Saturday Sunday mornings
On the ‘Bottom Field’
Boys gathered round the game to play
Twenty a side sometimes
Didn’t bother us
The memory of it
With me to this day
Over on the common
The Boys Brigade in tune
Marching up and down for all they’re worth
One day a son of mine would be
A member of that band
Not Tyldesley
But on Stirling’s sacred earth
Playing out was what you did
Those times just after war
Hopscotch football wandering
Over brooks and fields afar
And running round the crescent
27 times a mile
I organised Olympic Games
The memory makes me smile
The crescent was too small for games
With houses all around
And planted trees were broken down
Uprooted from the ground
A football match was in full swing
Till Alan Smallshaw’s shot
Broke Mrs Fay’s front window
We disappeared the lot!
And ‘I’d yer call’ and ‘Who’d yer call’
Is ringing in my ears
A ball thrown in the air as children ran
‘And Paddy Fay to catch this ball’
She’d catch it fair and square
And hit another playmate as can can
Our Trish so good at sport she was
Batted tennis balls afar
And all the boys were running here and there
Until I sent a cricket ball
A sly unworthy trick
She hurt her hands and that was never fair
I am sorry for my silliness
I love my sister dear
I spoilt the game with that one silly move
If I could have it back again
I’d play a proper game
We children then
Oh we were in the groove
Brian Fahy
14 May 2021
Erris Poetry 