Property of RKB


FLIGHTY GUY © Robbie Kennedy Bennett

The Story Behind The Poem


Brian Guy was a friend of my brother-in-law who I would meet when I visited Codsall. This one year at Wembley Stadium I heard someone call my name. I turned to see it was Brian who then offered me a bottle of beer that he had sneaked into the ground. He was with a party of Codsall mates who had travelled down for the game. My brother-in-law had given me one of his two tickets. He had opted for the better one in the seated area. He was aghast to find out later I had been with Brian and his mates and when he found I had been drinking a bottle of beer, the jealously was obvious to see.

A few years later when I moved to Codsall Brian was on the committee at the local club. He was always pleasant to my family and myself and made us feel welcome. He was always humorous when we entered the club and he was great company. 'Are you a member? he always questioned with a broad grin.

One memory of Brian was during the annual fun-run from the club. I was in second place by the end of the first mile. When we ran around a bend in Strawmoor Lane there was Brian pushing a 'buggie' with his grandaughter in. On his chest was pinned his race number. 'I was allowed a 5-minute start', he shouted to me as I passed him by.



Years later Brian and I were at the bar in conversation over a pint. He mentioned a boy who used to live next door to him. Brian gave him his football programmes when he had been to the match. I was flabbergasted to find that the boy was my cousin. And further more I had seen him the previous week and would probably see him again next week. When I told him I knew Brian he immediately replied, 'You mean Flighty Guy'. From then he told me about how fast Brian was when playing football. 'He could catch pigeons', as they say in the Black Country.

The next time I visited the club I approached Brian and said, 'You’re Flighty Guy'. The smile on his face broadened with delight, it was obvious to see that I had made his day.

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett
11/08/2007











THE DAYS OF BILLY BREMNER ©
by Robbie Kennedy Bennett

The smell of Bovril and a cigarette,
A long hard season and it isn't over yet.
I purchased a programme
From this old chap before the game,
A shudder up my spine I felt
When I read his name.

The clocks ticking down, it's nearly 5 to 3,
I'm looking at the tunnel,
That's where he'll be.
They'll be up and ready just you wait and see.
Captain of a team that wears all white,
These boys could play,
And they could fight.

I can still remember,
The days of Billy Bremner.
Skipper of Leeds
When they reigned the league supreme.
In the days of Billy Bremner,
I can still remember,
With his hair like fire
He played and lived his dream

He would growl and snarl into their face,
Close them down
And deny them space.
A terrier type of player
His mission was to win the ball,
This wee man had a game that was 10 feet tall.

He would have a slight word into their ear,
He planted doubt he planted fear.
Only one Billy Bremner
Will we ever see.
A master of player psychology,

A shudder at the very mention of his name,
The biggest little rascal that ever played the game.


The Days of Billy Bremner © Robbie Kennedy Bennett









Property of RKB

CHRIS PATERSON © Robbie Kennedy Bennett


Chris Paterson booted seven penalties from seven to steer the Scots to victory.
Statistically he is the best kicker in world rugby.

News of the World February 11, 2007.

His seven penalties against Wales at Murrayfield on the 10 February 2007 became a Scottish record in the 6 Nations tournament.













ALF TUPPER
THE TOUGH OF THE TRACK ©
By Robbie Kennedy Bennett 1997

He lived on fish and chips suppers,
Who did?
Alf Tupper,
The Tough Of The Track.

A runner from birth,
The salt of the earth.
Alf Tupper,
The Tough Of The Track.

A high school boy he was not,
He didn't get
What the other kid's got.

They laughed in his face
When they lined up to race.
Alf Tupper,
The Scruff Of The Track.

Now Alf he ran from the heart,
Gone like a flash at the start.
He battled the best,
And he'd beat the rest.
Alf Tupper,
The Tough of the Track.

Alf at the time was a tonic,
You forgot he only lived in a comic.
But look in your mind,
Inside you may find,
Alf Tupper,
The Tough of the Track.

ALF TUPPER © Robbie Kennedy Bennett




Story Behind The Poem.

When I was a young lad I was Alf Tupper 'The Tough of the Track'. If you are roughly the same age as me you will know him as a comic hero. He was a schoolboy runner who was as honest as the day is born and worked hard for everything he achieved. I don't know who created Alf but I wonder if he knew how many youngsters that he inspired.
In the mid eighties I am working at a fork lift company and I am in conversation with Alan 'George' Rudge. He is Alan because that is what his mother wanted him named and George because that is what his dad wanted him called. It is most confusing when he explains this to you but he has 'Alan' tattooed on his arm, or is it 'George?
One day we were talking about great sportsmen and I mentioned Alf Tupper and the surprise on his face when he realised that he had also been inspired by him. The following Sunday morning we had arranged to play football and from the top of a hill I could hear a voice calling me. There was Rudgie proudly wearing his new tee shirt with the logo that he had printed on 'Alf Tupper Lives OK'.
In 2002 I had an old poem of Alf printed in The Black Country Bugle and I dedicated it to Rudgie and he was told of it while he was at work at Goodyears. I was beginning to think that he did not know of it but a phone call one evening a few weeks later from my brother Stuart surprised me. 'Hello Rob I'm at the fair and someone wants to speak to you'. 'Hi'ya Bob' a voiced called 'Alf Tupper lives ok', 'he certainly does', I told him.

Years later when working elsewhere a colleague of mine was a former well known pro-footballer. One of his clubs was West Bromwich Albion. He told me that Alf Tupper was his idol as a young lad. From that conversation I later presented him with a copy of my poem.

Living proof that Alf Tupper lives in the hearts of a generation of young boys, me included.

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett









McALISTER ©
by Robbie Kennedy Bennett

McAlister you had my admiration,
A respectful type of football adulation.
Your sky blue team they were in hiding,
You were instructing,
Encouraging and deciding.
Where next shall you make your telling pass?
Upton Park you covered every inch and blade of grass.
Defying your increasing aging years,
You turned the heckles into cheers.
When hammers fans to you were loudly chanting,
'You're old and you know you are'
They were ranting.
You nodded to the fans as they were singing,
A cheer around the stands came a ringing.
McAlister you had their admiration,
A respectful type of football adulation.
Di Canio that day had a glowing report,
Liverpool were watching,
And guess what player they bought.
In the twilight time of your career,
You deserved to hear the Anfield cheer.


McALISTER © Robbie Kennedy Bennett 2007



And guess what player they bought.


STORY BEHIND THE POEM

As a neutral at Upton Park I witnessed the performance of a good old 'pro'. While younger players were accepting a beating and going into hiding Gary McAlister of Coventry shone like a beacon. I noticed a player turn his head when McAlister told him to take a corner in front of the West Ham fans. He ran over to take it himself to the chorus of 'You're old and you know you are'. McAlister agreed with them and deserved a rousing applause for his humour as well as his performance.

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett








FRED LOWBRIDGE ©
By Robbie Kennedy Bennett 1991

I studied old Fred has he worked
A fellow so gentle and kind,
Private and so inoffensive
No finer a man can you find.
Fred Lowbridge they said was a fighter
In days of being a young man
I ask myself can I imagine
I have to admit that I can.
In the bugle I often read stories
Of fights in days of old,
Fred fought in a league of true sportsman
Boxers so brave and so bold.
Prize money was coppers and shillings
Recovery time was short,
No sooner the bout was over
Another opponent was sought.
Fred's hands looked like they'd fought many
His face must have sometimes been hurt,
Fred Lowbridge a man I admired
He quietly got on with his work.


In 1996 this poem became the second piece of my writing to be printed in the BLACK COUNTRY BUGLE.
The impression it made on his family inspired me to write further work.


The Story Behind The Poem FRED LOWBRIDGE © Robbie Kennedy Bennett


When I was in my teens I worked in Monmore Green, Wolverhampton.
Within this place of work there were many characters of which some have helped me to mould myself to the man that I am today.

One of those characters was Fred Lowbridge, a Surface Grinder working in the tool room. I was told that he was a boxer when he was a young man. It was now early 1970's and he would be in his sixties. A good 15 years or so had passed and I was working in Wednesfield when I decided to write a poem about Fred.

My family and I moved house to Codsall, just outside of Wolverhampton in 1986 and settled into the local community. One day in a local pub a gentleman named as Fred Lowbridge was pointed out to me. 'That’s not Fred Lowbridge, I informed, he's not old enough'. It so happened that it was Fred's son, also named Fred. I got to know him over the years as I did many other locals who all knew me as Bob.

I was unfortunately made redundant in the 1980's and made a career change into insurance. One of my customers was named Lowbridge and I mentioned to him that I had written a poem about Fred Lowbridge who happened to be his dad. I am not sure if I had imagined it but he didn't seem to make too much of an impression upon him. Perhaps he was thinking I was a 'crack pot' as they said in the old days.

In July of 1996, almost 5 years since I had wrote it, I heard that a local nostalgic newspaper called the Black Country Bugle had printed it. Well young Fred then telephoned his brother to tell him that a poem about their dad written by someone called Robbie Bennett was in the Bugle. His brother then told him that I knew him and lived in Codsall. Fred then realised it was me; 'oh it's Bob the footballer' he said. On the Thursday afternoon young Fred came to visit me at home. 'You've made a family proud he told me, 'my mother has said it is him to a tee'. I was shocked to find that she was still alive and into her 90's.

Young Fred has now passed on and I introduced myself to his widow at Alf Perry's funeral. She was pleasantly surprised to meet me and complimented me on the poem. She also told me how proud young Fred was when he saw it in print.

© Robbie Kennedy Bennett












HE PLAYED OUR FAVOURITE TUNE ©
by Robbie Kennedy Bennett 2007

In Memory of Mark Fellows

Written on behalf of his friends at
Codsall Legionaires Club


On the evening of a March eclipse,
His name fell sadly from someone's lips.
The deejay always played a tune,
Into the night and under the silvery moon.
He should be remembered for what it is worth,
For the good times he gave in his life on this earth.
His music reflected every mood,
As we danced and absorbed and endured.
A deejay's legacy is never gone,
In the songs that he played he lives on.
So raise your glass to the man,
Who played your favourite tune.
It was him who made you want to dance,
Under the stars and the silvery moon.
When you held your true love in your arms,
When you celebrated New Year.
The songs that he played for your football team,
And you gave your loudest cheer.
These tunes gave feelings of great delight,
These songs gave feelings of joy.
When you felt that you wanted to dance all night,
Mark Fellows got it just right.



On the 12th May 2007 this poem with his picture was presented to Mark’s widow.
A production of this work is displayed in the Codsall Legionaries Club.



He Played Our Favourite Tune © Robbie Kennedy Bennett














‘ENERY’S HAMMER ©
by Robbie Kennedy Bennett 1991

Remember old 'enery’s hammer,
Remember the terrific left hook.
Remember connecting on Cassius,
He admitted his kinfolk he shook.

Remember the bell starting ringing,
Remember Dundee split his glove.
Remember young Clay on his backside,
Saved from the stars up above.

Remember when Clay changed to Ali,
Remember as well Smokin’ Joe.
Remember too big George Forman,
All beat by Ali we know.

Remember he said he’s ‘The Greatest’,
Remember he said he’d beat Liston.
Remember old ‘enery’s hammer,
The hook with a power of a piston.


HENRY COOPER
British Heavyweight Champion.

'ennery's hammer © Robbie Kennedy Bennett









HOW GOOD WAS BILLY LIDDLE? ©
by Robbie Kennedy Bennett


He said he’d been a Kopite since 1951,
In his honest opinion, the best had since passed on.

He was great he said as he nodded his head.
Above everyone else by far.
I’m conversing with an old un,
Who tells of a boy that became a star.

In the memory bank of every football supporter,
Is a player he thinks could almost walk on water.

Dunfermline born he joined his team,
As an amateur and still a teen.
Lochgelly Violet unearthed a gem,
It happens now and then.

I listen to him reminiscing a while,
About coppers and shillings paid at a turnstile.

I can’t recall him being booked my lad,
In my honest opinion he’s the best that we’ve ever had.
Two feet packed with dynamite,
This Scot could run all day and night.

He paused for a minute and I thought that was all,
Then he spoke about changes he’d seen in football.
He returned to the player he adored,
Year after year the goals he had scored.

As near as can be to a one-man team,
This boy must have been special,
He’s the best that he’d ever seen.
Didn’t cheat nor did he con or fiddle,
How good was Billy Liddle?

He said he’d been a Kopite since 1951,
In his honest opinion, the best had since passed on.





How Good Was Billy Liddle? © Robbie Kennedy Bennett













A Fellow Named Tam Bennett © Robbie Kennedy Bennett











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Dixie © Robbie Kennedy Bennett











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Property of RKB




Thomas Joseph Harris © Robbie Kennedy Bennett














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Property of RKB



Pete The Hat © Robbie Kennedy Bennett







© Robbie Kennedy Bennett
© Robbie Kennedy Bennett


Yanbo © Robbie Kennedy Bennett

© Poetic Writing of Robbie Kennedy Bennett | created at www.mrsite.com