He was sat in his favourite place in the world
Nestled on grand daddy’s knee
His attention was drawn by the evening news
That had started upon the TV

He watched in amazement as fully grown men
Were stood with their heads facing down
Some wiping tears from their aged old eyes
Whilst on others a sorrowful frown

No one was talking, they stood there like statues
Everyone looking so sad
“What are they doing, and why are they crying”
He asked his beloved grandad

“They’re remembering lad” said his grandad
“Remembering some thing long ago.
A group of young men called the Busby Babes
Who died in a plane in the snow”

And his grandfathers eyes seemed to drift
As he told of a team of you men
Who had travelled to somewhere a long way from home
And some would not come back again.

Now totally lost in a far distant memory
He talked of a wonderful time
Of young men who twice had been champions
So cruelly cut down in their prime.

By now the young boy, who had sat there so quietly
Was getting more and more excited
“When I grow up I’ll be a babe too
And I’ll play for Manchester United”

His grandfather smiled and patted his head
“Aye lad that’s was my dream too…
I wanted to be like my heroes back then
But my dream just never came true”

“But granddad” he said ” you could be a babe now.
I am sure that now you’re grown up
You could go play in Europe and travel to Wembley
And win the European cup”

His grandfather smiled, shaking his head
‘that time draws much closer each day
I will join the babes and Matt Busby as well
And the beautiful game I will play”

Looking down he noticed a pair of closed eyes
For his grandson had fallen asleep
And the greatest of gifts that a grandad could give
Was a dream that this young boy could keep

With the babes now firmly entrenched in his heart
And a love of United undying
In years to come his own grandson will ask
“Granddad why are those men crying”

Each February we meet up at Old Trafford to remember those who died Learn more