Those Were The Days….My Friends.

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Certain scenes have a habit of staying
Impressed on the screen of one’s mind
What I’m about to describes been re-playing
In stages, in sepia tones for some time.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Eight or nine at the time in West London
We’d a miss match of kids at our school
Poor kids without boots faced a conundrum
Of kicking rock hard brown balls as you do.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 A local choir school had proffered an invite
To us convent school kids for a game
We were pretty excited at the prospect in sight
Though the shortage of boots gave us pain.

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Sweet nuns did a deal for ten royal blue shirts
I wore a scouts roll neck sweater in goal
Even with boots on, me feet flaming hurt
Drop kicking that rock hard brown ball.

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 A poor class mate, stuck out on the right wing
Wore black plimsolls as part of his kit
Every kick of the ball made that young fella wince
But he bravely prevailed and stuck at it.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 A pair of old shorts hid his knee caps
And a royal blue shirt much too large
Were his togs for the day when our school went to play
On that beautiful pitch of green grass.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 I’ll never forget the sheer pleasure
Etched on that young fella’s face
See he never turned out for us regular
But was picked for this match for that day.

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 His feet must have sprouted big blisters
From kicking that rock hard brown ball
So I must raise me hat to the sisters
For even getting him to turn out at all.

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 See he came from a large Irish family
Of twelve or maybe thirteen kids
So a new pair of boots weren’t exactly
A priority, in the house where that young fella lived.

10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 Out there on the wing, just doing his thing
He ran till he’d run out of breath
Fighting the cause and giving his all
For the team, till he had nothing left.

11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 When that last whistle went and we trudged off
To tiled changing rooms, fitted with baths
We were spoiled for that day, coz where we usually played
Changing rooms? Were just shelters in some local park.

12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 Worn out on a bench, with our new found posh friends
We yapped with the apprentices of song
They gave us three cheers for a right sporting game
With which we obliged, it seems strange now, how well we got on.

13 Leave a comment on verse 13 0 Young fella in the plimsolls was awestruck
When a hamper of food was laid out
Courtesy of the choir schools well stocked up tuck shop
So we’d no time to be hanging about.

14 Leave a comment on verse 14 0 As we feasted on manna from Heaven
His young eyes had never seen so much food
His face was a picture, just one of eleven
That I often remember…. from that summer of 1962.



Just a pure bit of nostalgia from a wonderful childhood. I was reminded of recently when a mate showed me an old black and white snap shot (the only one in existence as far as I’m aware) of our convent school’s very first football team, circa 1962 ,with yours truly posing in the front row as the teams goalie, green roll neck and all.



Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/those-were-the-days-my-friends/