by Clarkson Wroe

Created on: March 05, 2009

TWENTY FIVE YEARS ON

A tossed collection bucket,

Resigned anger.

The bitch Thatcher' had won.

A full club,

Men waiting for him

To speak,

To confirm their defeat

To structure

Reassuring words

Platitudes that would ease their pain,

As his tradition,

A homily to their just cause,

Men sat and stood in sombre reflection,

Some with wives,

Women who deserved to be there

At the end,

They had fought

Suffered

Supported

Fiercely

Outstripping their men folk.

Many men carried physical scars

Of Orgreave

And Maltby

All scarred physiologically

And fiscally

Beyond repair.

He threw his cap and

Vented his passion,

He spoke of pride,

Of brotherhood,

Of comradeship,

Of community and

He swallowed hard

Together,

In one week

They would

March the lane to the colliery pit head,

Band playing, Union banners unfurled

And with heads held high,

Back to work.

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