Have a favourite Arsenal goal, player or match? Want to share the experience of your first ever game or the atmosphere at a Cup Final? Ever met someone who has played for the Gunners? 

We want to hear from Arsenal fans willing and eager to share something personal about their love for the club. All you have to do is email us via the CONTACT page mentioning 'MEMORY BANK' in the title. Your entry can be as long or as short as you like, just do your best to stick to the Queen's English. 



One Last Chance To Say Goodbye

BY DAVID LINTOTT / @davidlintott

I was born an Arsenal fan, way back in June 1989. I had no choice in the matter, it was foisted upon me by my uncle who, within minutes of my arrival into the world, sped round to my parent’s house and stuck an ‘Arsenal Supporter’s Room’ plaque on my bedroom door. Unlike most contemporaries in my decaying seaside hometown Eastbourne, there was to be no Man United glory-hunting or Chelsea-come-lately-ing for me.

My formative ball-kicking years were spent reimagining myself as Ian Wright with school friends in the playground, or alone in my depleted back garden…much to my dad’s chagrin. I was made to wait until I was 7-years-old before my dad took me to see my first match at Highbury, presumably as penance for my grass-ravaging sins.

I finally saw Arsenal in the flesh on 12 April 1997 from the North Bank, when Arsenal faced Martin O’Neill’s Leicester City. It had been a long time coming, but it was well worth the wait: Tony Adams opened the scoring with a diving header before David Platt sealed a routine 2-0 victory mid-way through the second half.

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Wishing On A (Shooting) Star

BY RICHEY ESTCOURT / @Interior_Lulu_

I was 20 years old in 1997, and hadn't been going to that many Arsenal games in the previous few seasons, as I was only earning pin money from lousy jobs, if at all. By the summer of 1997, I'd settled into a job in an insurance office, which was incredibly boring, but a regular payday at least.

As I was working in London anyway, I took myself to Highbury for the first time in three years to see Arsene Wenger's new-look team play their first home game of the season against Coventry City.

It wasn't a spectacular game. Arsenal had yet to find the right balance of players in the team, and a few of the new players hadn't yet established themselves in the squad. The centre-half we'd signed (Emmanuel Petit) was being tested in midfield, with Gilles Grimandi filling in at centre-half.

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Checking Out Of The Library


After learning on Twitter that Carl Jenkinson's MySpace profile had been uncovered from the deepest darkest corners of the internet I was prompted to log into my own (long-forgotten) page - mostly to make sure that any embarrassing photographs had been well and truly hidden.

Scrolling through the blog section I came across a piece I had written about the last ever game at Highbury, way back in May 2006. I was still at university at the time, and my writing style left a lot to be desired, but reading through I couldn't help but grin at moments from the day I had long since forgotten.

Here it is, six and a half years on. (Warning - may contain hopes for the Champions League final...)

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A Chance Encounter

BY RICHEY ESTCOURT / @Interior_Lulu_

My first visit to Highbury was August 15th 1987 for the first game of the new season. Arsenal had just won the Littlewoods Cup, and Liverpool, despite having missed out in a trophy the previous season, were very much the best team of the age. I was 10-years-old.

The first thing that struck me upon emerging from Arsenal tube station in Gillespie Road with my Dad was the shock of the colour and the noise. EVERYTHING was red and white and everyone was making a glorious racket.

In the mid-summer sunshine, the grass of Highbury was a bright green, which was so vivid compared to the images I'd only seen on TV (this is a generation before LCD or plasma, remember!), or in the monochrome action shots in the newspapers. 

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The Magic of A Highbury Debut


One of the gifts I received after finishing a six-months compulsory training at a hospital pharmacy was cash to buy an Arsenal ticket. It was a kind gesture from friends and colleagues who, being Norwegian, had no idea how to actually get a ticket. At the time neither did I. All the same, to celebrate the completion of my training and to honour the gift, I travelled to London, never having been there before, with a friend (a Liverpool fan).

On match day we got on the tube and got off at the Arsenal station, naturally, where we rather quickly were offered tickets at an inflated price. It all went rather quickly for two newbies, as we ended up paying £45 a piece for two tickets together on the lower tier of The North Bank. Face value was £18. The name on the ticket (pictured above) has nothing to do with me or my friend, it just identifies my first seat at Highbury.

The match was Arsenal-Bolton, September 13th 1997. Having been a Gooner for 18 years, I finally stepped on to the terraces of Highbury for the first time. The sanctity I felt at that moment cannot be put into words; you simply have to experience it. It is one of those things you really only get to do once – and usually you have built it up in your mind for quite a while.

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What Could Possibly Go Wrong? 


London: Sunday, 26 February, 2012 - 1:15pm

“Marcia is on Twitter…she tweets I believe. I’m not sure about the whole thing. Too much ‘look at me’ for my liking. Seems a bit odd…”

It was whilst drinking in the build-up to last season’s North London derby that I overheard these words.

There I was soaking up the atmosphere on the walk from the Holloway Road to the Emirates Stadium excited at the prospect of watching Arsenal in the flesh for the first time. Up to this point I’d not seen them play on anything other than Australian television.

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Restoring Belief

BY GUDNI GUDJONSSON / @gudnigudjons

A new season may have started, but memories of last year's highs and lows still linger fresh in the memory. 

As we all know, it didn't start well. After the sale of Fabregas and Nasri and the massacre at Old Trafford, it's fair to say I, like many Gooners, just wanted to shut my eyes and never open them again. I was repeatedly taunted by my mates, most of whom were United supporters.

It got to a point where my passion for football was so drained that when I sat down to watch a match the glorious sense of anticipation I usually enjoyed had gone. It was a dark time in my life as an Arsenal fan. I can’t even imagine how you guys that live in England and have season tickets must have felt.

Anyways, enough of this, we all know that Arséne Wenger acted on the final day of the transfer window and the matches that followed clearly showed that we had a team after all.

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My Panacea


I have had two near death experiences on account of supporting the Arsenal, and they both stem from goal celebrations. This write-up is the first of two parts…

Wednesday 17th May, 2006 – the day of the Champions League final and Arsenal’s chance to finally win Europe’s top honour. It was a day that was supposedly written in the stars. A team with French blood running through it playing in Paris on the same ground that eight years earlier had seen two Gunners win the World Cup. Surely it had to be our lucky ground? 

I started the day with my head hanging off the edge of my bed as I called work to tell them I wouldn’t be making it in on account of how rough I felt. Once I’d sorted myself a day off, I treated myself to a large breakfast and began watching the build-up to the match on Sky.

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A Learning Process


I was an Arsenal fan before I knew it. A club passed down to me under the family code of conduct. I started properly supporting The Arsenal from the age of seven and in my early years I was spoilt by success. That 2003/04 unbeaten season a fine example of our superiority.

2005 was the last time Arsenal had the pleasure of basking in the glory of a major title. 2005 was the year I turned 13 and entered my teens. September shall host my 20th birthday putting an end to this chapter of life.

I will be leaving my teenage years behind and in reflection not many things have remained constant. I have made and lost many friends, moved to a different continent whilst leaving my immediate family in my hometown and continued to matured year on year.

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A Bitter Pill To Swallow

BY JAMES DICKENSON / @jdickenson1990

As a teenager and a prescribed 'Junior Gunner', I managed to get to Highbury for a couple of Arsenal matches as I was growing up. But those home fixtures - often heavy wins against lesser sides or insignificant League Cup games - pale into comparison with the most poignant memory I have of supporting Arsenal so far. That was making the trip to Paris for Arsenal's Champions League Final with Barcelona.

It was to be played on my 16th birthday, and my Dad had been offered two tickets from someone he knew at work. I was slap bang in the middle of a tough GCSE schedule, but luckily didn't have an exam for a few days. Having ignored the teacher's protestations for me to stay home and 'revise', my Mum came round to my Dad's line of argument and off we went to France for the biggest game of our lives.

Barca of 2006 were a great side, but our Arsenal team was not bad itself, with many players from the Invincibles vintage still in the line up. In terms of influential personnel, Fabregas had replaced Vieira, Bergkamp had been left out in favour of a slightly defensive 4-5-1 on route to the final, but we were still enjoying the best of Thierry Henry. It was a big ask, but Arsenal were not huge underdogs. Barca were favourites, but the travelling fans definitely felt it was possible.

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