Al's elegies

A couple of poems from Cornish Al: two moving elegies to Fillipo and the Chairman

BALLAD FOR BARKER
(or FROMA THE PIJAMA)

Our dirretore tecnico
Our Ronnie, now says “Ciao”
He’s off to pastures new, my friends
Madrid: The Bernabao

Our sadness that he’s leaving us
Is tempered by some talk
Of joining him in Spain one day
On tour with Peter Falk

‘Til then we can remember, friends
The things we saw him do
To write them all would fill a book
So here are just a few

His clothing in the changing room
All cultured and discrete
The Count of Monte Cristo’s gown
And sandals for his feet

Now we are smarter on the pitch
Our shorts and socks one shade
And afterwards no beer or crisps
Its jamon Spanish-made

His dive in Tooting caused offence
A chase got underway
But as he told the angry mob
That’s how Italians play

When Stefan made Swiss match day plans
A time as well as date
4pm, the third. Fil cried
“‘Cos 4.01’s too late!”

Enquiries strange at Regent’s Park
Were heard above the din
Of shouts and showers. “A socket please,
To plug my hair drier in”

His legacy, though laughter-filled
Is more than it may seem
He leaves us with a lesson too
In passion for the team

So let us thank him with applause
And hope when he returns
The club he loves will still be strong
To show the lesson’s learned

OUR CHAIRMAN

What team is there, in England or abroad,
Whose Chairman is like ours? I ask you friends.

A man who sees in football something more
Than players, profit, merchandise and rights,
Than violence, race, these Premiership things.
His eye sees beauty, culture, friendship, thought.
Tradition, oh … And quotes to put on shirts.
A love of hist’ry marks him out as well.
In Rome, his talk was full of rise and fall,
And motorbikes. His easy learning wide
Enough for Gibbon and for Moto Guzzi.
To patience, now friends, shall we turn our minds
And ask: Is this a virtue of our Chairman?
In Maida Vale or Prague or Willeseden Green,
On sidelines cold and wet he stands for hours.
For legends games he occupies the middle,
And blows and blows again a silent whistle.
The Chairman’s age then. We have been found blind.
By youthfulness our vision he obscured.
But now we see, and find ourselves amazed,
That 50 years have passed our Chairman’s eyes.
Our celebration marks though, not the end,
But just our joy at what has been so far.
So thank you God for our friend Mr Tisdale.
We love him for his wit, his warmth, his shirts.

What team is there, in England or abroad,
Whose Chairman is like ours? There is none friends.