It wasn’t the first time I’d shed tears over Hillsborough, but this time it was different. I’d wept with rage on the evening of the disaster but after that my eyes were dry. At least in public. I’d sob silently in the night, though, usually in anger and shame. It was invariably in the aftermath of a social encounter when someone said: “Come on, just admit it, drunks broke down the gates and...
Anne Williams was the relentless Hillsborough campaigner who changed my life
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