I can remember, I can remember.
The months of November and December
      Were filled for me with peculiar joys
So different from those of other boys
      For other boys would be counting the days
Until end of term and holiday times
      But I was acting in Christmas plays
While they were taken to pantomimes.
      I didn’t envy their Eton suits,
Their children’s dances, and Christmas trees.
      My life had wonderful substitutes
For such conventional treats as these.
      I didn’t envy their country larks,
They organized games in panelled halls:
      While they made snow men in stately parks
I was counting the curtain calls.

              I remember the auditions, the nerve-wracking auditions:
              Darkened auditorium and empty, dusty stage,
              Little girls in ballet dresses practicing “positions”
              Gentlemen with pince-nez asking your age.
              Hopefulness and nervousness struggling within you,
              Dreading that familiar phrase, “Thank you dear, nor more.”
              Straining every muscle, every tendon, every sinew
              To do your dance much better than you’d ever done before.
              Think of your performance. Never mind the others,
              Never mind the pianist, talent must prevail.
              Never mind the baleful eyes of other children’s mothers
              Glaring from the corners and willing you to fail.

I can remember, I can remember.
The months of November and December.
      Were more significant to me
Than other months could ever be
      For they were the months of high romance
When Destiny waited on tiptoe,
      When every boy actor stood a chance
Of getting into a Christmas show,
      Not for me the dubious heaven 
Of being some prefect’s protégé
      Not for me the Second Eleven.
For me, two performances a day.

              Ah those first rehearsals! Only very few lines:
              Rushing home to mother, learning them by heart,
             “Enter Left through window”—Dots to mark the cue lines:
             “Exit with others”—Still it was a part.
              Opening performance; legs a bit unsteady,
              Dedicated tension, shivers down my spine,
              Powder, grease and eye-black, sticks of make-up ready
              Leichner number three and number five and number nine
              World of strange enchantment, magic for a small boy
              Dreaming of the future, reaching for the crown,
              Rigid in the dressing-room, listening for the call-boy
              “Overture Beginners—Everybody Down!”

I can remember, I can remember.
The months of November and December. 
      Although climatically cold and damp
Meant more to me than Aladdin’s lamp.
      I see myself, having got a job,
Walking on wings along the Strand,
      Uncertain, whether to laugh or sob
And clutching tightly my mother’s hand,
      I never cared who scored the goal
Or which side won the silver cup,
      I never learned to bat or bowl
But I heard the curtain going up.