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He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.
Billy chased me round the playgroundwith hands full of fists
Billy yelled at me across the football pitchwith a mouth full of stings.
When Harry went awayhe stole a part of Mum.No-one warned us. No-one said.We looked and looked for ages –
It's New Year, 1979, at Funderland in the RDS in Dublin. In the cold calculation of the January air, a young girl tries to talk
I like to stay upand listenwhen big people talkingjumbie stories
I does feelso tingly and excitedinside me
Once everything was bigand you were small,but year after year your shadow crept up the wall and you grew tall.
Let me do it, let me do itLet me blow up the balloonLet me do it, let me do itLet me go to the moon
I told a whopper, a fib, a lie.Slipped out of my mouth. It was slimy, sly.
Save me, it hissed. A secret must hide.So I opened my bag and it slithered inside.
A new boy joined our class today.His eyes are red, his skin is grey.He will not come outside to play.I think he needs a friend.
Seriously I’m really very cool
When I went to school
With the headmaster
I drafed the rules.
We studied my hair