“And all our planes returned safely” he said And a packed room sat in disbelief But hung on every word that emanated From that magical box on the kitchen table. “We’ve come a long way from the penny paper” he said And they remembered gathering in Quigley’s house To hear the National and International news read From the only paper in the village, for a fortnight. “In the Name of the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost”, she said And like a well drilled regiment they dropped And knelt on bended knee, cap in hand, And prayed to God at the Angelus bell. “No news is good news”, the postman always said And still the hunger grew for any news That filled ordinary lives with extraordinary images Of other worlds, a thousand miles away. “Turn your Radio on” she sang And they did and filled their minds With words and music, and Sunday plays For seventy five years of radio days.
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