Could mean just one thing
It’s my mate Leo, time to play out
He’s scared of me grandma
He won’t knock at the door
She doesn’t like knocking, don’t knock on the door
Let’s go the Barrelly
A wondrous place
For climbing and digging, to get dirt on your face
Soaring great warehouses
Tower all round
Cooing of pigeons and echoing sounds
Back to the bommy
For footy and tick
Cinders and dirt, fly up when you kick
Under the wagons
Sacks piled up high
Bulging with peanuts, hauled up in the sky
Leaking all over
We scrabble and grab
Stuffing our pockets and any odd bag
Standing on cobbles
And chewing their chaff
Horses wait quietly, just want to get back
Dirty and weary, we wander off home
Hungry and thirsty, what is for tea?
Taters and gravy are waiting for me
Can’t wait for tomorrow
For Leo to call,
Yodelling loudly, we’ll be off to play ball
Yodelling Leo, he’ll be back again
Yodelling Leo, don’t knock on the door
Yodelling Leo, he’s what mates are for
Leo was my first real mate. He lived around the corner from my grandma, just off the dock road in Denison Street, once the most disease riddled street in Liverpool. For us it was one big adventuire playground and the place I spent most of my formative years.
Alistair Parker - 4th December 2013
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