Millwall vs West Ham 1972 | Harry Cripps’ Testimonial Told From Both Sides

In May 1972, a testimonial match for Millwall legend, Harry Cripps, was set up by some unsuspecting numpty. What followed was much more than a football match. It was a warzone between two giants of the football hooligan world. We have a story from both perspectives, to give you some idea of what it must have been like for the warring fans. Let’s see the stories.

The Millwall Story

First we have Ex-Bushwacker Bob, who told us.”People still argue about Harry Cripps’ testimonial as though it happened last week instead of over fifty years ago. Every now and then I’ll watch one of those videos online or read comments from West Ham lads saying they “held their own” that night. I just smile and shake my head. Fair play, they came for it, and I’ll never deny that. They walked into the lion’s den when most clubs wouldn’t even come anywhere near Cold Blow Lane. But don’t tell me they held their own because that’s not how I remember it. I was twenty years old, standing in the Cold Blow Lane End with my mates, and what unfolded that evening was the biggest tear-up I’d seen before or since. The Den wasn’t just our ground back then; it was our fortress. Every step through those turnstiles belonged to Millwall, and anybody foolish enough to challenge that knew exactly what they were getting themselves into.”

“The build-up had been brewing for weeks. Word travelled quickly in those days without mobile phones or the internet. You heard things in the pubs, on the terraces or down the docks. Everyone knew West Ham were coming in numbers. They had their Mile End boys, the Treatment and a few other lively youngsters looking for reputations. We had our own lads from the Halfway Line, F-Troop and all the familiar faces who never missed a chance when West Ham were involved. We’d barely played them for years because they were in the First Division while we’d been battling away below them, so this testimonial wasn’t just a friendly. Harry Cripps deserved every bit of respect he got, but once somebody decided to invite West Ham, the football became almost secondary. The match was simply the excuse.”

Cold Blow Lane Incident

“The atmosphere outside The Den felt wrong before a ball had even been kicked. You could see groups clocking one another from streets away. Police were everywhere, but there weren’t enough of them to keep two sets of London dockers apart once things started moving. We got into the Cold Blow Lane End early, taking our usual spots, talking about whether the Hammers would actually try something or whether it was all just rumour. Then someone shouted they’d come into our end. At first I laughed because nobody in their right mind tried taking the CBL. Then I looked over and realised they actually had. There they were, packed together, maybe a couple of hundred of them, pushing into our end like they owned the place. I’ll give them one thing—they had bottle. Most away mobs in those days were happy enough standing behind police lines singing songs. These lot wanted to make a statement. For a few minutes there was complete confusion. Punches flew before people even knew who was hitting who. Bottles sailed overhead, coins, darts, bits of timber, anything that came to hand. Somebody had a snooker ball tied inside a sock swinging around like a medieval weapon. The noise wasn’t chanting anymore. It was screaming, smashing glass and the sound of bodies crashing against barriers.”

“People who weren’t there don’t understand how tight those old terraces were. Once the pushing started there was nowhere to go. I remember seeing one of the crush barriers buckle under the weight before it finally gave way. Blokes disappeared into a heap of bodies. You’d haul one mate to his feet only to find yourself dragged backwards by someone grabbing your jacket. The football carried on somewhere in the background, but hardly anybody was watching it. Even the players kept glancing towards us because the fighting was impossible to ignore.”

West Ham Forced Out

“West Ham like saying they stood their ground. Maybe for five minutes they did. I’d even give them that. They came in together and fought hard. Nobody can take that away from them. But then the rest of our lads arrived from further along the terrace. The Halfway Line came piling across, more Wall boys joined in from every direction, and suddenly the balance changed. Instead of us trying to get to them, they were the ones trying not to be swallowed up. We kept pushing and pushing until they had no choice but to give ground. That’s the bit they never mention.”

“They talk about getting into the Cold Blow Lane but leave out how they came back out again. We drove them off the terrace, through the stadium and towards the exits. The fighting spilled outside where it got even worse. Mounted police tried charging in but even the horses couldn’t separate everybody. I remember officers being pulled from the saddles, truncheons flying everywhere and people running in every direction. It wasn’t organised anymore. It was absolute bedlam stretching towards New Cross as groups kept colliding all the way down the road. Every few hundred yards another punch-up would start before somebody scattered again.”

“When it finally died down, we were battered ourselves. Split lips, black eyes, ripped shirts—you wore those injuries like medals in those days. We stood outside talking about what we’d just seen because none of us could quite believe the scale of it. We’d fought Chelsea before, Spurs before, plenty of others, but this felt different. There was genuine hatred between Millwall and West Ham, and that night lit a fuse that burned for decades afterwards. Every meeting from then on carried the memory of Harry Cripps’ testimonial somewhere in the background.”

“So whenever I hear someone say West Ham “held their own”, I don’t get angry. I just think they remember the beginning and forget the ending. They had courage, absolutely. They marched into the most dangerous end in London knowing full well what waited for them. I’d respect any man who did that. But courage doesn’t mean victory. We regrouped, we hit back, and by the end of the night they weren’t standing in the Cold Blow Lane anymore. That’s why, all these years later, every old Millwall boy I know tells exactly the same story. The Hammers came. The Hammers fought. Then the Hammers got run all the way back towards New Cross. That’s how I saw it, that’s how I’ll always remember it, and nobody’s YouTube comments are ever going to convince me otherwise.”

West Ham Perspective

West Ham old boy Bill told us….”Whenever Harry Cripps’ testimonial gets mentioned, the first thing you’ll hear from Millwall is, “You got run out of the Cold Blow Lane.” They say it with a grin, as if repeating it often enough makes it gospel. Fair enough, it’s their story. They’ve been telling it for over fifty years. But here’s the thing they always leave out. We walked into their end in the first place. Nobody forced us in there. Nobody escorted us. We went because we wanted to. Name another firm in 1972 that deliberately marched into the Cold Blow Lane End at The Den. I’ll save you the trouble—you can’t. That’s why that night is still talked about today.”

“I was nineteen and knocking about with lads from Mile End. There wasn’t an ICF back then. That came years later. We were just East End boys who followed West Ham everywhere and had no intention of letting Millwall think London belonged to them. We’d heard all the stories growing up. The Den. Cold Blow Lane. The Wall this and the Wall that. Every pub conversation made them sound untouchable. Well, none of us believed in untouchable. Respect a firm? Yes. Fear one? Never.”

“The weeks before the testimonial were full of rumours. Every train journey seemed to bring another story. Millwall were supposedly gathering everyone they could find. F-Troop, Halfway Line, dockers, locals, faces we’d heard about but never met. Some of our older lads reckoned we’d be lucky to get near the ground. Others said if we wanted to make a name for ourselves, this was the night to do it. It wasn’t a league game. It was Harry Cripps’ benefit match, but nobody I knew was talking about football. We were talking about territory.”

“As we made our way towards The Den you could already feel the tension. Everywhere you looked there were police trying to keep groups apart, but you could tell they knew they were only delaying the inevitable. Once thousands of London lads started moving at the same time, nobody was stopping anything. We got inside and someone shouted, “Come on!” That was it. No speeches. No grand plan. Just a surge towards the Cold Blow Lane. People ask me now what I was thinking. Honestly? I wasn’t thinking at all. Adrenaline does that to you. One minute you’re climbing steps, the next you’re standing in the middle of Millwall’s home end with hundreds of angry faces turning towards you. For a split second everything seemed strangely quiet. Then all hell broke loose.”

“The first few minutes were chaos. Punches from every direction. Bottles flying over our heads. Coins, bits of wood, even darts. I remember somebody swinging what looked like a sock with something heavy inside it. You didn’t have time to worry because you were already dealing with the bloke in front of you. We locked together shoulder to shoulder, trying to stop ourselves being split up. That was the key. Once your mob got broken into little groups, you were finished. Millwall had the numbers. Nobody sensible denies that. It was their ground. Their end. Their streets. More and more of them kept arriving from all sides. But here’s where I part company with their version of events. They make it sound as though we took one look and ran. Absolute rubbish. We stood there trading punches for what felt like forever. Every yard they gained cost them. Every time they thought they’d broken us, we’d bunch up again and push back. I remember seeing one section of the terrace surge forward so hard the crush barrier gave way. Bodies went everywhere. Even then, neither side stopped.”

The Street Becomes A New Battlefield

“The match itself? I couldn’t tell you much about it. I remember hearing cheers somewhere in the distance but nobody around us cared. Even the players seemed distracted because every few minutes another wave of fighting erupted behind the goal. Mounted police appeared at one point, horses trying to force people apart, but the crowd simply flowed around them. I’d never seen anything like it before, and I’ve never seen anything like it since. Eventually we were forced out of the Cold Blow Lane End. Well, what did people expect? There were hundreds of Millwall coming from every direction. But being pushed out of one terrace isn’t the same as running away. That’s the part people forget. The fighting didn’t end when we left the stand. It carried on outside the ground, down Cold Blow Lane itself, through the side streets and towards New Cross. Every time Millwall thought we’d had enough, another group of our lads turned round and stood again. It became one long running battle instead of one big fight.”

“That’s why I laugh when someone says, “West Ham got chased all the way home.” If we’d wanted to run, we’d never have gone into the Cold Blow Lane in the first place. The easy option would’ve been standing behind police lines singing songs before catching the train home. Instead we walked into the hardest end in London because we believed we belonged there as much as anybody else. You don’t do that if you’re looking for the easy life. Years later the Inter City Firm would become famous, and plenty of people assume Harry Cripps’ testimonial involved the ICF. It didn’t. Most of us were just young East End lads before all the fancy names and newspaper headlines. Maybe that’s why the night has become almost mythical. It happened before football hooliganism became organised. There were no mobile phones arranging meets. No designer clothes. No internet legends. Just instinct, pride and two sets of London supporters convinced they were the hardest around.”

“Did Millwall eventually reclaim their end? Of course they did. It would’ve been remarkable if they hadn’t. They were at home with the weight of numbers behind them. But ask yourself one question. If we were supposedly routed within minutes, why do Millwall supporters still talk about us entering the Cold Blow Lane more than half a century later? Because nobody else did it. That’s the bit that still nags at them. We walked into their backyard and refused to fold. We gave ground when we had to, but we kept fighting all the way through The Den and into their own streets. So I’ll happily let Millwall claim they won that night. Maybe, on points, they did. It was their ground and they ended up in possession of it. But don’t ever tell me West Ham didn’t stand their ground. We stood it in the one place everyone said couldn’t be done. Fifty years later they’re still talking about it. And if both sides are still arguing over who came out on top after all this time, maybe that tells you everything you need to know about what really happened at Harry Cripps’ testimonial.”

Thank You

We thank Bill and Bob for their recollections. It’s clear that West Ham were in the Cold Blow Lane at some point. It’s less clear what happened next. After this article, are we any wiser?. Nevertheless, a titanic struggle took place, that few would imagine that night, that it would still be talked about over 50 years later.

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