You saved my life and I don’t even know your name. If you hadn’t stopped me and my friend Mark to warn us that there was something wrong on the Leppings Lane terrace on 15 April 1989, I would have carried on down the tunnel behind the goal. We would have been sucked into the tide of helpless supporters who were heading into a death trap. In the crush that day, 96 people were killed and more than 750 injured.

I still follow Liverpool, but it has never been the same since that day in Sheffield, when my team played Nottingham Forest in the FA Cup semi final.

On match days we always headed to the terracing behind the goal as that was where the singing started: we loved to chant and lose ourselves in the passion that is following the team. But, after listening to you, we came back out of the tunnel and went to the side terracing next to the police control room, where it was much less populated.

I’m 48 now, with a beautiful daughter who is about to celebrate her 15th birthday. As she spoke excitedly on the phone about what she planned to do with her friends on the day, it struck me how very lucky I am.

I want to thank you for taking the time to stop and speak to us. If you hadn’t warned me, my life – if I’d had one at all – might have been very different. This is some of what I have to thank you for, 25 years on: I have a loving family, and had the opportunity to live abroad. Ten years after the Hillsborough disaster, I got married and five years later we were divorced. Now I share my life with an amazing woman. She is very caring and supports me always through difficult times. I think the second time round you appreciate the small things more.

I have nephews and nieces, I’ve been on trips to Latin America and Mauritius. I have a bank of memories of hot summer days, listening to favourite tunes, lying in when you don’t have to get up early, hugs and kisses, kind comments, phone calls, Skyping Mum, my daughter and my six brothers and sisters scattered across the globe. None of this would have been possible if you had simply kept yourself to yourself.

Four years before Hillsborough, my lovely father died after a long, hard battle against bowel cancer. My poor mum still recalls after 29 years of being a widow, how my dad, Frank, opened the bay window in the living room and ran round the outside of the house, delirious when Tommy Smith headed that goal from a Stevie Heighway corner to help bring the European Cup to Liverpool for the first time in 1977. I was only 19 when my dad died, and 22 when I was at Hillsborough, and the fact that we can all share these priceless memories lessens the pain and brings us comfort.

Football has changed a lot in 25 years – thank God it is safer now. Every 15 April, the Hillsborough anniversary consolidates my belief in my fellow man as I see the strength of the families of the Hillsborough victims standing together, united in grief and love for their children and loved ones.

I just hope life has been as kind to you as it has been to me. If you are not still alive, I am sure you are in heaven. God bless you.

You’ll Never Walk Alone.

Phil Greene, a fellow Red