Tough of the Track

All boys have their heroes
and I was once a boy.
we didn’t have a lot to show -
except a Christmas toy.
My father loved his reading,
he passed the gift to me
and every Sunday morning
gave me a ‘Tanner’ (six old p).
straight to the newsagents
I did run, the owner new the score
and true to our arrangement,
handed over the ‘Victor’

I’d start to read it walking home,
just skimming, front to back
but one story, I’d leave alone,
the best; ‘Tough of the Track’.
Alf Tupper was my hero’s name;
a poor boy, just like me.
We shared the hand, dealt in life’s game
but frowned on charity.
The odds were stacked against us
but it mattered, not one jot!
We’d carry on without a fuss;
make the best of our bad lot.

Every week we’d find some toff,
look down on us as dirt
but we’d just tell them; bugger off!
Pretend it didn’t hurt.
We couldn’t buy love or respect,
we earned it the hard way
my principles - in retrospect -
you taught me, every day.
Tough of the Track, you ran with me,
The early race of life
And in my heart, the man you see,
is still that ‘Guttersnipe’.

Today’s sportsmen, can still inspire
But something lacks, I feel
Because they’ve lost that common fire
And somehow don’t seem real
I watch and cheer with all the rest
and for my kids, I try.
But when my heart’s put to the test,
I can’t identify!
My hero was no millionaire;
on fish and chips he’d snack.
His name was Alf; Alf Tupper
The (real) Tough of the Track!