“….my one distinct memory was the photo of Polly kicking, long legs, broad stance, Geelong colours- the photo in black and white, so I had to imagine, in Farmer’s book.
I was four years old, spread out reading Polly Farmer’s book on my Mum and Dad’s bed, a tradition I had taken up before I was school-aged, ‘reading’ Dad’s Geelong books, which are now passed on to me.
I would ponder over this photo of Polly, trace my fingers over his boots and wonder how he played the game.
Then my Dad would come in and find me, smile beaming because his indoctrination for Geelong had worked, and I’d say:
“Tell me about Polly”
And he would….”
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