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A Lion Sleeps Tonight.

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 From Bolton he did not wander,
No one could be any fonder.
To wear his home town all white shirt,
He always went in where it hurt.
On his debut for Bolton Schools,
He scored all seven, made Bury fools.
Then as an amatuer at just forteen,
He signed on for his local team.
This was the year “outbreak of war”
At fifteen debut, two to score.
Then pro terms, thirty bob a game,
His heart in football not the fame.
On Saturday a Bevan Boy,*
Down the pits would be his employ.
Up to catch the four thirty tram,
Then eight hours down the pit to cram.
Pushing trucks loaded up with coal,
Breathing black dust in that dark hole.
Then on the coach to play football,
At five foot nine he still stood tall.
In forty six a full time pro,
Ten pounds a week is all to show.
From thirty nine to sixty one,
Left, right and head, goals in they spun.
Now alas the Lion he now sleeps,
Then to his maker he will meet
And when lesser men we forget,
Our thoughts of him will linger yet..

Bevan Boy was someone who worked down the pits, instead of going to war.

Nat Lofthouse once said,

“I remember one close season we were going to South Africa for nine weeks. I left my house at half past seven to catch the coach at the bottom of the road. There’s a big factory down there and the men in their working gear were rolling through the gate in their hundreds to clock in for a days hard graft, and I was there with my cases packed going to South Africa for nine weeks, all my expenses and my wages paid and two pounds a day spending money.

So how could I complain about life?

Would that I could do it all again.”

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/a-lion-sleeps-tonight/