MEMORIES AND MYTHS
¶ 1
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We’re good friends together,
Graham and me,
But that wasn’t the case
Back in 1973,
When I was on the railways,
Climbing a signal box with a billy-can,
To be told by the signalman
That Ian Porterfield had just scored.
He was excited. Graham was bored.
2 years old, smuggled into Wembley,
Hidden in a red and white sea
Of scarves and banners and flags,
He slept all the way through,
And didn’t see the Stokoe
Pork-pie run-dance hat.
Neither did I.
But I remember it.
So, does he.
Allegedly.
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