Give ’Em Beans! - Poetry Corner

Apparently, this is the only poem that the Deputy Ed has ever written (don't even think it!), for which reason alone, he is 'unreasonably proud' of it. Fair enough, for the best thing in this section is easily the...

LEGEND of COWPERTHWAITE's MUM

In the backstreets of downtown Accrington
On the site of the old Stanley ground,
The match would decide the promotion
And Barrow was Conference bound.
A game of such vital importance
Would surely attract a vast throng
But Acc'y could muster just twenty
And Barrow a mere fifty strong.

The football was nothing to speak of
And goal attempts nobody saw
The ref he was sad, the linesman went mad
But nothing else for it; a draw!

The chairmen's heads both went together
On how they could settle the play:
Penalties!, no play on
And we'll just have to stand here and pray.

This wouldn't have happened in my day,
Said referee "I'll be bound"
Then some nitwit shouted out "Bob Lord"
And everyone spat on the ground.

The Acc'y lads went in a huddle,
The Barrow boys started to twitch,
We challenge you to karaoke
And we'll do it right here on the pitch!

Barrow were highly suspicious
And time may yet prove them right
But the goalie could croon, he was over the moon
And they needed a win on the night.

Someone brought the equipment
The contest was started at ten
By midnight nearly all over
With the Acc'y lads 'We'll Meet Again.'

But the Barrow boys not to be beaten
Quick as a flash, on their toes
Came back with a lovely rendition
Of Hammerstein's 'Songs From The Shows.'

Then the worst of all nightmares befell them
When the Acc'y boss shouted out "Sub!"
They brought him much quicker than lightning
Though he'd been "Owt tat ground in tat pub."

A young man of foreign extraction
His name had a horrible ring
The pride of the Punjab, a thrush in his throat
The world famous Gerupta Singh.

For twenty long minutes he warbled
With a swagger and swing of the hips
The ref was impressed, he got almost dressed
The whistle halfway to his lips.

Barrow were knocked from their senses,
Faces were downcast and glum
When a voice in the sky, somewhere from on high
Said "What you need is Cowperthwaite's Mum!"

She walked on the field like an angel
The Acc'y lads all put to flight
"If you want a good song you can have it
Us Cowperthwaites love a good fight!"

She sang for an hour and three quarters
A mixture of songs old and new
At the end of her time a terrible whine
As the Acc'y lads gave her her due.

So the Barrow boys went to the Conference
Two hundred points was the sum
They'd all played well, but truth I must tell
It was all down to Cowperthwaite's Mum.

Issue 021 - January 1995

LEGEND of COWPERTHWAITE's MUM
Apparently, this is the only poem that the Deputy Ed has ever written (don't even think it!), for which reason alone, he is 'unreasonably proud' of it. Fair enough, for the best thing in this section is easily the...
In the backstreets of downtown Accrington On the site of the old Stanley ground, The match would decide the promotion And Barrow was Conference bound. A game of such vital importance Would surely attract a vast throng But Acc'y could muster just twenty And Barrow a mere fifty strong. The football was nothing to speak of And goal attempts nobody saw The ref he was sad, the linesman went mad But nothing else for it; a draw! The chairmen's heads both went together On how they could settle the play: Penalties!, no play on And we'll just have to stand here and pray. This wouldn't have happened in my day, Said referee "I'll be bound" Then some nitwit shouted out "Bob Lord" And everyone spat on the ground. The Acc'y lads went in a huddle, The Barrow boys started to twitch, We challenge you to karaoke And we'll do it right here on the pitch! Barrow were highly suspicious And time may yet prove them right But the goalie could croon, he was over the moon And they needed a win on the night. Someone brought the equipment The contest was started at ten By midnight nearly all over With the Acc'y lads 'We'll Meet Again.' But the Barrow boys not to be beaten Quick as a flash, on their toes Came back with a lovely rendition Of Hammerstein's 'Songs From The Shows.' Then the worst of all nightmares befell them When the Acc'y boss shouted out "Sub!" They brought him much quicker than lightning Though he'd been "Owt tat ground in tat pub." A young man of foreign extraction His name had a horrible ring The pride of the Punjab, a thrush in his throat The world famous Gerupta Singh. For twenty long minutes he warbled With a swagger and swing of the hips The ref was impressed, he got almost dressed The whistle halfway to his lips. Barrow were knocked from their senses, Faces were downcast and glum When a voice in the sky, somewhere from on high Said "What you need is Cowperthwaite's Mum!" She walked on the field like an angel The Acc'y lads all put to flight "If you want a good song you can have it Us Cowperthwaites love a good fight!" She sang for an hour and three quarters A mixture of songs old and new At the end of her time a terrible whine As the Acc'y lads gave her her due. So the Barrow boys went to the Conference Two hundred points was the sum They'd all played well, but truth I must tell It was all down to Cowperthwaite's Mum. Issue 021 - January 1995