Joolz Sparkes and Hilaire
The hidden histories of London’s unsung heroines, north and south of the river Sample Passages
Permitted to Play
Arsenal Football Stadium, Home End, 1991
Dad, when I grow up I will be
First Division, midfield, score
the winning goal. On this turf,
Arsenal Stadium, Gillespie Road.
Teacher says I’m better than the boys.
Dad, Dad, I can beat them on this pitch.
With you and mum eating hotdogs
in the red seats, waving scarves.
On telly, they only show the men’s.
Dad, when can I play for Arsenal? When?
by Joolz north of the river
All She Desires
Refreshment Kiosk, Battersea Park, Summer, 1895
A girl can dream.
She can dream all day
while serving teas
and clearing tables
and taking orders
from ladies wilting pleasantly
under shady trees,
their covetable bicycles
propped and resting
after so many circuits round the park.
A girl can dream
of how many miles she’d ride,
out to Richmond and beyond
into countryside and sootless air.
How boundless then her horizons.
So, off you go, ladies,
refreshed, aglow, tootling blithely
to your Mayfair homes.
This girl has to hoof it
up the Junction, weary of limb,
and longing for her very own
freedom machine.
Sandwiched between little sis and big ’un,
a girl can dream of spokes and pedals,
two flashing wheels,
the unstoppable momentum
of her journey out
into the world.
by Hilaire south of the river
Permitted to Play
Arsenal Football Stadium, Home End, 1991
Dad, when I grow up I will be
First Division, midfield, score
the winning goal. On this turf,
Arsenal Stadium, Gillespie Road.
Teacher says I’m better than the boys.
Dad, Dad, I can beat them on this pitch.
With you and mum eating hotdogs
in the red seats, waving scarves.
On telly, they only show the men’s.
Dad, when can I play for Arsenal? When?
by Joolz north of the river
All She Desires
Refreshment Kiosk, Battersea Park, Summer, 1895
A girl can dream.
She can dream all day
while serving teas
and clearing tables
and taking orders
from ladies wilting pleasantly
under shady trees,
their covetable bicycles
propped and resting
after so many circuits round the park.
A girl can dream
of how many miles she’d ride,
out to Richmond and beyond
into countryside and sootless air.
How boundless then her horizons.
So, off you go, ladies,
refreshed, aglow, tootling blithely
to your Mayfair homes.
This girl has to hoof it
up the Junction, weary of limb,
and longing for her very own
freedom machine.
Sandwiched between little sis and big ’un,
a girl can dream of spokes and pedals,
two flashing wheels,
the unstoppable momentum
of her journey out
into the world.
by Hilaire south of the river