A new memorial to Bill Shankly is to be unveiled at his partially-restored family home in the abandoned Scottish village of Glenbuck on the occasion of the iconic Liverpool manager's 106th birthday.

A group from Liverpool supporters' union Spirit of Shankly have travelled to Liverpool on Monday for the unveiling of a heritage centre at the partly reconstructed Ayrshire mining cottage where the man widely acknowledged as having laid the foundations for the modern day Liverpool Football Club dynasty lived and grew up with his family.

It has been made possible by the Scottish Mines Restoration Trust who have worked with Ayrshire Council and native volunteers over a number of years to ensure permanent recognition for the lost village's contribution to Scotland and beyond.

Glenbuck is regarded as proportionally one of the most prolific places in the world at producing footballers considering its size, a village which at its height in the early 1900s had a population of only 1,700 people yet produced more than 50 professional players, including six Scotland internationals and four FA Cup winners.

Chief among them was Bill Shankly, who arrived at Anfield from Huddersfield Town in December 1959 and led the Reds, who had fallen on hard times after being relegated in 1954 having already won five league championships, from the wilderness and mediocrity of the Second Division back into the top flight and established the culture of hard work, unity and achievement that successive managers have sought to maintain and which has recently seen Liverpool reclaim their spot as English football's most successful club in terms of trophies won.

The Shankly family - parents Barbara and John, along with their five sons who all went on to become professional footballers - Alec, James, John Jnr, Bob and Bill (known to his family as Willie) - and five daughters - Netta, Elizabeth, Isobel, Barbara and Jean - lived in a small cottage on Miners Row in the village, which has been partly rebuilt and is where the heritage centre will be.

There will also be a second memorial to the Glenbuck Cherrypickers - the village's football team who campaigners from This Is Glenbuck are hoping to reform and whose sad demise during his teenage years meant Shankly was only able to turn out once for - close to the site of their pitch at Burnside Park, with visitors also being able to learn about the social and industrial history of the community.

Professor Russel Griggs, chairman of the Scottish Mines Restoration Trust, told The Times earlier this week: “The Shankly cottage is tiny and we have rebuilt a bit of it. We have put his memorial where the fireplace would have been.

"We want it to be a place where people come to pay tribute to Bill Shankly and then learn more about this extraordinary mining village which produced more professional footballers per head than anywhere else in the world.”

Robert Gillan, co-author of a book charting the glory days of Glenbuck, said: "There's not a place in the world that's produced more than footballers than Glenbuck, based on its population, which was never bigger than 1,700.

"It's the equivalent of a minor non-league club in London producing a quarter of a million players."

The origins of Glenbuck go back as far as the Bronze Age and between 1786 and 1813 the village thrived as a source of iron, coal and limestone deposits. Within 20 years however, production had declined and the village began to fall into disrepair and, although the development of the railway system helped more mines open and the local economy to flourish for a time, by 1933 many of the large scale ones had closed.

The local population fell in numbers with the local coal industry in terminal decline and the village school closed in 1951, the last remaining drift mine ceasing operation in 1991 by which time most of the residents had moved away and much of the village had been demolished.

The abandoned mining village of Glenbuck

Opencast mining started in Glenbuck in 1985 and continued until the sudden demise of Scottish Coal in 2013 which left many sites abandoned. As a result, the Scottish Mines Restoration Trust was set up by the Scottish government to restore 10,000 acres of opencast land which had been left abandoned and Glenbuck's unprecedented topographical features - most notably, a two square mile cliff-like section showing strata dating back hundreds of millions of years - make it a site of global geological importance.

SMRC, in parnership with East Ayrshire Council, have now restored the landscape to its current form giving Glenbuck hope for a future as a site of both archeological and footballing interest.

Shankly spoke often of how his early experiences in Glenbuck shaped his philosophy both on football and life in general and, having left school at the age of 13 in 1927, he worked down the mines for the equivalent of 12 and a half pence a day until football provided him with an escape route and a professional contract with Carlisle United in 1932.

Bill Shankly runs out for Scotland in a war-time international, Hampden Park 1941

Shankly said himself of the village where he grew up: "No disrespect to Glenbuck, but you would have been as far away from civilization in Outer Mongolia. The winters were cold and bitter, with four months of snow, and there was very little in the village so you had to go on long treks to get anything. But we had a pair of shoes, maybe something to put on, maybe something to eat, though not always not enough to fill us, and we had our pride and our characters, who made their own world, the best of a bad lot, the best of isolation. We listened to the wireless or read the papers, so we knew about Jarrow and what was happening to other miners. But we were cut off from the big cities, so we talked to each other and about each other. We had fun, jokes, laughs and exaggeration."

A young Bill Shankly at Preston North End
A young Bill Shankly at Preston North End

As was the case for many young men in mining villages of his era, it was 'the pit or football' for Shankly. The esteemed football journalist Hugh McIlvanney pointed out in the seminal Shankly documentary, Nature's Fire (which is still available to watch on BBC iPlayer), how telling it was that arguably the three greatest Scottish managers of that and arguably any era - Shankly, Matt Busby and Jock Stein - all hailed from Ayrshire/Lanarkshire mining communities within the same 20 mile radius.

Shankly was always clear about how his upbringing made him into the man he was, the principles of togetherness, hard work, natural enthusiasm and sacrifice fostered as an unconditional necessities in mining communities such as his own in Glenbuck fundamentally informing the values he held and projected as a football manager and as a man.

"The socialism I believe in isn’t really politics", he said. "It is a way of living. It is humanity.

"I believe the only way to live and to be truly successful is by collective effort, with everyone working for each other, everyone helping each other, and everyone having a share of the rewards at the end of the day. That might be asking a lot, but it’s the way I see football and the way I see life."

Shankly's adoration for the Liverpool supporters he served so devotedly over many years is well documented and the original memorial to him at Glenbuck was conceived of and funded by Liverpudlians, with thousands of Reds having made the pilgrimage to Glenbuck over the years to pay their respects to the place which gave birth to their hero.

Spirit of Shankly's Stephen Monaghan, who will be travelling to the unveiling, explained on the ECHO's Allez Les Rouges podcast this week: "The initial memorial to Bill Shankly up at Glenbuck was the work of Jimmy Flowers, who used to run the Liverpool Away Supporters Club, and is unfortunately unable to make this trip - we wish him well.

The memorial to Bill Shankly in Glenbuck

"We all went up there in 1997 when it was unveiled and it looked fantastic but it's a long time ago now. Thankfully the Scottish Mines Restoration Trust and the council along with the Glenbuck campaigners have got together and the plans they've got are fantastic.

"Spirit of Shankly have received letters from the Shankly family up in Scotland and the chief executive of Ayrshire Council inviting us to be part of the unveiling.

"One of the ladies who will be there on Monday is one of the last people who lived in the village before she was forced to leave at the age of 15 and she's said she can't wait to meet all the people who will be travelling up from Liverpool. It's a real honour for us to be involved."

Bill Shankly's granddaughter, Karen Gill, also featured on the Allez Les Rouges podcast and spoke of how much the new memorial meant to her and her gratitude to those who have ensured the spirit of her grandad is being rekindled in the place where he first kicked a ball.

Bill Shankly's granddaughter Karen Gill at Glenbuck

She said: "It's amazing, if that original plaque hadn't gone up we maybe wouldn't be doing all this now so it's all thanks to Jimmy and the Liverpool supporters really for getting the ball rolling.

Pic Colin Lane
Liverpool FC vs Manchester United. Kop tribute to Bill Shankly as part of the 100 years celebrations

"Barbara Shankly and others got involved as they were the last ones born in Glenbuck and didn't want the place to disappear off the map. There was a chance the Glenbuck site could have been sold off for windfarms which would have made it off limits to everyone but thankfully people will now still be able to visit.

"It's important to mention that this is not just about my grandad, the heritage group This Is Glenbuck are campaigning for the whole village to be inaugurated in the Scottish Football Hall of Fame as it gave birth to so many good footballers, which was incredible for such a tiny place. Football really was in their blood there as it seems basically there was nothing else to do!"

Bill Shankly and grandchildren with a retirement card from The Kop

The unveiling of the new memorial will also be a special moment for the native volunteers who have worked for many years to ensure the historic spot where the village stood and the name of Glenbuck is not consigned to oblivion.

Among them at the unveiling will be Sam Purdie, who has worked alongside the council and the Shankly family to make the new monument possible.

He said: "Our pilgrimage to have Bill's monument restored to his birthplace, along with the restoration of Glenbuck's heritage, began 17 years ago.

"Barbara, Bill's niece, was born and raised a few yards from me and she has been with me every step of the way."

You can read Sam's 'Requiem' piece which launched their campaign below:

Requiem for a VILLAGE by Sam Purdie

Where were all the protesters? Why the outer space silence from the chattering classes? Where are the glowing obituaries and the eulogies accorded to nonentities as a matter of course?

You were an entity, you were immeasurably more; you gave hope, shelter, joy, tragedy, love, hate, family, friendship, inspiration, life, fun, legends and memories beyond value. Now you are gone. Completely, utterly eradicated from the face of the Earth with a more effective devastation than any cataclysm that nature could wreak.

What then was your crime? What heinous deed decreed your extinction? You were not old; you never caused men to kill each other on your behalf. You made no demands on others nor ever coveted what they had, but yet they destroyed you while our backs were turned. We, who owe you our very lives, our hopes and our successes. The stamp you put upon our innermost beings will last as long as the breath remains in our bodies. We, who are the most privileged of our race, because only we knew and loved you, remember and regret. We regret that we were too busy, too self-absorbed to heed what was happening to you. We had abandoned you because in our callous disregard of true values, the only ones which last, we put you somewhere in the limbo of half-remembered times. Your needs were simple. You were not even supplied with electricity. Most of your houses had no running water or flush toilets. No ratepayer’s money was spent to prettify you.

Despite your lack of envy and avarice you contributed to your native land. You gave them soldiers who were called to fight our foes from Napoleon to Hitler, Mussolini and Hirohito. You also gave them your sons and daughters to serve their country on the seas and in the air in the hope of peace at last. You gave them sportsmen, teachers, academics and politicians in peacetime but most of all; you bred Miners and Ironworkers to answer their country’s needs in times of crisis.

You were a lynchpin in the Industrial Revolution. Besides your coal, you made the rails that the early trains ran on. Your Dam, built by French prisoners of war 200 years ago, provided the hydraulic power for the World’s biggest water wheel to drive the Catrine cotton mills to make your country rich in trade when the British Empire straddled the Globe. Your pits had evocative names like Grasshill, The Lady, Gala Whistle, Blaweerie, The Davey, Macdonald, Monkey, Maidenbank and Ponesk. There were many more, too small and too old to name. They were there at the very beginning of the Scottish Coalfields; they pioneered the use of electrical generation by steam turbine. Jimmy (Bowsy) Dalziel was proud to stoke the Grasshill Pit boilers single-handed for twelve and a half pence a day to power the vital pumps, to give steam to the winding engines, lowering your men to the black depths and to raise the coal.

Most of all, your sons earned fame on the football pitch. The grateful people of Liverpool erected a monument to your most famous son, Willie Shankly. They also listed the roll of your sons who escaped the bowels of the earth the only way they could, by excelling at football. The tragic irony is that the monument is hidden away on a dead-end road; you cannot show it with pride for you are no longer there. You have no need of stone monuments, you have something intangible but beyond value, you have the eternal gratitude of those of us whom you nurtured.

We remember the hours of pleasure you gave us. The 15-a-side football matches that were played with a passion that no Cup-Tie since has ever exceeded. We played in the long summer nights, in the long winter nights where there were no lights to spoil our fun, we played other games. We watched the stars and the Aurora Borealis in your stygian crystal-clear skies. We watched with wonder and growing horror the red glow to the North the night the Germans razed Clydebank.

You had everything we needed. The school, which took us up to the “Qually” exam. We sat in rooms where the teacher taught three classes at a time. There was a war on so we had no paper to waste. We learned to write on slates with a slate pencil. The reading books were venerable and had been used by our parents before us. The geography books had gaily coloured pictures of happy, smiling faces carrying loads of goods on their heads bound for Imperial Britannia. Our atlases showed the red Empire which bade us to be proud of being British, even in this outpost where the Empire had done nothing whatsoever for us.

Yet even here, we were blest. Our teachers were warm human beings who earned our respect. The Dominie was a forward thinker who broadened our minds and who badgered the adults into providing funds out of their meagre earnings to send us on a train trip to Edinburgh to see the Castle and the Zoo. “Sanny” Sloan was an educator, a mentor and an example to us to this day. The Village Hall, where we listened to politicians and were delighted by visiting concert parties. We put on our own pantomimes after weeks of sweat and fears during chaotic rehearsals. The lighting was by paraffin lamps and there were no amplifiers. On dance nights, we enjoyed the live music, all the more due the fact that we were able to whisper sweet nothings while we danced. There was even a library in the side hall which, “Wee” Bill Davidson opened for us once a week.

We had the CO-OP store, which supplied our meagre weekly rations in exchange for our food coupons. A.V. Hazle, the master grocer, who strove to do the impossible by ensuring fair shares for all, was a magician. We used to watch spellbound as he filleted and rolled a side of bacon, or carve precisely a quarter pound wedge from a 40-pound cheese. We wondered at his dexterity as he patted a block of butter into shape and finish it off with a thistle emblem on top. There was never any need to weigh it. His butter pats never varied by a fraction of an ounce.

We had a Pub, which regrettably, I never entered. I remember the engraved window that promised the clientele “The Dew of the Hareshaw”. I suspect that there was something altogether stronger on offer given the popularity of the establishment. I was sometimes sent to knock on the wee “family” window in order to get a refill for the one-gill whisky bottle, which my mother kept, from one year’s end to another for strictly medicinal purposes.

The mining village of Glenbuck

There was “Auntie Jinnet’s” chip shop where you could by a poke of chips for tuppence. Once or twice a year we would have the great excitement of taking turns at cranking the ice-cream machine, which seemed to take forever to yield its icy, sweet nectar. When we were feeling rich we would “sit-in” through the back shop and order a “Half and Half”. This was a feast of chips and peas provided for the grand sum of sixpence. We were only allowed to sit if no “Big Folk” wanted the seats. “Auntie” had no family of her own but we all loved her. She was the life and soul of any company she was in and she had a heart as big as the Hareshaw hill.

We had our own railway station, manned morning noon and night by Andrew Spence. Often on a Saturday we would pack the excursion train for a day in Ayr. Our day out, transport and food would give us change from five shillings. There was no more cheering sight when fishing in the river Ayr than to watch the trains at full steam running down the incline to Muirkirk on its last stop on the Caledonian line from Lanark. We always got a wave from the drivers as we knew them all. Johnny Shankly (Willie’s nephew) drove the last ever train on the line.

Like any wayward child we took all your benefits for granted and assumed that you would always be there when we needed to renew our warm familiarity. Despite all you gave us, we shamefully neglected you. We travelled the World standing straight and dealing fairly with our fellow man as you had taught us.

Others were waiting. They came like carrion crows and tore at you again and again until the desecration was total. Not a house, not a wall, not a stone nor a tree remains. All that is left are the ghosts of those who loved you, soon to be joined by the few of us who linger here. We hope to see you again but we fear that we are all consigned to the past. More watchful, the unblinking eye of the predator was upon you. They decided that you were nothing. They coveted the meager residues of black gold left in your heart so that at last even this you were forced to yield at last.

Our stories are written on a faded page that only we can read.