“No school uniform mum?”
Echoed from within my closetrobe
Indeed full of mostly nothingness
Like a lock without a Ness.

For we was nearly always poor see
Or told I was by mum irate
I came to school the first day late
In jeans and a friggin Travolting shirt on me

“Stop there lad!” ee said like that, for a Flanagan was ee
“What in god’s name has your mother bestowed on yee
is she completely balmy?”
“Know not I what wrong I’ve done sir?”

“You can’t come to school dressed like that boy!
You know where uniformal dress is sold
In this here building, grey and black and blue and gold!”
A clump it grew within my throat and dropped with weight and pain

I thought I would at least be slain
But he let me in after ifs and buts
That all day long I felt very dark and down
And needed all my bravely guts

Several fathoms of time later that day
Said the teacherfolk: “You can all go home if you may.”
Whilst whollocking home my pain grew red from costumelessly lack
For a bloody sheep was I, not white or even black

That evening I swiped a one pound note from granny Featherstone
And consequently hid it under my narnian closetrobe
From where she provided love and company,
as well as economic security


Dylan Tate 1985. Ett minne ifrån skolstarten i Norra London 1976