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We'll keep the red flag flying here
Today I thought I'd share with you a... curio, I suppose. A past memory; a book from my childhood.
We had a dog called Trotsky, a mug shaped like Karl Marx held pride of place on the Welsh dresser, and my dad wore a badge that read 'Tories are the cream of the crop: rich, thick, and full of clots'.
I remember going on a march to support the miner's strike when I was about seven (my mum, bless 'er, dressed me up to look like a "miner's child", in ragged clothes, rubbed with coal from our fireplace. I remember being freezing on the march itself, but enjoying shouting along with "Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, OUT, OUT, OUT!"), standing outside Sainsbury's handing out badges supporting the NUT (National Union of Teachers), and being thrown off buses on behalf of the Can't Pay, Won't Pay campaign - a grassroots protest against raising fares on London transport, on behalf of which my mother spent a brief time in Holloway Prison, where she learned how to braid her hair.
It can't have been an especially unusual childhood, I suppose - the Labour Party were the second most powerful party in the country even then, and there were plenty of passionate lefties out there, particularly in the mining towns in Wales and up north. It was unusual for our area, though - the suburbs of North London, middle class, white collar, upwardly mobile, enjoying their prawn cocktails and Blue Nun, hoping to make a habit of a holiday abroad every year. I certainly can't imagine any of my classmates having a book like this.
I'm not especially political now (although more so than some of my colleagues), and partly that's me being reactionary. I was mortified by being thrown off buses, although I was then and still am proud of my mother for standing up for her beliefs. Partly it's just that I take after my father, and am more inclined to be lazy and... fatalistic? zen? Depending on how it's spun. The interest in the election over the past few weeks has felt very strange, familiar but not. All these conversations I've been having, I remember my parents having with their friends.
Is it strange to be nostalgic about left-wing politics in the early 1980s?
We had a dog called Trotsky, a mug shaped like Karl Marx held pride of place on the Welsh dresser, and my dad wore a badge that read 'Tories are the cream of the crop: rich, thick, and full of clots'.
I remember going on a march to support the miner's strike when I was about seven (my mum, bless 'er, dressed me up to look like a "miner's child", in ragged clothes, rubbed with coal from our fireplace. I remember being freezing on the march itself, but enjoying shouting along with "Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, OUT, OUT, OUT!"), standing outside Sainsbury's handing out badges supporting the NUT (National Union of Teachers), and being thrown off buses on behalf of the Can't Pay, Won't Pay campaign - a grassroots protest against raising fares on London transport, on behalf of which my mother spent a brief time in Holloway Prison, where she learned how to braid her hair.
It can't have been an especially unusual childhood, I suppose - the Labour Party were the second most powerful party in the country even then, and there were plenty of passionate lefties out there, particularly in the mining towns in Wales and up north. It was unusual for our area, though - the suburbs of North London, middle class, white collar, upwardly mobile, enjoying their prawn cocktails and Blue Nun, hoping to make a habit of a holiday abroad every year. I certainly can't imagine any of my classmates having a book like this.
I'm not especially political now (although more so than some of my colleagues), and partly that's me being reactionary. I was mortified by being thrown off buses, although I was then and still am proud of my mother for standing up for her beliefs. Partly it's just that I take after my father, and am more inclined to be lazy and... fatalistic? zen? Depending on how it's spun. The interest in the election over the past few weeks has felt very strange, familiar but not. All these conversations I've been having, I remember my parents having with their friends.
Is it strange to be nostalgic about left-wing politics in the early 1980s?
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It's funny, though, they sort of do feel a bit old-fashioned, now. Except how they're not - witness my having to alter my booking to Spain to an earlier flight by the British Airways cabin crew strike. My commitment to unions, it is being sorely tried today. The timing, how ironic. *sigh*
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