Jim and Betty Thompkins
Bet was tall and she was ‘ansome,
Sort of tough ‘n sort a neat,
With lips as red as cherries.
Jim ‘n ‘er settled down Woolwich way
An’ ‘e werked on the ferries
Ferryman, ferry me over the Thames.
Ferryman, ferry me back again.
Ferryman carries our solders to France
Returning with anyone? There’s little chance.
Ferryman’s off to attack the Atlantic
Ferrying his dreams of Charlton Athletic.
Pockets full of sweeties, pockets full of gum
Nylons for the ladies, chocolates for their mums.
Perfume for the ladies, soap for their mums
Dancing with the ladies, dancing here is fun.
Hollywood is coming, Hollywood is near
Jimmy Stewart – cowboy, flying over here.
Jimmy Stewart hero, Jimmy is divine
Pocks full of sweeties, Jimmy Stewart’s mine.
Bombs have blown our house away
We’ll look for somewhere else to stay,
On my meager arsenal pay.
Oh, this is the saddest- saddest day.
The dress you bought me
Is flying like flag.
My cotton dress, with flowers on
Is like a flapping rag.
It flutters in the autumn wind
In the Elm tree, up the road,
Reminding us, what could have been.
Our lives are now a heavy load.
The only other dress I own
Hangs above my knees.
I’ll take that dress, all alone,
From the gallows of the tree.
I only wore it twice;
In summer, on special days.
You said I looked, “Very nice.”
Oh, what is to become of us … I pray.
Pat’s Song - After the V2s
I wake at four to the song of birds
Then wash the cows for England.
I milk them till they yield no more,
Then polish steel equipment.
I heave the muck till five o’ clock
Then put the calves to rest.
Come eight o’clock, I sleep myself
And dream of lovely London.
Charlton Centenary Poem. 2005
Looking down across the Valley
Images of teams in red.
Men who played for Charlton,
Some are living others dead.
Inhaling player’s embrocation
Rolled tobacco, beery breaths,
The smell of brand new programmes.
Bankruptcy – impending death.
Tales of manager–directors. Of players
Who saved and scored, and passed the ball around.
The inspiration of the Valley Party.
Those who rallied and saved the ground.
How relegation does not matter (“We’ll be back.”).
How inside it really does.
How promotion gives jubilation
Excites, delights to the skies above.
Gasping breaths at near misses,
Thud of boots and head, when balls
Hit post or bar. The spontaneity of
‘Handball’! or an ‘Offside’! call.
The roar of baritones and bases
Expanding sideways and above.
The standing salutation “Goal”!
Expressed with unreserved, unembarrassed love.
Looking now across the Valley
We rise with pride, our heads
Held high. A family club, encased in stands.
One hundred years of Charlton red.