A middle-aged man, holding his young grandchild wrapped up in a white blanket, stood on the front doorstep to see what was going on. Twenty-five minutes before the 11.00 a.m. kick-off, two RUC motorcycle outriders fronting a convoy of seven Ulsterbuses carrying the Linfield fans arrived at the junction of Cliftonville Avenue.
Supporters got off the first bus and shuffled uncertainly towards the centre of the road. One hundred yards down the street small knots of Cliftonville supporters stood watching disinterestedly. Between them was first a line of television cameramen and reporters and then a further line of RUC officers. Police dogs barked loudly in a transit van parked on the side of the street. One by one the other buses emptied until there were around 300 Linfield fans, the vast majority of them men and boys, lined up in front of the buses. A few minutes later, as growing confidence in these unusual surroundings rippled through their ranks, the first rendition of the "Billy Boys" went up and they began to file down the small side street towards the entrance for away fans. They were escorted into the ground by well over a hundred policemen and within 10 minutes all the Linfield fans were inside Solitude, the North Belfast home of Cliftonville, for the first time since April 4th, 1970. This is what it took to ensure that a football match was played in Belfast on a Saturday morning in 1998. Amid all the hype here of the last few days - all the talk of a return to normality and the wider symbolic significance of the occasion - the incredible scale of the security operation required to play this game of football seems to have been lost. It's as if there is an implicit acceptance that all local football occasions of this nature have to be policed in the same high-profile way and that if they're not the entire structure of football here will crumble.
This is not to say that the significance of what happened at Solitude last Saturday should be lost. The banning of Linfield from Solitude since the disturbances in the streets around the ground that followed that 1970 Irish Cup final against Ballymena has had a dramatic effect. In those 28 years Cliftonville have had to play all their "home" League games against Linfield across the city in Windsor Park. That adds up to 31 "home" League games that they have played away in that period. It was a constant irritant to Cliftonville supporters and fuelled a keenly developed sense of paranoia that spawned their famous "nobody likes us and we don't care" chant. The wider concern was that it was Cliftonville who were being punished for events and a set of circumstances that were not of their making in any shape or form. In the vast half-full stands of Windsor Park the Cliftonville supporters were often an insignificant presence, drowned out by the much larger numbers of home fans.
But even on Saturday they were complaining that the return of Linfield had not been handled in an even-handed way.
First there was the issue of the early kick-off with grumblings that, as in the past, it was Cliftonville once again who were forced by the RUC to make special arrangements. Then there was the question of the ticket allocation - just 1,000 for the home fans and 500 for the Linfield support. The Cliftonville manager, Marty Quinn, was already looking forward to the next meeting at Solitude in January and the prospect of unrestricted numbers being allowed to attend. "It would generate a wonderful atmosphere, but obviously this is a matter which must be seriously considered by the police and all concerned. We had to turn a lot of people away today."
Saturday's restrictions, though, had led in turn to a boycott by the Linfield supporters' clubs protesting at their small allocation. No protest here is complete without its own special counterprotest.
"Obviously we would like a lot more of our fans to come with us," said Linfield manager, David Jeffrey, afterwards. "But that's obviously down the legislators, the clubs and of course the security forces." Normal service, it would appear, has not yet been resumed.
The entire occasion was shot through with some deliciously ironic moments. One was the way in which the Cliftonville players lined up a little self-consciously to applaud the Linfield players on to the Solitude pitch. Whether this gesture was the subject of much discussion beforehand is unknown, but there was little doubt that some seemed to be enjoying the experience a lot less than others. Then there was the bizarre sight of players from both sides kicking footballs in the direction of the opposing fans. One Cliftonville player apparently incurred the ire of his management by handing the ball through the fence to an eager young home supporter rather than trudging down towards the welcoming arms of the away fans. The game itself was full of all the predictable bluster and blunder that characterises Irish League football and the first 20 anxious minutes passed painfully slowly. Two goals and a sending-off enlivened the second half and stoked some of the old sectarian fires.
The interesting thing about last Saturday is whether it's the start or the end of something. The precedent has now been set. It remains to be seen whether the football authorities here will now go further and act to make grounds here palatable places to visit.
In a week when there were British government proposals to make racist taunts a criminal offence in England, will they act in a similarly decisive way against sectarian chants here? Despite the set-piece, vaguely surreal, feeling to the whole proceedings there were a few incidents at the end of the game that lent a strange kind of dignity to this most unusual of mornings in North Belfast. As the Linfield players trudged off they applauded first their own supporters, and then the home support as they walked past them on the way to the dressingrooms. David Jeffrey, having been interviewed by the man from Sky News (when was the last time they took any interest in an Irish League game?) followed his players a few minutes later.
A vociferous and combative competitor during his playing days at Windsor Park, Jeffrey has long been a hate figure for opposing fans, none more so than those from Cliftonville. For a few seconds it wasn't clear how he was going to be received. Then, unprompted, he raised his hands to clap the Cliftonville supporters, mouthing "thank you" to them all the way across the pitch. Some didn't appreciate the gesture and let him know it. But a much larger number responded with loud applause of their own.
For those few brief moments it could have been a normal football occasion. Then the announcement came over the tannoy that the RUC had ordered that no Cliftonville supporters would be allowed to leave the ground for 15 minutes until the buses carrying their Linfield counterparts had been escorted out of the area and back across the city. Almost normal, but not quite.
