It started in Iceland - how seven loyal fans got ball rolling on Jack's Army journey 

Forty years on from the famous Icelandic 'triangular tournament', John Fallon organised a reunion of those who were there, including a couple of the players.

Reykjavik reunion: (L-R): Shay Blair, Niall Quinn, Mick Donnelly, Gerry Conway, Aidan Cullen and Pat Byrne.

What spawned into Jack’s Army started at the Salvation Army.

Forty years have passed since the remote setting of Laugardalsvöllur in Reykjavik hosted the first stopover of the Charlton era.

A mere 4,246 were there to witness the 2-1 win over Iceland, the first victory of a golden period in Irish football.

The second, two days later against Czechoslovakia, ensured Ireland won a triangular tournament their players had never heard of until the manager decided late in the season to enter.

Two home games – a defeat to Wales and draw with Uruguay – had failed to appease those sceptical of Charlton’s appointment but this triumph, even without the ditched Dave O’Leary, was eventually traced as the catalyst for three major tournament appearances over the next eight years.

Alongside the footballing story was the tale of a movement; a legion of fans putting their lives on hold to back the team’s progress in person to Germany, Italy and eventually USA in 1994.

Where it all began, so to speak, was Iceland but in attendance observing were only seven travelling supporters from Ireland.

Around this summer’s anniversary, the Irish Examiner sought to track down the original cast, unearthing a story of friendship, adventure and national pride, tinged by grief.

Their escapades in visiting and surviving the Reykjavik trip are legendary but the legacy is the lifelong bond created through their travels.

Of the seven, two passed away, one tragically two years later at just 24, leaving five alive and kicking. Bar Charlie Hurst, away in Canada, we managed to reunite the crew of Gerry Conway, Shay Blair, Aidan Cullen and Mick Donnelly.

We even brought along some familiar faces to share memories.

Niall Quinn and Pat Byrne represented the changing guard in Charlton’s squad.

One a teen earning his first cap, the other entering his 30s, confronting the realities of his final cap.

A proper roundtable chat scheduled for an hour effortlessly doubled in duration as the conversation flowed, each yarn trumping the previous for entertainment.

Quinn would have 15,000 fans chanting his name at the 1990 World Cup in Palermo for scoring the famous equaliser against Netherlands but hasn’t forgotten the few hailing his introduction as a sub for Frank Stapleton.

Ironically, the backdrop to the chatter was a television perched high in the corner displaying another Irishman creating history on the global stage, Pico Lopes.

Best to depict the preceding chronicles through their own words.

The Irish party in Reykjavik with their Carlsberg 'Elephant' beer

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Aidan Cullen had a 'health scare' on that trip, for which he wasn't entirely blameless himself. Though it also helped bring fans and players together.

Pat Byrne: Ah, we thought you were dead?

Aidan Cullen: No, I was only taking a day off.

PB: Liam O’Brien and I were so worried about your health that we took you into our hotel room. We weren’t sure if you were still breathing when the other lads came along and took you back to your hotel.

Gerry Conway: Hotel? That’s the first time I’ve heard the Salvation Army described as such.

PB: It was only when we were warming up before the Iceland game that I saw Aidan in the crowd, relieved he was still above ground. A bit like Irish football, we were witnessing a resurrection.

Niall Quinn: How did you end up staying at the Salvation Army?

GC: Now that’s a long story. Iceland’s reputation for being expensive meant we each brought a tent apiece with us but there was nowhere to camp. In our desperation, we travelled straight to the team hotel, arriving soaked to the skin from a deluge of rain.

Out of the lift comes the local priest and nun, having attended a Legion of Mary service, and they immediately recommended the nearby Salvation Army for refuge.

To them, £12 per night was the best value around. This was 40 years ago and we’d stayed in cheaper hotels but this was the only option. We made the best we could of it but the only problem was the beer ban.

Mick Donnelly: How could we forget that? 

Beer was officially illegal in Iceland until 1989, a byproduct of the country’s struggle for independence from Denmark. An airport anomaly presented an opportunity.

GC: By some quirk, we were only allowed to buy 23 cans at Duty Free so the airport police went around each of us removing one from our crates. Those slabs were soon covered by tricolours to smuggle them into our digs.

BEER BOUGHT: L-R: John O'Reilly (RIP), Gerry Conway, Aidan Cullen, Mick Donnelly and Shay Blair. Front: Charlie Hurse. Pic taken by Bertie Sampson (RIP)

AC: That beer was so nice that I ended up in hospital with alcohol poisoning, nearly missing the first game.

Shay Blair: You gave us a fright.

GC: It had been a long journey, taking the ferry from Larne to Stranraer and onto Glasgow for the flight.

When Gabriel Egan from RTÉ radio was interviewing us at the hotel, Aido got the shivers and asked for a coat. We knew he was in bother.

MD: He was rigid when we got him back. It would have been easier to move him had he been rubber.

The fella on reception was a double of Hitler, watching anything that moved, forcing us to detour up the back stairs.

The hostel was full of sleeping fishermen up at dawn, so we had to be quiet. It didn’t quite work out that way.

Meanwhile, at the team Loftleidir hotel, someone else was fishing. Corkman Pat O’Brien had recently risen to the office of FAI President and took umbrage at a media report conveying disquiet in the camp about the early throes of the managerial era.

NQ: When I got called to my first FAI meeting, I presumed it was from Jack but he was nowhere to be seen, unaware of its existence.

The FAI President was waving a copy of the Irish Times in the air, ranting over an anonymous player moaning about Jack. You must recall our squad had plenty of English-born players who were looking at each other, both bemused at this probe and at a loss to understand his dialect.

Eventually, the tension was broken by Pat’s passionate promise. “There’s allegations being made here - and I’m going to get the alligator.” That was the cue for the room to erupt in laughter. I don’t think his detective work uncovered the suspect and we never looked back.

SB: I must admit, the only thing we knew about you (Quinn) before the trip was scoring for Dublin’s minor hurlers at Croke Park.

NQ: You’re not the only one. When I reported for duty on the night before our flight to Iceland, Jack asked his assistant Maurice Setters if we’d really picked this tall bloke. I went checking to see if they’d made a mistake and I was with the U21s but he was only winding me up.

You always remember the first trip. I was rooming with the late Mick Robinson, going to sleep to the sound of him taking off his gold rings, chains and Rolex watch.

Frank Stapleton was my hero but the first I heard from him was an angry direction to get my nails cut because he didn’t take kindly to being grappled with in the opening training session.

I ended up coming on for him for my debut and replaced him in the starting team for the second match. Memorable occasions, even more so when the first touch on my first start was tipping off with Miss World.

Kevin Moran and Mick Kennedy compete with an Icelandic player during the win in Reykjavik. Pic via Lansdowne Road Facebook

After beating Iceland 2-1 through goals by Paul McGrath and Gerry Daly, a late finish by sub Stapleton against Czechoslovakia secured Ireland their first-ever trophy.

Any national shame from the Icelandic loss was countered by the euphoria of Hólmfríður Karlsdóttir claiming the Miss World crown that same week. Part of her prize for glory was tiptoeing onto the rugged surface amid the stare of 22 players to get their international ‘final’ underway.

Low-key celebrations at the stadium were followed by revelry when players discovered the stash of booze within the possession of their hardcore support. The first party of the Charlton regime was born.

GC: As the midnight curfew passed by the time we got back after the match, there were us banging the Salvation Army door down. Then, a passing taxi containing Paul McGrath, Liam O’Brien and John Anderson stops, inviting us and our gargle back to the hotel. There were some interesting chats deep into the night.

MD: Yeah, sure I told Charlton that O’Leary was right because he was only an afterthought. He wasn’t picked in the squad initially.

GC: He got an earful too from Stapleton. Frank was whining at being left out for Niall, maintaining any other 10 players could be picked once he, as captain, was selected. The manager had enough and went to bed.

NQ: Jack wouldn’t tolerate that. Dave lost 30 caps during the period he missed. People forget the Liverpool players didn’t travel to Iceland either. But they were cute, whereas Dave told Jack where to go. Liam (Brady) retired after he was substituted against Germany a few years later.

Jack Charlton, accompanied by Joe Delaney, assistant honorary treasurer of the FAI, arrives at Dublin airport four days after his appointment as Republic of Ireland manager in 1986. Photo by Ray McManus/Sportsfile

PB: What I admired about Jack was his directness but I didn’t like the way Liam was treated.

NQ: Mick Kennedy took just one trip to fall out with Jack too.

MD: I’d almost forgotten about him. He made his mark on that Czech player.

NQ: He sure did, smashing his teeth out.

Kennedy, a teak-tough midfielder from Portsmouth, won his only two senior Ireland caps in Iceland. On his second, his elbow into Milan Luhovy’s face angered Charlton to such an extent that he substituted him.

NQ: Mick celebrated with us but went missing around 4am. He headed upstairs to bang on the Jack’s hotel-room door, complaining at being humiliated. We never saw him again.

GC: It was also the last trip for Mick Robinson but he told us a brilliant story.

John O’Reilly reminded Mick about a Shoot Magazine interview, in which he said his ambition was to meet Ron Greenwood giving him his first England cap.

Mick smiled as the focus turned on him but he was happy to set the record straight.

Because the famous Preston North End legend Alan Kelly, then goalkeeper coach, threatened to resign if they released Mick, he got a 12-month extension. From that point his career soared and he felt a duty to Alan to declare for Ireland.

When he was picked in the England B squad and Ireland senior squad simultaneously, the decision was made. He stressed that the proudest day of his life wasn’t scoring for Liverpool but when his parents saw him make his debut against France at Lansdowne Road.

SB: Poor John O’Reilly, Lord rest his soul.

GC: Within two years he was dead, killed by a car when travelling home from supporting his beloved Bohemians in Derry. We still miss him, as we do Bertie Sampson, who passed away in his 60s.

Daylight was scarce enough in the Nordic region to disorientate the celebrants but the tummy rumblings informed them of breakfast beckoning. The only blocker was their scant means remaining until a shining light emerged in the form of Gerry Daly.

GC: We cobbled enough for one burger between us but then Gerry told us to charge seven breakfasts to his room. He was in great form, beaming that the FAI were making an exception by granting him a testimonial before he reached 50 caps.

NQ: He didn’t get that testimonial in the end. Things moved in a different direction.

That they did, with one tournament rolling into another. Ascoreless draw in Hungary kept Ireland motoring towards their first World Cup in 1990 but Cork’s Marcus O’Sullivan was under the mistaken belief the fanbase were in Budapest for his 1500m gold medal.

AC: Because we arrived three days early for the match, there was a chance to attend the indoor World Championships.

All we required were tickets but we ended up with the best seats in the house overlooking the track’s finish line.

GC: The Irish athletics coaches in the hotel, seeing us our green attire, advised that security weren’t checking for photo accreditation as the wind meant runners were keeping them behind their t-shirts walking in.

Equipped with laces around our zipped tracksuit necks, we ambled into the bowels in the stadium, security welcoming us on the way, and directly into the warm-up area.

The small travelling Irish party ended up on the front page of Icelandic newspaper Morgunbladid.

AC: Next thing, I look over my shoulder and there was the legendary Olympic champion Saïd Aouita, standing behind with his hands on his hips. I started doing a few stretches as well to fit in. As far as anyone was concerned, I was Team Ireland.

GC: Once inside the main arena, we sat beside the GB and USA athletes, watching Marcus romp to gold. He even came over afterwards, thanking us for making the trip.

Team Ireland, on the football front, were sashaying through qualifiers, captivating the nation and exponentially swelling the coterie of fans onboard. Gerry Conway was recovering from a broken leg – sustained playing a five-a-side in Malta before the World Cup – when Ireland faced the Dutch in the final group game in 1990. While he was sat behind the Ireland bench, his colleagues were at the end Quinn outstretched his leg to punish Hans van Breukelen’s fumble.

SB: Qualifying for the World Cup was brilliant but getting out of the group was beyond our expectations. All we’d been used to from travelling the team around Europe was getting the odd draw.

NQ: That was a draw too.

SB: But it was our best-ever draw.