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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.