DUNCAN FERGUSON The humiliation of bankruptcy and the lowest moment of my life

I was kneeling in front of my wife Janine, pulling at her finger. This time I was not proposing. I was going to pawn her beautiful engagement ring.

It was one of the lowest moments of my life. How the hell had it come to this? It was painful to admit we desperately needed the money because of bad investments and were selling everything to survive.

I was 26 when I married Janine, who was a year younger, at the Anglican Cathedral in on June 26, 1998. It was a 12.30 kick-off. Janine was late, but worth the wait.

She looked stunning all in white, tiara, veil kept back and – a lovely touch – she was shielded from the rain by a blue-and-white umbrella as she walked from the Bentley.

I was inside, looking (I thought) very dashing in my kilt and full Scottish attire. I’d tied my kilt very tight and was having a bit of trouble breathing. Maybe it was the emotion of the occasion, too. A Highland piper saluted Janine’s arrival and then came the Trumpet Voluntary as her dad Tony walked her up the aisle. It was lovely.

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I’d bought Janine a lot of jewellery when I had the money. I had to flog all my jewellery too. We had Rolexes, 60-grand diamond rings, 100-grand watches, and I flogged the lot to keep us going. We left Janine’s engagement ring until last. I finally said to her: “This will have to go.”

I felt terrible as I took the ring off her finger. It felt so wrong. Janine would have sold it because we were trying to survive.

But we couldn’t do it. We sold everything else.

Neither of us has a watch now. It’s all gone. We had a million pounds worth of jewellery. But you don’t get a million pounds for it when you go to flog it. We got a few hundred grand, and it kept us going. That period was tough, really hard. We had nothing. We were looking down the back of the seats for money.

I sold everything I could, including a lovely piece of land in Mallorca I paid £2million for. Knockdown price for a quick sale.

I had some apartments in Albert Dock near Everton’s new ground, three or four of them. They went.

We got rid of everything we had just to keep going, to keep the kids in school, to keep our heads above water. How I found myself in a pawn shop in such a wretched financial state is a long, embarrassing story.

When I had money, my mate Tommy came up one day with a load of jewellery and showed me this beautiful Rolex. I said: “Here, give me that. How much?” He replied: “Forty grand. But for you, Dunc, 20.”

I wore it for 20 years. It’s on my wedding photos, my pride and joy. When our finances collapsed I went to flog it in the pawn shop and the boy said: “Duncan, I’ve got bad news. It’s not worth a carrot.” I got buttons for it. A grand. Tommy didn’t know it was snide. He’d got it off his mate, a middleman. It kept us going for a few days. I was never great with money.

I’m a generous guy, and I gave a lot away when I was earning big at Everton and .

I was a mug. I was naive. I even gave £250,000 to a financial adviser to help them out. It didn’t cross my mind that meant they couldn’t be very good at their job. The worst things I’ve invested in were land in Liverpool and film tax schemes. I bought the land for £500,000 and spent another £500k on ­drawings and bills.

My mate said: “We’ll get permission for 100 houses. There’s a councillor who’s on board. We stand to make £10m with a fair wind.” The wind never blew. Never got the permission. Another £1m down. I got involved in the film tax schemes about 2001. These supposed tax benefits harmed so many footballers. It went through clubs like wildfire.

Hundreds of footballers got caught up in it. Do it, do it – easy money. Because we’re all thick, we’ll fall for it. Footballers leave school at 15. We’ve got life experience, but I wasn’t educated on numbers. We were basically offered tax relief on investments in films. Like every other mug player, I signed something. One person jumps off a cliff and we all follow.

I’m sure other players reading this will agree: this was one of the worst things ever to happen to us.

One scheme investigated by the taxman had 129 footballers in it. It was huge. , , and had to pay tax back. How many people are still paying now? Having sleepless nights?

Footballers need better advice or, more to the point, I should have wised up. The financial adviser I had disappeared. He owed me £250,000. I was sinking. I’d earned well for a decade, but before I knew it the money was all gone, very quickly.

Bills and demands were coming through every day. I was trying to hide them – and Janine was finding them. Can you imagine, a letter demanding £4m? That’s how much HMRC. I didn’t want the stigma of being made bankrupt. That was too humiliating. I got advised to go for an individual voluntary arrangement where you try to pay it back.

A tax expert said: “You know how many football players are coming through this door? You made a mistake, move on.” I said I was trying to pay the taxman off but was told they will bleed you dry. I was advised to “sign a form, walk away.”

So I did. I declared myself bankrupt. I’m a proud person and it hurt. At least Janine still had her engagement ring on her finger. Just.

Big Dunc: The Upfront Autobiography by Duncan Ferguson, with Henry Winter, is published on 8th May by Century

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