“I fell in love with you,
The last waltz will last forever,
It’s all over now, nothing left to say,
Just the Gills at the Rainham End singing,
Naa naa naa na-na-na-naaa
Na-na-na-naaa,
The Gills!”

The Last Waltz

“Do you fancy going to Sheffield at the weekend?”

“Sounds nice. I’ve never been to Sheffield.”

“Great! Gills are playing Rotherham on Saturday, so we can go the match, then have a night out in Sheffield with Sam and Dave.”

Well, I walked right into that one.

It was the early noughties, and early days in my relationship with The Man of Kent. We were both studying at Nottingham, and Gillingham FC were in the Championship.

At that time, I was young, and naïve, and my soul was not yet battered from years of consoling a long-suffering Gills fan. The Man of Kent would occasionally sing the old football chant, ‘In your Northern slums’, at me in those days – in good humour, of course. Despite this, I would accompany him to away games that weren’t too far from Nottingham, because Gillingham FC is one of the great loves of his life.

I remember a friend assuring me once that The Man of Kent “is a good egg.” This friend hadn’t met The Man of Kent at the time, so I asked how he could possibly know. My friend answered immediately and confidently, “Because he supports his local team – not everyone does.”

That’s true, on both counts. The Man of Kent is a good egg. He’s also not one of those glory hunters who were born and bred in Medway, but pledge allegiance to Man United or Liverpool or some other Premier League side. No. He is a staunch supporter of the Gills. He and his Dad attend every home game at Priestfield. Of course, like any football fan, he has threatened not to renew his season ticket after a run of poor performances, fumed for hours over a dodgy refereeing decision, and contributed a fair amount of salty post-match analysis to online fan forums. But he is Gillingham through and through. A true Shouting Man. Literally so on match days.

Following the Gills

Being in a relationship with The Man of Kent means being in a relationship with Gillingham FC, and living on the endless emotional rollercoaster that supporting Medway’s only Football League team involves. It means providing tea and sympathy after a crap game. It means that “must be within walking distance of Priestfield Stadium” is a key criterion when you buy a house together. And sometimes, it means following Gillingham FC yourself – over land and sea and Swindon – as the terrace chant goes.

So I went to Rotherham that time. I don’t remember much about the match, but I do remember the away stand at Millmoor being a corrugated iron shack, and that there was a van near the ground selling lamb balti pasties. Even The Man of Kent admits that he remembers “very little” about that particular game. We had a great night out in Sheffield afterwards, though.

Rotherham is not the only place to which I have followed the Gills. I have followed them over land to Derby, Leicester (excellent tuck shop) and Port Vale (freezing even by my standards). I have driven from Newcastle to Wolverhampton in a last-minute, Richard-Curtis-movie-style dash to watch Gills play in a League Cup match before Christmas. In lockdown, I followed the Gills on the telly as The Man of Kent watched every match on iFollow. That’s also how I became acquainted with the superb Gills in the Blood TV, the ausgezeichnet German Gills (Los Geht’s Gills!) and the excellent ME7 Podcast. I have even followed the Gills to Wembley, where we saw them win the 2009 League Two play-off final with a glorious, last-minute goal against Shrewsbury.

And of course, I have watched Gillingham at Priestfield, the Home of the Shouting Men, several times.

So when the opportunity arose to do a tour of The Man of Kent’s spiritual home, tickets were booked immediately.

It was flipping brilliant.

More on the tour in a second. First, let me tell you a bit about the club’s links with my home – the North East.

Scarth, Bruce, and the epic relegation of Sunderland

As a Geordie living in Medway, I love hearing about Gillingham FC’s connections to the North East. Some of the club’s most successful players hail from there. Club legend Jimmy Scarth, scorer of the fastest hat-trick in history until 2004 (Gillingham v Leyton Orient, 1 November 1952) was born in North Shields. Steve Bruce, player of the year 1979/80 and over 200 appearances for the club, was born in Corbridge.

Most famously, Gillingham were responsible for relegating Sunderland to Division Three for the first time ever in the 1987 play-off final, much to the delight of the many Newcastle fans who had infiltrated Roker Park that day.

I remember finding out about this when I introduced The Man of Kent to my Uncle Phil back home in Gateshead. Uncle Phil asked The Man of Kent if he followed football. The Man of Kent, always a bit diffident about Gills when discussing them far away from home, said, “I support Gillingham. I don’t know if you know them?” Uncle Phil, a lifelong Toon Army fan, exclaimed, “Gillingham? They’re famous around here! They got Sunderland relegated one year.”

Much of the credit for sending Sunderland down goes to Tony Cascarino, another Gillingham legend, who scored five goals over the course of the two-leg play-off, including a hat-trick at Priestfield. Speaking to the club, Cascarino said of the home leg, “If you asked me for my greatest night at Gillingham I would probably go for that game.”

If you’re interested in reading more about that match, the Roker Report has a great write-up (including video footage). The Mag has an entertaining piece from one of the Newcastle gloaters who was at Roker Park on that fateful day.

Another North East connection is the film, The Shouting Men. A must-see for any Gills supporter, it tells the story of an unlikely group of fans as they travel to St James’s Park to see Gillingham play Newcastle United in the FA Cup. (And if you like football films, watch Purely Belter – a great movie about two young lads desperately trying to get enough money to buy a Newcastle season ticket).

An evening tour of Priestfield

A bit of history about Gillingham FC. It was founded at the Napier Arms on Britton Street in 1893, and originally called New Brompton FC. It changed its name to Gillingham FC in 1913, and joined the Football League in 1920. American owners, Brad and Shannon Galinson, took over the club in December 2022.

The club’s motto is Domus Clamantium, which is Latin for ‘the home of the shouting men’. The Rainham End fans are reportedly some of the noisiest in the country. The team’s mascots are Kent horses, Tommy and Tammy Trewblu.

The tour started off in The Factory, Priestfield’s bar. First off was a look at the Great Hall and Piano Bar, and a nosey into the corporate boxes. Then it was up and out into the Medway Stand for an entertaining talk on club history, statistics and anecdotes from our guides.

We heard about some of the changes brought to the club by the Galinsons. The new LED advertising boards, financed by Brad and Shannon, have been a major source of revenue for the club. Brad and Shannon are also keen to keep attention focussed on results and not risk damaging the club’s reputation with media ventures; they turned down an offer to make a ‘Welcome to Wrexham’ style documentary about the Gills, citing concerns that it would be a distraction from efforts to improve the club’s performance. 

A fun fact; the record attendance at Priestfield was 23,002 in 1948, for a match against Queen’s Park Rangers. Pretty impressive when you consider that match attendance for home games averaged 6,888 in 2024/25.

Some other fun facts. The player with the most appearances for the Gills is goalkeeper Ron Hillyard (655 appearances over 17 years for the club). The first Gillingham player to appear in a World Cup was Brent Sancho, who played for Trinidad and Tobago in 2006 while he was also a central defender for the Gills. The most goals scored by the Gills in one season was 90 over 46 matches in 1973/74. Sadly, it’s been a while since the Shouting Men have seen that many goals, but this stat proves Gills have managed 90 goals once, so they could do it again! 

The infamous Brian Moore Stand

“You’re not taking a picture of that, are you?” exclaimed one of the chaps on the tour as I was taking a photo of the Brian Moore Stand. I certainly was. It’s a Medway landmark.

According to The Man of Kent, “Ask any football fan in the country what they know about Gillingham, and it will be that bloody stand.”

The Brian Moore Stand is the longest-serving temporary stand in the country, having been there since 2003 when the Town End stand was demolished. At this rate, chances are that the Brian Moore Stand will outlast me. It was named after the noted football commentator, Brian Moore, a lifelong Gillingham supporter and one-time director of the club.

The Brian Moore Stand is uncovered on all sides, leaving fans completely exposed to the elements. Consequently, it is not regarded affectionately by away supporters, who are always seated there.

Trip Advisor reviews of the stand are comical. “On a wet windy day there can be no more miserable place in the country to watch league football,” says one. “Coldest ground we have ever been too [sic]” says another, “This was early May…as soon as sun went behind stand it was like siberia so take a coat.” (Coldest ground ever? They’ve obviously never been to Vale Park – I had to defrost my feet for a solid 20 minutes before I could drive home after watching Gills there). Another complaining about the chilly conditions laments, “I had to get a bovril to hold against my chest to keep warm.”

I sympathise with all these reviewers having had some grim away experiences myself, but they seem to have missed a key point – away fans are not meant to be comfortable!

Backstage at Priestfield

After the Medway Stand, it was time to see the behind-the-scenes part of the club. We got to sit in the press room (which felt very Ted Lasso!) and fire some questions at Phill Catterick, the club’s director of communications. We saw the recruitment team’s space, but sadly not the manager’s office, because the boss was in there at the time. I’m guessing the club didn’t fancy letting 20 enthusiastic Gills fans have an impromptu chat about tactics with Mr Ainsworth. We heard about the ‘recruitment funnel’ approach to deciding who to sign for the team, and saw the rest of the staff offices.

Interestingly, we learned that Brad and Shannon have moved their offices onto the same floor as the rest of the staff, so that they can be closely involved in the day-to-day operations of the club. The Galinsons have talked openly about how much they are enjoying being part of the Gills and life in Kent, and been quick to meet the fans and pitch in on local projects. Personally, I think it’s a great credit to them that they spend so much time here when they could be sunning themselves on a beach in their home state of Florida (Gillingham doesn’t offer much in the way of sun, sea and sand).

Players’ dressing rooms and the missing Max Ehmer

Next up, the dressing rooms. An experience of two halves. The away dressing room hummed with the stink of decades of sweaty shirts, damp mud and unwashed football socks. I’d suggest it needs a thorough clean but I don’t think any amount of hot and soapy water could remove the stench baked into those walls. Definitely not a pleasant experience for away players.

The home dressing room was much cleaner, but still grey, windowless and uninspiring. I’m sure it’s got a better atmosphere on match days when you can hear the crowd outside. The players’ shirts were hung around the room, and many photos were taken, with everyone mad-keen to get a snap of themselves next to the shirt of their favourite player. Bradley Dack’s shirt was a popular choice for pictures. Eagle-eyed tour members spotted that one shirt was missing – that of club captain, Max Ehmer. When asked why Ehmer’s shirt wasn’t hanging up, our guide replied simply, “He’s no longer at the club.” That much was obvious to Gills fans who hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Ehmer for weeks, but this was the first time anyone from the club had actually said as much. Ehmer’s departure was finally confirmed last week.

After that, a quick scoot past the boot room, and then the big moment…

Onto the hallowed pitch

We lined up in the tunnel, and walked out onto the pitch with The Last Waltz playing and the sun streaming over the ground, the Rainham End looking golden in the evening light. Spine-tingling and uplifting. Everyone got to sit in the manager’s box for a photo, and then – naturally – exit via the club shop.

It was an excellent tour and I learned loads. However, one important question remained unanswered: will The Factory ever get self-service pints?

Keeping the faith

Brad Gallison has called Gillingham FC “a sleeping giant.” I’m not persuaded the giant’s awake yet; it seems to keep hitting the snooze button.

But seriously, it’s easy to joke about Gillingham’s football performance. I myself have endured my fair share of dull, lifeless games where no amount of encouragement/criticism/screaming from the fans seems to motivate the team. At time of writing, Gills have finished the season 17^th in League Two, safe from relegation, but it’s been a pretty dispiriting season overall.

But. But. Despite all the club’s up and downs, there is something about sitting in the Rainham End on a crisp autumn afternoon, twilight setting in over Medway, watching the Gills. The camaraderie, community, and solidarity among the fans. The thunderous roars of celebration when they score, the shared recrimination if they lose, the haunting refrain of The Last Waltz rising from the stands…

It’s only a game, but it’s much more than a game. It’s faith, hope, excitement, belief, confidence, anticipation, rage, heartbreak, desperation, devastation, jubilation, nausea, disappointment, relief, and euphoria, all in 90 minutes.

It might be the hope that kills you, as the old saying goes, but it’s the faith that keeps you going. Hope of glory, and faith in the dream, whether that’s lifting the FA Cup at Wembley, or simply getting out of League Two.

If the sleeping giant could wake up properly, some of those dreams might just come true…