Listening to Kara’s words I was transported back to the late 60’s and a group of friends I went around with. We fancied ourselves a cut above the rest and envisaged ourselves as a sort of Welsh “Rat Pack”. I of course, although already a good few inches taller than him, was Frank Sinatra!



1969 Coney Beach South Wales
Rick in his leather coat
Me in my blue denim
His mother said why do you call him Rick
When his name is Grenville
I said well he just told me too
And his father said “Get your hair cut
You look like a pair of Nancy Boys”

Brett Carlyon had a tongue that could whip a dog
Well he’d poke it out
And the girls would swoon
And the boys well we just laughed a lot
He had long curly hair
Nearly reached his knees
He reckoned he was a guru
And he told us stories of his father who was a baker
But had never made a loaf of bread

Oh these were heady days
These were my days
Yes they were heady days
But my days

Gary Feely was the son of a policeman
And he lived in a policemans house
But his father was a stickler for the rules
And he reported his son for smoking grass
So Gary took a torch and he burned the police house
Down to the ground
But they never caught him
It was blamed on a crazy guy from another village
Who was known for this sort of thing

Martin Say was a boy
Who always looked like he was a man
He wore three piece suits shiny brogue shoes
And one of those pins stuck in his tie
I think it was made of gold
He made us look like we were poor but he was still our friend
He sometimes bought us Coca Cola in the little cafe
Down by the bus depot

Going back to where I came from
I’m going back to the places I came from
Twisted memories
And little bits of time wrapped up
In silver bubble gum paper
My mother told me my hair would fall out
If I kept using a razor comb
She was right