Once upon

a Birmingham day, St Andrew’s

called the three of us together,

my Grandfather’s hand on one side

my father’s on the other,

two larger than life men

and a child, barely able to reason,

once upon a Birmingham day,

I peered through the gap

created by the outline stance

of two men and saw a game commence,

squeezed and pushed

with the flow of rhetoric,

community singing and language

unheard even in the finest

of hours, the colours,

displayed, rejoiced, groaned at

corner kick give away

here on this once upon a Birmingham day,

suddenly let go, a tidal wave of freedom

as a goal is scored and the roar

of that 1975 crowd echoes loudly in my memory,

the most deafening sound of loyalty and happiness

captured in my young, tender, hands free brain,

arms in the air surrounding me,

air that was Blue, now in uproar,

the quick fire fad and succession of a ball

rolling to a full stop behind the line

was all that it took to get the spectators

on the sidelines

of this ancient civil war to cheer and jeer

in numbers so large;

without a mace, longbow arrow,

the chinks in the armour became apparent,

and on this once upon a Birmingham day

I was captured by the enemy,

as I felt sorry for the away day Blue.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017