It was a period of sacred silence
Before each Saturday night tea,
When we ritually assembled,
Me Mam, me Dad, and me.
The papers neatly folded,
The pen at the ready,
Deep breaths slowly taken,
So we were calm and steady.
The moment finally arrived.
This is what it was all about,
The life changing time when
The footy scores were read out
Dad's face told the story.
It seems once more
Yet again we'd missed
Those elusive eight draws,
All that Wednesday night study
With the papers scattered about
Before he carefully and neatly
Marked our eight selections out
And then, like so many thousands,
We saw an end to our schemes,
Eight draws on the pools coupon,
Many a working families dreams.
That Saturday tea time ritual echoed
The length and breadth of the land
When many thousand working men
Put on hold schemes long planned.
At least another week at work until
The following Saturday night
When lady fortune might smile
And we'd get our forecasts right.
No twice weekly National Lottery
No showy razzmatazz on TV
Just a lonely voice reading scores
Just before our Saturday tea.
Just for a while we'd had hope
In a working life that could be bleak,
There'd be another Pools Night and
It might our turn to win next week.
