in Germany for more than a decade and is married to a local woman.
He had on the white of England while George, licking on an ice lolly, was in the red away strip in which Bobby Moore lifted the World Cup trophy in 1966.
They did not have tickets but had wanted in on the action, Burrow explained. Not that there were many people around the stadium on Berlin’s leafy outskirts at this hour.
Are you excited, Burrow asked of his son? There was a little shake of the head and another lick of the lolly.
It felt a bit like dad had written the schedule for the day. “We will have a little walk around here and then go into the city,” said Burrow. “Probably get a bit overwhelmed by all the people and go back home,” he said with a laugh. “I think we could just nick it. But my first memory of a tournament is Italy in 90 so … Not been a lot of success.”
At kick-off, the white of England must have covered four-fifths of the Olympiastadion, with pockets evident even in the Spanish end. Among them were Lewis Garratty, 25, an accountant from Blackburn, and his father, Peter, 62, who had sourced a couple of tickets for the final through a website for £1,500 each.
With them on the adventure was Craig Duncan, 57, who owns an estate agent now but who once served on HMS Avenger with Peter Garratty during their Royal Navy days, and his son, Tom, 28, a recruitment consultant.
Why do it? “Well, it’s my son,” he said. “I had my experiences, I went to Italia 90 – won tickets from the Saint and Greavsie show, funnily enough.”
Before the game, Ashley Creed, 33, a builder, from Dicot, Oxfordshire, had been looking over at the Weidendammer Bridge and the singing supporters spilling out from Murphy’s.
Creed was holding the hand of his son Mason, eight, and with them was Ashley’s father, Anthony, 62, also a builder. Three generations on tour and some at home still did not think it was enough. “My dad was gutted that he couldn’t come and he is 86,” Anthony Creed said.
Why had they travelled all this way as a family? It had cost them £2,000 each for a ticket to the final. “Our time has come,” said Creed. “I haven’t seen it, my dad hasn’t seen it but my son might get the chance to see it.”
Unfortunately, the script had not been shared with the Spanish. But they will still have a story to tell.
