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Maine Road – Late 1950’s

Alan McKean

Friday, July 23rd, 2004

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 I remember walking with my dad
To watch the mighty Blues
Ply their trade at Maine Road.
When you’re six or seven
A mile and a bit walk seems a world away,
Even when you’re small hand in large.
As you tramp through late 1950’s Manchester,
With it dark and damp winter streets
And its hissing trolley buses,
You anticipate, in your six-year-old way, the game.
But your first port of call
Is the “Big Alex”
So dad can have a pint before the match.
All the dads inside, with a pint
All us kids outside, with our crisps and lemonade.
It was acceptable then.
Time to go, the Kippax calls.
Will Bert Trautmann play, or Joe Hayes?
At six or seven, you don’t care,
You’re just happy to be there,
With your dad.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Special days back then.
The results weren’t that important to you,
Just being there, was.
City centre grounds were like family gatherings.
You stood in the same spot each fortnight, with the same people around you.
Players weren’t paid in telephone numbers
Tickets didn’t cost an arm and two legs,
But then, the grounds were tatty and smelly.
Times change, and the Blues now play in luxury,
And results are everything.
All games must be won.
The faithful now demand results
In exchange for their costly tickets.

© Alan McKean July 2004

Notes

Thanks dad (Died 1983)

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/maine-road-late-1950s/