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smithy43
smithy43 (IP Logged)

Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 01:27
STEVE MCNULTY IS A WHITE HE IS OUR SCOUSER HERO,
ON A FREE FROM LUTON TOWN HE COST US F*CKING ZERO.
6 FOOT 1 AND HARD AS F*CK HE NEVER LETS A GOAL IN,
SHOVE YOUR LINCOLN UP YOUR ASS CAUSE WE ARE TRANMERE ROVERS, WE ARE TRANMERE ROVERS, WE ARE TRANMERE ROVERS!!

like the zlatan ibra chant for united



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 10/04/2017 01:28 by smithy43.

 
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HalfManHalfBiscan (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 08:51
I see Wordsworth is alive and well....



I left my heart in Papworth General

 
Fiftyyearsarover
Fiftyyearsarover (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 09:37
LOL I see where your coming from halfman .but more Wilfred Owen ,he was a Birkenhead lad

 
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HalfManHalfBiscan (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 13:22
Quote:
Fiftyyearsarover
LOL I see where your coming from halfman .but more Wilfred Owen ,he was a Birkenhead lad


Indeed, Fifty...One of Birkenhead's proudest sons. Was killed on the last day of World War One.
Remember doing his poems for O'Level including 'Anthem for a Doomed Youth' which I always thought would make a good title for a punk song....


What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.


Utterly 5h!te compared to the 'Ode to Steve McNulty.
Good to know Wilfred Owen's spirit is still being nurtured on his native heath!



I left my heart in Papworth General



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 10/04/2017 13:29 by HalfManHalfBiscan.

 
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Doogie'sGhost (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 13:48
This bit of Dulce et Decorum Est always stuck with me-

An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

Anyway, a elegant, resounding chorus of "You can stick your veggie pies up yer ar5e" from the Kop might not be out of place tomorrow.

 
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HalfManHalfBiscan (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 14:02
Quote:
Doogie'sGhost
This bit of Dulce et Decorum Est always stuck with me-
An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

Anyway, a elegant, resounding chorus of "You can stick your veggie pies up yer ar5e" from the Kop might not be out of place tomorrow.

LOL

Yep...remember that one too. The full Latin motto, "Dulce et Decorum est Pro Patria Mori" is ironically translated as "What a sweet and wonderful thing it is to die for one's country."

Conjures up Half Man Half Biscuit's 'Dead Men Don't Need Season Tickets'...

Telephone call
Telling me
My old friend Graham had died
I took a ride
Down to where I
Could be of assistance

I said to his wife
Don’t give in
To grieving cliche and turn
His side of the room
Into a shrine
It just doesn’t work

My arm round her shoulder
Gently I told her
Dead men don’t need season tickets

Now that he’s gone
You’re gonna need
A helping hand with the lawn
Various chores
Not least of all
Those funeral arrangements

If I were you
I’d get myself
Away from all that relates
Week in The Lakes
Reasonable rates
Early September

Now I’m no hotelier
Just thought I’d tell yer
Dead men don’t need season tickets

Maybe I’m forward
Maybe I’m morbid
Dead men don’t need season tickets

Dead men don’t need season tickets
In a mortuary
In the mortuary
In the mortuary
In the mortuary




I left my heart in Papworth General

 
martyd12
martyd12 (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 14:16
He along with Siegfried Sassoon was our greatest war poet. They were great friends and spent some time recuperating together after their war exertions. Both returned to the Front and whilst Sassoon survived Owen was killed in one of the last offensives of the war. He died seven days to the hour before the Armistice was declared. His mother received notification of his death on the day peace was declared. It is said that Sassoon did not hear of Owen's death for some months and was devastated by his friend's death and never really recovered from it.

 
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HalfManHalfBiscan (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 14:20
Quote:
martyd12
He along with Siegfried Sassoon was our greatest war poet. They were great friends and spent some time recuperating together after their war exertions. Both returned to the Front and whilst Sassoon survived Owen was killed in one of the last offensives of the war. He died seven days to the hour before the Armistice was declared. His mother received notification of his death on the day peace was declared. It is said that Sassoon did not hear of Owen's death for some months and was devastated by his friend's death and never really recovered from it.

Probably the best biography I've read was that of Wilfred Owen.
Immensely moving...

Sassoon and Owen both met in Castle Lockhart in Scotland when both were recovering from shell shock (post traumatic stress disorder). Sassoon took Owen, who was the son of a railway clerk in Birkenhead and a former pupil of Birkenhead Institute, under his poetic wing and introduced him to all the great and the good of London (artistic) society before Owen was forced back to the Front and killed trying to build a bridge for British tanks.

[www.amazon.co.uk]



I left my heart in Papworth General



Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 10/04/2017 14:44 by HalfManHalfBiscan.

 
Fiftyyearsarover
Fiftyyearsarover (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 14:37
I did not know such eloquence was lurking in the depths of Prenton Park .😳

 
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HalfManHalfBiscan (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 14:39
Quote:
Fiftyyearsarover
I did not know such eloquence was lurking in the depths of Prenton Park .😳

In the words of the great bard himself....

"Oh Birkenhead...(Oh Birkenhead)....is wonderful...(is wonderful)..."



I left my heart in Papworth General

 
Fiftyyearsarover
Fiftyyearsarover (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 14:51
Unbeatable .Shakespeare the Bard could not have done better .as to our aspirations .is to be or not to be MM could say on the way our onto the field once more into the breech dear friends or for st George and prenton park

 
Kennel
Kennel (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 15:19
" them eat cake " (or is it Rice!).

 
Loyden1
Loyden1 (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 15:56
And owens friend did well later with them hairdressers.

 
Fiftyyearsarover
Fiftyyearsarover (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 17:17
Yes Vidal did indeed do very well with his salons he used to tell hair raising stories about the war

 
Yiggsy
Yiggsy (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 17:47
This one of Owen's is probably my favourite:

Greater Love
Red lips are not so red
As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
Kindness of wooed and wooer
Seems shame to their love pure.
O Love, your eyes lose lure
When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!

Your slender attitude
Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,
Rolling and rolling there
Where God seems not to care;
Till the fierce Love they bear
Cramps them in death's extreme decrepitude.

Your voice sings not so soft, --
Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft, --
Your dear voice is not dear,
Gentle, and evening clear,
As theirs whom none now hear
Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.

Heart, you were never hot,
Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
And though your hand be pale,
Paler are all which trail
Your cross through flame and hail:
Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.
Wilfred Owen

The first verse sort of fits into the "On the way" chant. Try it!



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 10/04/2017 17:48 by Yiggsy.

 
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hong kong rover (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 19:18
some not so eloquent verse..

There once was a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead wh*re in his cave
She was missing a t*t
And smelled like sh*t
But think of the money he saved.


There once was a man from Bel Air
Who was doing his wife on the stair
But the banister broke
So he doubled his stroke
And finished her off in mid-air.


There was a young maiden from France
Who took a long train ride by chance
The engineer f***ed her
So did the conductor
And the fireman he came in his pants.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 10/04/2017 19:19 by hong kong rover.

 
Loyden1
Loyden1 (IP Logged)

Re: Steve McNulty
10 April, 2017 20:32
Naughty hkr.but had to do a tranmere1. . .old mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to get our rover a bone .when she bent over rover took over and gave her a bone of his own....Sorry.


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