A farewell to arms…

I went to Thatcher’s funeral to document a seething, rabid mob of protestors out for blood, out for justice, out to have their say…

What I mostly saw were people like me, wide eyed nosey parkers and social voyeurs with their camera phones out, trying to get one last piece of Maggie, to show that they were there when she went.

I saw respectful mourners, disgruntled rememberers, stretched-neck masses behind barriers, and heard a few anarchists’ boos after the bells sounded, but didn’t see any ‘action’; no spewing mobs calling for justice, no placards, no burning Guys… (Then again, she was already dead, and she had already won the war…)

But maybe this is Maggie’s greatest achievement: to have, either through increased prosperity or arguably by crushing the unions and protestors and vocal free-thinkers, turned Britain into a ‘middle-class’ nation of apathetic voyeurs and vicarious parasites…

As I left proceedings on The Strand and crossed over Waterloo Bridge, I observed the only thing close to ‘spilt blood’ that I’d witness that day – drops from a nose bleed left on the pavement, now being walked over by commuters as they continued their daily trundle…


Spilt blood


A Farwell To Arms

The blood on the tracks

Has all but been washed off now,

The leaders deceased.

We gather to check the scores on our mobiles

Before walking home in the rain –

A farewell to arms



© Compo 2013


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