We are humbled and delighted to share this original poem written by hero of Munich, Harry Gregg.

The Phoenix – By Harry Gregg

How they laughed, and loved, and played the game together

Played the game and gave it every ounce of life

And the crowds they thronged to see such free spirits

But, good god, there wasn’t many coming home

 

The dice were cast, for some the last, the final challenge

On a snow bound ground in far off Serbia

The tie was won, the songs were sung, we sang together

But, good god, there won’t be many coming home

 

Roger Byrne, Mark Jones, and Salford’s Eddie Coleman

Tommy Taylor, Jeffrey Bent, and David Pegg

Duncan Edwards, and Dublin’s own boy Liam Whelan

My good god, there wasn’t any who came home

 

Then Murphy picked the standard up

When all looks lost he made the cut

The fresh young flowers he’d fondly nourished

On a Munich runway had sadly perished

 

With aching heart he beat the gong

And told the world the babes lived on

Then best he came, he eased the pain

With Charlton, Law, and Crerand

 

The years between were cold and mean

They never had that feeling

Pretenders came and left again

There wasn’t any healing

 

Then Fergie came and fanned the flames

With Eric’s gallic passion

He gave us Giggs, he gave us Scholes,

He gave us Butt and Beckham

He bought in Keane to lead the team

To even greater glory

My nightmares gone, my dream moves on

Again I see the phoenix

 

There are those gone down that long, long road before us

Yet each morn we try and keep them in our sight

In memories eye, the busby babes are all immortal

The red devils spirit lives, it never died