We first met on the playground of Moor Green.

Cowboys we played, cops and robbers, later football became our game

With tennis balls or with Christmas presents that would sail unseen

Into the old people’s homes, who up to the wire fence they came

As they complained that we had broken a window with our balls.

Small we were, so ready to take on the world but yet

Not the grandparents who had fought in bigger wars than any of us

We resorted to collecting stickers, shouting scramble for a bet

As we tossed spare ones into the air with exaggerated fuss.

The days were just packed, conkers in autumn, marbles in spring

Always groaning at the school bell sound for when real school began.

That playground was our fortress, girl’s one end, the lads at the top

And the only time we met during that time was when the dinner lady rang

That symbol of learning of which we were never a fan.

We first met on the playground in times that we never wanted to stop.

Ian D. Hall