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Remembering The Jungle

I remember travelling
along the Gallowgate
Were Janefield Street
and the merchandise sellers met,
I could hear the fans singing
a mile away
All at Parkhead
to watch the Celtic play.

In through the boys gate,
pay at the turnstile
Pass the pylon that stood
between the Celtic End and the Jungle
It was under the TV gantry
were I most times stood;
Cheering on Davie Hay, Paul Wilson
and Harry Hood.

Macaroon bars
and spearmint chewing gum,
Came the shout
Every Saturday afternoon
And we’d stand with glory,
scarf’s around our necks;
Would Dalglish put the ball
into the back of the net?

Standing in the Jungle
became a lesson
Learning songs not approved
by our mother’s at home,
And our scarfs hung heavy
by our fortune in badges;
Enamel pictures of Ireland
and Celtic patches.

At the age of sixteen,
we’d imitate our old man
Like the days when he stood
with a beer can in his hand,
And we cursed every player
who never wore a green & white shirt,
And celebrate together
when the Hoops hit the net.

How I remember the Jungle
when I was young
Passing down the memories,
the atmosphere, the songs,
But the pride of Celtic
continues to play
As I watch from Toronto,
so many miles away.

Aug’15th 2004

by Daniel McDonagh

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