Jackvivian Posted November 21, 2019 Share Posted November 21, 2019 A couple of silly sentimental poems about Grimesthorpe written in red wine !! 1. THE BOWLING GREEN WALL When I was a lad at the top of our street Stood a pub, the Old Bowling Green And out the back, sitting on the grass Was this marvellous, fantastic machine. Made of concrete and steel but mainly of rust It's colours had long disappeared Majestically sat the rolling machine That every kid hated and feared. It had killed six lads, no seven, no eight None of us were really that sure My mate Mick who was a little bit thick Told everyone he thought it was more. To get to the machine was no mean feat It meant climbing and scaling the wall With concrete and brick almost sixty feet thick And standing half a mile tall. Now standing at the end of the wall An old lamp post green and rusty Bent in the middle but still standing tall By heck it wasn't half dusty We pulled ourselves up to the very top And then swinging like on a trapeze Flew over the wall to the soft ground below With grass burns on our knees We crawled through the bushes and trees Taking care not to be seen Till at last we came to an opening Where we could see the marvellous machine. "See that colour on the roller, what looks like paint, it's red well it's not paint at all it's where a kid hit the wall and the roller ran over his head." Thick Mick said the kid was dead And not only dead but flat His mother came round dusted him down And took him home for a mat. We crawled on our knees to the mighty machine Struggling for breath our eyes smarting It wasn't the fear that made us feel sick It was Mick, he couldn't stop farting. At last we were there, all four brave boys Mick touched it first and then his brother A judder, a screech a frightening noise All four of us diving for cover It started to move slowly at first Rollers flattening the ground All four jumped on, wanting it faster Two rollers, eight legs, going round We started to laugh 'cos we were winning Towards the wall we steered It gathered up speed, Warp factor 5 Kirk and Scotty would have cheered Mick fell off and landed on his bum The next to go was me I could see the other two lads, legs going like mad As the roller just missed a tree. And then with a wallop a crash and a bang It hit the wall, bricks and metal It flew up in the air with dust all around Which then began to settle. We could see what we'd done and we started to run A hole in the wall, roller shattered Grounded for a week or a whack from your mam Thick Mick didn't mind getting battered. We all walked home arm in arm We happy band of brothers Not a care in the world what would happen to us Being walloped by dads or our mothers. We'd won you see we'd won the day The roller had gone with the wall Who could have thought that something so big Could be conquered by someone so small LITTLE WEMBLEY When we were little we played in street Big Park was too far away We'd wait all week counting the hours For our match, the Match of the Day. It was always a Sunday gloriously hot Unless it rained or snowed Dry or wet it mattered not We'd meet at the end of our road. To walk to park took a very long time It seemed three miles or four Asthmatic Stan and his mate Fat Jim Said it was a bloody lot more Five or six would leave our street Picking mates up on the way By the time we got there and set up the pitch We'd forgot who we'd picked to play Stand in a bunch and wait to be picked It was always the same routine Best at front worst at back Fat Jim trying not to be seen There were no subs everyone played Much as 15 a side or more Some would sneak off for a crafty fag Leaving Asthmatic Stan to score Pongy Pete scored a hat trick And expected the ball at the end All he was given was soap on a rope From BO Dave his best friend. These matches would last for hours In the hot afternoon sun we would sweat Nobody ever brought any water It was unnecessary, too heavy, too wet. The Parky would turn up with a bucket He'd stand on the line and cheer Water's here lads get stuck in I'm off down Pavillion for a beer The grass on the pitch was perfect We kids called it Little Wembley And even now at 63 It will always be in my memory. The long walk home through the park Gulping water from the fountain Getting indoors before it was dark Who won? nobody had been counting And Sunday night was bath night Just after having your tea Then to bed to dream about Lifting the cup at Wembley THE WALL MY MAM HATED Sometimes you felt quite rebellious You were young and wanted to stay out late To see the dark coming down and the night setting in Well that was me, but I was only eight So one day I made a decision To stay put on top of a wall It must have been six feet high Poor Mam only four foot tall She came out about seven And told me it was time for my tea But I knew she was fibbing 'Cos we'd had bread and dripping at three Oh come on Jacky stop messing about Her voice sounding soft and sweet Get off the wall now and come indoors And I'll get you something to eat Not falling for that I thought I'd heard that one before Jacky get off the wall now New voice,it was Madge from next door Ah so mam's got reinforcements Trying to get me down Madge looking quite angry In her slippers and dressing gown If you don't get down and get in Then you lad will get what for I answered back with a grin What from you, me Dad or me Ma? You saucy little sod she said Stay there I'll sort this situation She went back indoors And came out with Rex, her bloody big alsation He's looking at you Jacky Boy And he's starting to lick his lips So if I was you I'd get down Or else you've had your chips So staring defeat in the face I jumped from the wall to the ground Why did it have to be an alsation Why couldn't she have a dachshund A sausage dog would have been better I could have stayed there until it was dark It couldn't reach me on top of the wall And nobody would hear it bark Treading warily I went indoors Cautiously looking around Imagine my delight when mam said I'm glad you're home, safe and sound You see I couldn't reach you on the wall It's getting dark and I wanted you in Safe and warm in your own home And not found in someone's bin The lurgy man has a bad habit Of snatching little kids out late And by twisting their arms and legs He folds them up nice and straight He'll pick a bin and drop 'em in Then next night he'll be out as late Looking in yards and on top of walls For kids like you aged eight I didn't do it again!! Copyright JBowler November 2019 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jad279 Posted November 23, 2019 Share Posted November 23, 2019 Bowler you cheeky sod , never remember you as being much of a footballer, you never came out from under that bush hat you always had on.😎 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Jackvivian Posted December 1, 2019 Author Share Posted December 1, 2019 Bush hat? That was me hair Jim 😂😂😂 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jad279 Posted December 3, 2019 Share Posted December 3, 2019 I remember you , wild hair , bush hat , sun glasses and that old 2 tone overcoat . when you thought you were Roy Wood 🤠 Hope your well Jack. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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