Belfast Celtic 1891 - 1949

Celtic in verse  1901 - 1952


Poetry, rhymes, verse and songs are very important to the story of Belfast Celtic. The Celtic following was famous for their enthusiasm and devotion to the Grand Old Team.

On this page you will find a limited selection of verse. We would very much like to add to this collection. If you have anything of interest please get in touch.





Celtic - League Champions (1901)

by Crossbar



Out of seeming nothing;

Out of shadow and gloom;

Out of a hollowed vacuum

Came something to keep us in tune.

Something to interest and please us;

Something we call our own;

Something we almost worship;

Loving beyond control.

Boys by practice and training;

Diligently keeping fit;

Men by planning and scheming

Built it bit by bit.

Loyally working together;

Faithful to their scheme;

Out of little or nothing

Came the champion Celtic team

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A Monologue on a Celtic Game (1927)

by Anon



Go on the Celts! 0' here they come

Wi' 'Fergie' in front - tap up that drum;

And Gallagher, the new MacStay: By gum,

We're in for a rattling game.

Say, gimme a match till I light me pipe,

Did they win the toss? They did. Be cripes;

They're aff. Luk out. Go on the Stripes!

An' here's good luck to them same.


Move up my lads. Aye, that's the way

To sling her across. Eh, what? I say

But that was a near thing - that shud pay,

If ye keep at it, don't forget.

Now Curran, boy, it's you that has the boot

That nearly knows the way to shoot,

Of itself. So use that fut

An' rattle it into the net.


Luk out! Here comes the two Mahoods.

There's wan o' them sure to deliver the goods;

Have a slap at it, Jackie. A goal! First blood!

Sure I knowed that he wudn't wait long.

Go on them Stripes! Pile up the score,

Don't waste time till ye rattle home four;

But even ye pile up a dozen, or more,

We won't say ye've done any wrong.


A great half-line! None better I'll swear,

Than stonewall Pollock and whirlwind Moore;

Or Eddie Inch, wi' a fut that's sure

To be givin' the forwards a chance.

Out to Ferris, lad. Slip her on to him,

There's nothin' that isn't known to Jim;

When things luk blue, an' the struggle's grim

An' dour, he'll lead them a dance.


Keep it up, my lads. There McGrillen goes

Like a greyhound slipped, wi' the ball at his toes;

How to fetch her along, none better knows,

Jes' wait till he hits her a welt.

Stan' out o' my light. D'ye 'xpect a view

Like what Diffen has got, who has nothin' to do,

'Cept watch the match? But be cripes, they're through,

Let's hear ye me lads - 'Hurrah for the Celts'.


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by  F. A. Blaney


'Take the blues, or take the measles,

Take the flu when it's about

And for half-a-crown the doctor'll

put the germs to rout;

But never yet a doctor has

A remedy procured,

For a complaint which sore afflicts me, 

Celtic-itis can't be cured.


And as this ailment emanates

From Belfast's 'Paradise',

It hasn't passed unnoticed in the land ayont the skies;

And there it is - and well I know

An' devil take the cure,

I dreamed last night that I was dead

And at the Golden Door.


A half of Heaven's mighty band

They laid aside their pipes,

Whene'er they heard me in the queue

A-yellin' 'Go'n the Stripes';

But when they looked the calendar

Expressions of Alarm!

'Go back man dear until You hear

The score wi' them and Larne.'


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Cock of the North

by Hart Vernon


There is a team called Celtic,

They are always to the fore;

They've won their share of trophies,

And are keen to win some more.

Our goalies both are clever,

Hamill and 'Fergie' grand;

Pollock, Moore and Inch

Are the best halves in the land.

McGillen, Ferris, Curran,

We know they are the goods;

But best of all, when on the ball,

Are the famous two Mahoods.



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The Game at Celtic Park

by Alfie Woods 


Keep your eyes glued on the dressing-room door,

And watch for the Celts - it's like days of yore,

And be ready to raise your voice to a roar,

When the boys sprint out to the field.

They're with us again, 'tho it's just for today,

Some years now have passed since they melted away,

No wonder our hearts are glad and gay,

Our staunchness we never did yield.


What a crowd, too, it all makes a wonderful sight,

And they're still coming in by left and by right,

Enthusiasm never reached such a height,

We're just longing to see them again.


And who better to meet than McGrory's boys,

The dashing Celts with the perfect poise,

Our friends through sorrows, our friends through joys,

And such will ever remain.


There are faces here we've not seen for years,

Old fans with whom we used to share the cheers,

And I'm not so sure there aren't a few tears,

As they gaze towards that dressing-room door.


Now a hush descends on the mighty throng,

They'd just been singing the old Celtic song -

For here come the boys! let's roar loud and long,

With many a hearty encore.

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Lament of the Belfast Celtic Fans

by Alfie Woods


We followed them through weather foul and fair,

We sang the song that 'Celtic will be there',

We queued up at 'The Park' in thousands strong,

When they came out we cheered them loud and long


A team of stars, they shone in showing frills,

And capped the fancy stuff with scoring thrills,

And each one's talent blended with the rest,

They knew that teamwork always pays the best.


And so the Celtic sideboard oft was taxed

With cups and trophies that the team annexed,

No wonder we look back on them with pride,

'Twas something to have followed such a side



And follow them we did with merry fuss,

We packed the Celtic train and Celtic bus,

To far off fields we sang and cheered our way,

Still louder cheered when they were in the fray.



And wistful we look back upon those days,

The memory of the Stripes we can't erase,

Perhaps in happier times we'll cheer again,

The dear old Celts and sing the old refrain.'


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