BEFORE THE DARK HOUR OF REASON GROWS

Brothers and sisters, as you will be aware, the collective is fond of a wee bit of poetry, and we recently implored the masses to send us their creative babies.


Senor Poncho of Red Passion fame has spoken to his close personal friend Sir John Betjemen, who has kindly penned this wonderful ditty. Sir John and Baron Ponch, we salute you.

A Racecourse Love Song by Sir John Betjeman

My Racecourse, My Racecourse,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by the Wrexham roar,
What magnificent matches you housed before tea,
We in the terraces – peering to see!

Two-thirty, Four-forty, oh! weakness of joys,
The speed of a cross, the catch of ball boys,
With dazzling comradeship, gaily we won,
We weak from your loveliness, our beloved Racecourse sun

Your convivial turnstiles shimmer we walk,
And swing past the turf, buried in talk,
And gate of the Kop that welcomes us in
The six-o'six show and pints when we win.

The glint of your memories, sound of the crowd,
The view from each spot is ever so proud,
Everlasting belches over chips and pie, oh! eye
As we dance in the Cent, and light up the sky!

My Racecourse, My Racecourse
A glimpse from the hills your charming red hue,
Oh! Shankly standing and applauding you!
Oh! Arsenal’s one, and our triumphant two!

Around us the Robins and Dragons are set,
And Psycho soars through the roof of your net,
And here in my sight is the ‘Course of my choice,
With the tilt of your stanchions and the chime of your voice.

My Racecourse, My Racecourse we’re not letting you go ! 
You’ve been slung like confetti and pushed to and fro
How sad are we, they don't give a toss
And leave your kop end covered by moss

And the keen reminisces and words never spoken And the ever present ritual and songs our love token We sit in your shadow prolonging the fun My Racecourse, My Racecourse let the battle be won!

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