The last two weeks of being seventeen,
I spent abroad in quite a different scene.
Orchestral Music was the fair Arena,
As we flew west by south, for Argentina.
Concerts every evening as we toured
From city on to city unexplored.
No time for fun – rehearse and then perform
In world-class venues; we went down a storm.
The concerts were all sold out; we were all hailed
Celebrities, autographs and photos mailed,
From Buenos Aires to Rosario,
Then Santa Rosa, Mendoza, and so
To Cordoba (in Argentina West)
Exhausting travel, concerts, of the best.
Exam Results were published (which was strange),
I was across the pond, and out of range.
There was no e-mail, internet, and such,
A phone call back to England cost too much.
My parents sent a letter to me, then,
It chased us round the country, hill and glen
As we departed cities, it arrived
But we had left before – so ill-advised,
Ambassador Anthony Williams got involved,
Eventually the problem was resolved.
While waiting in the dinner queue one day,
I received an airmail letter – well, hooray!
And in that very queue, with trembling hands,
I opened envelope, travelled across lands:
I scanned the sheet – and failed to understand
The message which th’ exam board had there planned,
Eventually I understood, and lo!
I had the grades I needed then, to go
To Durham University – all I’d dreamed,
A northern institution well esteemed,
I’d never wanted Oxbridge, couldn’t find the spark
That would have pushed me there to make my mark.
A happy ending; some would have it so,
But two years on, The Falklands brought down low
By Argentinian troops, and ships, and planes
As General Galtieri looked for wealth and gains.
I trace the crazy happenings on the pitch
To this outrageous moment; we can’t ditch
The feeling that in football, rugby, more,
Our countries still appear to be at war.
A great nation – believe me, it’s so sad
That it should fall so dreadful, and so bad
The antics on the pitch disgraced them all,
What happened there will render them so small.
This isn’t the Argentina that I knew,
So beautiful, so generous, so true,
Passionate and beautiful, for sure,
But wounded, grounded, painfully unsure.
The outrage which they bring to every piece,
Entitlement, with violence a disease,
Last night large crowds attacked their own police
And rioted in towns, suburbs and streets.
But still, I can’t relinquish that fair thought
That a new and vibrant chapter should be sought.
I pray blessings and humility in spades
On the country where I found I’d got my grades.
Written following the 2026 World Cup Final.
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