Poems with a Dean Theme

Hello,

I think I might be the oldest living Everton fan. It began in 1947. The first game at Goodison was against Burnley in 1950.

One-one,  I think it ended. I'm now in my 90th year. Anybody out there older? Good luck to them.

I went on to become a writer. If you want further information, check out 'Gareth Owen writer on Youtube'.

A few years back, Macmillan commissioned me to write a collection of poems about football. I called it Can we have our ball back please? Naturally there were a number of poems about Everton Legends: Alex Young, Nobby Fielding and so on.

Below, I send you three. If you like them I'd be obliged if you could put them about.

Never Be Another Dixie

Ten, I must have been
When my dad took me to my first game.
Maybe a birthday, I don’t know.

Walking the long walk to the ground
From Bankhall Station
Each fifty yard or so
His dicky lungs gave out
And he would have to rest,

Slumping, hunched upon some stranger’s wall
Inhaling from his pump
Each desperate, shallow breath.

At ten I was embarrassed;
Wished he’d get on with it
For fear we missed the kick off.

The ground was like a huge liner
Surprised to be moored
Amongst the huddled, meagre houses.

He saw me to the Boys’ Pen
While he stood with the swaying crowd
Behind the goal at Gwladys Street.

Can’t remember much about the game
Somebody called McKnight scored;
A diving header at the near post.
One-one I think it ended up.

Once, I caught a glimpse of him
Struggling amongst the waving arms
To get the borrowed breath into his lungs.

On the train home, I read the programme
Or watched suburban houses
And the golf links flashing by

As he talked endlessly
About the heroes of his youth:
Jimmy Dunn and Critchley
Warney Cresswell, Dixie Dean.

‘Never be another like Dixie,’
He said, his eyes on something
Further off than I could understand.

I wasn’t listening really:
I never did. 

And then the other day
I bought a video: History of the Club;
The kind of thing fanatics buy
Who have a taste for history and the game.

And there suddenly, grainy on the screen,
Was the great man in his prime;
William Ralph Dean Esquire in black and white;  (over)
Burly and menacing, levering himself on air
To nod another past some jerseyed, hapless keeper.

Then, something in the background caught my eye.
A small, smudged figure laughing in the crowd.|
The hand, raised in exultation,
Couldn’t hide that face I knew
As his clear breath danced on the air,

Rising from uncongested lungs,
Crying ‘Goal’ to the dark sky
As the headed ball crossed the line
And the white net billowed.

*****************

1930

After tea on Saturday
The Bootle lads are out
Clattering down the jigger
Booting a tin about.

Fifteen bawling footballers
The scrubbiest kids you’ve seen
And every snot-nosed one of them
Thinks he’s Dixie Dean.

***********

Goodbye Dixie (1907-1980)

He died in the stand at Goodison Park
Died watching a derby game
At the shrine where once ten thousand fans
Hymned the glory of his fame.

And could he have chosen a better place
Or moment in which to die
Than watching us play the old enemy
Under a mourning Everton sky?

Yes, even a great heart like Dixie’s
Must one day cease to sing
But as with death so with football
Timing is everything.

******

Poems by Gareth Owen

Can we have our Ball back please? (Macmillan )

 

      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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