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Exhausted limbs lay spread on grass
Both from the choir school and ours
As the battle fought extracted heavy toll
One never knows the kind of feeling
Until the senses tired and reeling
Find that extra yard from deep inside the soul.
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We ached like hell they did as well
But stuck it out to tell this tale
Of that summer day we clashed when in our youth
The smell of freshly mown green grass
Where flowers bloomed in Battersea Park
Beside the fountains, that caressed both teams with spume.
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We’d heard them sing in choir at mass
In Westminster Cathedral by the sacristy
They certainly knew their Latin off by heart
We’d been invited to a game
By a kindly priest, I forget his name
Though I can’t say in our togs we looked the part.
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As our mums and dads were tight for dough
The nuns at St Vincents pulled a stroke
In asking God to send us ten blue shirts
So with five in plimsolls, six in boots
We sent our team to play this school
Of kids who’d ironed creases where it hurts.
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We thought them toffs, they seemed all right
Thought they’d be soft and melt like ice
It’s funny how first impressions can be awkward
Coz when the game had run its course
The whistle blown, three cheers endorsed
They certainly weren’t backward coming forward.
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They shook our hands, like we were mates
The battle fought seemed far away
We laughed and joked as youngsters often do
In our dressing rooms with shiny showers
There stood a hamper deemed as ours
Which we didn’t quite get the gist of, us to you.
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On fields of green, with cake and pop,
Then sandwiches we rashly scoffed
We lay flat out and dreamed the dreams of kids
The sun beamed down on our elation
The Thames rolled by The Power Station
Would “being grown-up” mean the end of days like these?