Poem

POEM ABOUT ST GREGORY’S

By John P. Swords (pupil in the 1950s), written in November 1997

The grey winter mists descended upon Ardwick Green

Such a destination had to be seen

Ahead lay the gloomy dark building with its ancient oak door

An imposing sight, one to abhor

There was only one way there; by the famous old trolley bus

9.10 was the deadline and there could be no fuss

The electric cables crackled as it rolled along

Bringing with it the Gregorian throng

Ahead lies the building ugly and mean

A less pretty sight could hardly be seen

The race was on to get in on time

For Joe Rocca was stern but always benign

Inside the serious business began

The message was “Try as hard as you can”

The dedicated masters worked often in vain

To drill the knowledge into the dim boys’ brain

There was Callaghan and Makin, Brannan and Smith

And many others too

Tirelessly they told us what to eschew

But as the years went by they had their glory

And behind all this lies another story

We had our intellectuals, not one but a few

There was Cassidy and Burgess to name but two

To our tutors, then all strength and praise

As we return to them in separate ways

Privileges there were none, for the job had to be done

Within the fortress of rubble and grime

The boys could not wait to shine

“Give us a football” was the cry

And when it came, the others knew just why

There was Sivori and Murphy and Billy Hall

The other teams just would not get the ball

Out on the wing was Peter Wright

His twinkling toes left them all in his sight

Whatever the opposition did, Old Gregs did it best

As the goals went in we always passed the test

They could not beat us however they tried

As the glories came to boost our pride

Wherever they played far and wide

Nobody could stop the great Gregs tide

The old grey building which has stood for years

Had to be knocked down without any tears

It had to be laid flat

But have no fears, McGuinness would see to that

With sledgehammer and bulldozers Pat knocked it down

To leave a heap of rubble the biggest in town

The old buildings gone and there’s nothing left to see

Except some Testimony

Somehow the sleeping spirit would arise

And impress upon us our early lives

As the old boys gather from near and far

Again to see a shining star

We acknowledge it was our fate

All praise be to you Gregory the Great

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