The child laughs, so why do I weep,
What future for her, would she not be best in endless sleep?
She reaches, I feel a pain inside,
As across my palm her stump does slide.
I smile as another tear trickles from my eyes,
They said radiation wouldn’t affect that area, it was all lies.

Her distorted face stares up at me, a ghostly gaze,
“Why am I so?” in her mind that must be an incessant haze.
Oh pray let her die, let her never know,
About her pregnant mother in the field when that wind did blow.
Or her father conscripted to fight the reactor fire,
Told he’d be a hero now a sick unemployed wreck that no one will hire.

Frustrated she screams and kicks with her one pathetic little leg,
She’ll never walk or dance in a country so poor, will she have to beg?
Her cries echo down that long dismal ward,
Where hundreds lie deformed or dying, can such suffering progress afford?

“It’s so tragic” says the nurse in sombre mood,
There was nothing else to eat her mother had to eat contaminated food.

The child now calm after receiving a dose of medication,
A little help in her life of eternal damnation.

Nuclear its one of the safest forms of power sources about,
So we were told, now our fears have been proved beyond reasonable doubt.

For thousands of years once fertile land must be now left unproductive,
The lure of cheap power catching up with the West it was once so seductive.

The same terrible catastrophe could happen not far from you,
One accident is all it takes then your future daughter will laugh her hideous laugh too.

Disco Dave. Faslane Peace Camp. Scotland. 1996

Don’t call us Heroes

Don’t call us heroes and don’t call us brave
Just cause we’re standing and fighting to save
The trees and the creatures, the air and the space
And the things that sustain all our lives in this place

I’m not brave not a hero, I’m none of that stuff
I’m scared and I know that I can’t do enough;
That a month underground won’t stop the destruction
That giving my life wouldn’t end the corruption,

That all their surveillance, their laws and their powers
Are focused against us our tunnels and towers

I’m scared of eviction; I’m scared I might find
That my body is weak or I’m losing my mind

And people who say that I’m brave isolate me
And people who call me a hero frustrate me

Cause it’s not about glory or leading the way
Or a few in a tunnel day after day
And you smile as you say it not realising
That though meant in kindness its just patronising

Cause these words say it’s pointless whatever we do
If you think that the fight can fought by a few

I’m nobody special I’m not heroic
I’m not a warrior rugged and stoic

I’m just a person like any other
But I can’t let the earth be destroyed by another,
be torn up and poisoned to profit a few
While I sit back and say there’s not much I can do
And if you want an end to this earth raping farce
Then don’t call me a hero just gets off your arse

Jo Wilding. After 40 days protest underground in Essex. 2000

Loch Long

I have witnessed buzzard soar from this mountain
I have watched seal and dolphin at play in this Loch
and a double rainbow split the gull strewn sky
in a delicate bridge from shore to shore
on one shore the treasure of natural beauty
on the other the poison of industrial death
The billion pound folly of a nuclear base

The creation of death
In defiance of death
In defiance of logic
In defiance of life

Placed on our land by an unelected government
Bribed on out people with the promise of jobs
Work to feed your children at your grand children’s expense
Then watch grown men who’ve not grown out of war games
Playing with their deadly toys, our lives our future
They have no targets nor safe means of disposal
But will defend to death the right to toy with life

The creation of death
In defence of death
In defiance of logic
In defiance of life

Brycey. Talamh Housing Co-op. Lanarkshire, Scotland. 1995

The Academic

Onto camp she came wearing a yellow Gore-Tex jacket.
Initially we welcomed her until she called our rhythmic drum beating a racket.

She spoke aloof and proper, such lovely manners such diversity.
“Oh and by the way hello, I’m Felicity from the Oxford University.”

With Guardian newspaper gripped firmly under her arm,
She cleaned a chair so her pristine designer trousers would come to no harm.

I gave this stranger a suspicious sneer,
While I counted my few pennies ‘thank goodness just enough for a beer’.

Curious we studied this immaculate creature,
Not a spec of dirt not an ounce of grim on any feature.

“Fancy a cup of tea?” said Bill in friendly token,
“It’s your lucky day love, clean cups and none of them chipped or broken.”

She accepted then asked,
“Please tell me what doctrine do you preach?
What level of consciousness do you wish to reach?
Be it environmental matters you wish to teach?
Pray be lucid in your speech.”

Laura with fag hanging from her gob
Replied “nice bit of patter love, so what’s your job?”

“I’m a post-structuralist modernist and proud to proclaim,
A knowledge of heterogeneous societies I can also claim.”

Had this been a café in the trendy Westend,
We may have sat and politely listened not wishing to offend.

But this was the frontline of yet another tree eviction,
No fancy shallow pretentious words here, we demanded conviction.

She continued holding her cigarette like some film director.

“Are you intent to perhaps cause a police fracture?
What ailments of society do you wish to cure?
Just how do you perceive a post capitalist future?”

The grassroots struggle she could not comprehend in her world of academia,
The surreal world of computer and TV that was more her mania.

On she went in supreme self belief,
“What groupings do you relate or identify through?
What affinity organisations or labels do you aspire to?”

She was young she was the future we listened in despair,
She couldn’t relate, five foot felt like a chasm between us and her chair.

Cath with ragged dreadlocks spoke “if it’s a label you insist,
I will explain in words clear not clouded in academic mist”.

“For I am but a woman who cares for this place I hold so dear,
I don’t need statistics and charts for me to shed a tear.”

“For I can see through logic and my plain sensible mind,
That this road is not progress but a blot on the achievement on mankind.”

“Are you gaining points from university colleagues for being here?
While me a former checkout girl is just so happy to be with nature so near.”

“So my dear please don’t categorise or pigeonhole me,
For you’ve constraints of career and class but me I’m free.”

We’d heard deep words for which we felt so much affection,
Yet Felicity seemed to adopt a look of complete spiritual rejection.

“Quite non-political with a good possibility of being popularist,
I’ve got connections, you fancy TV? It’s a new show the Ecologist”

Cath despondent departed the scene,
We followed suit like a beaten football team.

Felicity rose breathing an indifferent sigh,
Holding filofax and head held high.
She then left with a half hearted “Cheery bye”,
If there were eco-armies of her then this planet would most surely cry.

Disco Dave. Pollok Free State, No M77 Campaign. Scotland. 1995

(Untitled)

They say we’re classless and we’re free
But the view from John Major’s window’s different from me
Where kindness and mercy are seen as a social disease
Where a filthy child begs upon her knees
Money ain’t worth what it used to be
Lifetimes are rotting in council house schemes
Broken windows broken me in rows of ninepin houses
Forsaken by their government and god
Pregnant children home bleached hair
Mindless fathers pass their pedigrees to sons without a care
In blinded oblivion snarl and glare
Can’t know they drown and shit
This stagnant isle rots in septic sea
This England

Lee Tree. Faslane Peace Camp. Scotland. 1996

War Don’t cha love it?

Why do I bother peace it’s so untrendy
A thousand years of conflict ain’t gonna finish overnight
So fix bayonets boys I’m joining the fight
Pacifist talk is just so Passé
When you realise Rambo can kill a hundred a day
Thirty billion spent on Trident I wanna see those babies fly
Target Saddam damn swine he deserves to die
Love and harmony sod that to the history books please
I’ve got my Hawk jet just waiting to bomb East Timorese
So come on lads lets hoist the jack
Lets show ’em we Brits are on the attack
We’ve not have a big war in over forty years
Oh General here’s a hankie dry those tears
The NHS must they continually complain
Don’t they understand money wiser spent on a Harrier Jet plane
That Peace Camp at Menwith Hill
Give it up girls, join us, go and kill
Forget your consciences it does you no favour
Glory and carnage it’s yours to savour
Petitions and demos don’t work change sides get a gun
Heavy artillery great range great potential great fun
Nuke ’em lets show ’em who’s boss
After all a few dead darkies ain’t such a loss
So let’s sell our hardware to those third world nations
Then when they shun capitalism blow them all to damnation
Napalm that thick strong gasoline smell
Cheap effective burns like hell
Ta very much Hiram Maxim your invention works a treat
A village mowed down in twenty minutes now there’s a feat
So fools may argue war to be mans greatest folly
But now I’ve seen the light I realise war can be jolly

Disco Dave. Faslane Peace Camp. Scotland. 1996

The END

Ahead two thirds
Were these the devils words
As we quietly slipped through the waves
We quiet obedient systemised slaves

I look at the crew all tense and still
Ten minutes to go war triumphs peace nil

I grasp the launch key from my sweaty chest
A drill no more today is the final test

Periscope depth left the flank
No more worries about my overdraft at the bank

This is what I’ve trained for the last ten years
My mind goes into automatic holding back the tears

Confirming the launch order one final time
Oh god please let me not commit this terrible crime

As the lunch tubes fill with water
For queen and country I mustn’t falter

There’s a tortuous pain in my soul
As I’m about to turn a city into a gaping hole

The prime minister has given the order
What more is there to say
Never again will I see the Bonnie banks of the Tay

The sub lurches upwards as our deadly birds fly
To think we said we’d never use them
What a monumental lie

Author unknown. Faslane Peace Camp. Scotland. 1996

Isn’t it Enormous?

Well blow me down and look at that. Isn’t it enormous?
I feel that the council failed to properly inform us
When they said it was bypass and it seems much more substantial
And I wonder if the motive might in fact have been financial
Cause it hasn’t solved the problem of the traffic that we hated
And now it seems to me that even more has been created

It was all that we were offered but it wasn’t a solution
It hasn’t save a single life it just bought more pollution

And its costing lots of money someone’s making a profit
From the road and developments that keep sprouting off it
Incinerators, golf clubs, industrial estates
Cinemas, new houses that are just like packing crates
And we laughed at the protesters but maybe they were right
Camped out in trees and tunnels through the coldest winter night
But we never bothered listening to what they had to say
That it wasn’t a bypass but a stretch of motorway
And now the trees are gone all the animals squashed flat
But I never did imagine it would be as big as that

Jo Wilding. After 40 days protest underground in Essex. 2000

Giro Day

That great day has come at long last
My Ramadan is over no longer will I need to fast
My wallet gapes for the coming of cash aplenty
Tonight I’ll live it up like one of the landed gentry

Rab that tenner I owe you
Well you’ll want no more
40 was it, come on now don’t be a pain what the hell do you want money for?
A round at the pub well that’s on me
Cheers the DSS John Major and the Tory party

94 per fortnight is a pittance but better than nought
for me a drunken working class lout

Disco Dave. Faslane Peace Camp. Scotland. 1996

Hello Charlie Gordon

Hello Mr Bastard err Gordon sorry force of habit
What’s that your eating Yuk I’m veggie never touch rabbit

And this must be your wife excuse my manners lovely lady
You’re not his spouse now then Gordon that’s very shady
Come to think of it dear didn’t I see you on a street corner touting for trade?
Oh Gordon don’t get upset spilling wine over the table so painstakingly made

I should introduce myself before I’m forced to leave
A Pollok man me who’s asthmatic and Cannae breath
Shout for waiter Gordon all you like, no foul language please I’m recording don’t you see the mike

Just answer me this when was the last time you were at Corker hill?
Take a Gas mask if you go its choc a bloc the M77’s at a standstill

They forecast traffic would increase and there’d be more pollution
The M77 you advocated be the best solution
Yet public transport and cycle lanes weren’t even considered in the final resolution

Nice suit Gordon
Love the tie
Dressed like a politician and ready to lie lie lie

Look to the left see the camera team
When your wife sees your friend you think she’ll scream

The waiter won’t come I’ve given him a twenty note
Be patient just a few more insults then I’ll get your coat

Those square block specs and that sardonic look
I’m tempted right now to give you a whacking left hook

Those hippy protesters were right all along
They spoke wise words in their merry sing songs

Yet you dismissed then as being undemocratic
You saw them as being simply manic

Ah here comes the police to save you from your plight
Ya thought I’d turn nasty bet your pants are full of shite

This film may never get on video nation or any other TV station
But me picking up this dish of now cold rabbit stew
Then pouring it gleefully over you

Will provide me with some recompense
And give me the same good feeling as cutting up the security fence

They’re taking me away now Gordon so I’ll say good day
Sorry about the meal buy another me council tax will pay
Hey officer steady I’ve something more to say

You win this round me old mucka
But I’ll be back you evil Fuc***

Disco Dave. Pollok Free State, No M77 Campaign. Scotland. 1995

(Councillor Charles Gordon was a prime advocate of the M77 and staunchly anti the road protesters).

In Your Scarlet Coat

So begins another day’s outing, what you perversely describe as sport,
Time to forget your work as a judge convicting people in court.
Saddled on your fine white stallion you’ll merrily canter,
Discussing polo, the queen and other such trivial banter.

You’ve no doubt friends who think you look quite dapper,
Smartly dressed in your elegant scarlet wrapper.
But though the ladies of your kind may find you quite fetching,
The populace like me just sees an image from an eighteenth century etching.

A fox you define as vermin that must be destroyed,
Is this the only form of pest control with which you’ve toyed?
If indeed a pest more humane methods can easily be sought,
But you want to see the blood and the pain when the fox is finally caught.
I’ve often wondered at night when you dream,
Is your slumber sound or can you hear the fox scream?

Do you toss and turn at your sin?
Or is morality just tossed in a bin?
So it’s a family day out with the wife and wean,
You wanting to hold the dead aloft look dear look what I’ve slain.

Convincing your eight year old son he must continue the tradition,
While I wonder if you suffer from some mental condition.

You’re eager to daub blood on your innocent son’s face,
Maybe his first kill today and well deserved if there’s a frantic chase.

How do you not notice the terror and fear in the fluffy creature’s eyes?
Just how do you immune yourself to his pleading cries?

I’ve heard how you viewed the last kill with such disdain,
No remorse no regrets no feeling of pain.

And there you sit perched high in creamy white breeches,
With a team of twenty hounds or more.
Worried if we’ll turn up today to cause a disruptive furore.

Well the hunt sabs are here, I’m happy to say, to make your day hell,
And to try and rob you of that sickening victory smell.

With our lookout in a field amid the driving rain,
The rest of us sit patiently in a van on a lane.

The CB crackles to life the hunts started
“Let’s do it!” Pete urges, “And by the way who’s farted?”

Through marsh and glen the hounds are having a tough time
Blindly obeying their master’s orders to commit a most hideous crime

A signal goes left there through the bracken and thorn,
The hounds close, for the scent is strong.
A tragic death will now not be long.

In youth they’d never catch his sight with ease he would evade
With speed and agility of such he was pervade

But he was reminiscing of happy bygone years,
For now he saw their jaws and realised his worst fears.
For like us all old age can be remedied by no pill,
And he gasped for breath making slow progress up yet another hill.

Panic ripped through bone and nerve,
As he saw the hounds match every dodge and swerve.

The hounds were 20, now 10 feet behind,
In truth no one can imagine what was going through that poor creature’s mind.
The huntsman knew the time had come to slit the throat of the wee furry one.

A smile of grim satisfaction filled his bloated face,
But soon dropped when the hounds veered left away from the chase.

For the hunt sabs in their transit van,
Brought into effect a tried and tested plan.
Signalling with a horn the hounds came over to the roadway,
The fox thus made a hasty getaway.

The day’s all but over,
They’ll have their sherry but with a bitter taste,
To the pub we’ll go with a few hours to waste.
The fox claimed victory today,
But another time may be different I dare not say.

For life is too precious to be destroyed in some ridiculous game,
They can’t see that though to them today was just a dashed shame.

Disco Dave. Hunt sabbing. Scotland. 1996

JSA

Shut up, sit down. Hand me your form.
Lost it you say through pocket torn?
Unsuccessful in your job search well I can see why,
It would help if your hair wasn’t so full of dye.

Had a Mohican for ten years for gigs you like to play,
Unfortunately self expression and artistic license aren’t permitted under the JSA.
In March you failed to appear for an interview can you tell me why?
That’s no excuse a job at MacDonald’s can’t wait your Mum should have chosen Saturday to die.

Earrings and leather are not acceptable attire,
Your education should mean you should make administration or possibly higher.

You’ve done voluntary work for Oxfam this may effect your dole,
As we don’t consider the benefits this may have on your soul.

Is there any other work that you do?
Paid or unpaid we can check up on you.

Problems with your flat? Too damp? Now that’s a shame,
Too long sitting idle, you’re the only one to blame.

Looking for work hundred percent of the time that’s what we demand,
Neither being an anarchist won’t help nor will those three months on remand.

You have two children and a girlfriend more economic drain on the state,
All that money then you moan about not having enough on your dinner plate.

A suit a tie would suit you much more,
You may even get this job cleaning toilet floors.

It pays £1.50 per hour not bad for scum, err a person like your good self,
You don’t like it? Well you must be a person of some hidden wealth.

For you will accept a job,
If you wish to continue filling your gob.

You don’t gain employment you’ll get no money,
A predicament you’ll not find very funny.

Right now interview over vacate the seat,
Quick now before you bleat.

Next please.

Disco Dave. Faslane Peace Camp. Scotland. 1996

The Hitch Hiker

Well apathy’s about to make its inevitable appearance
Not too surprising after 3 hours of a cold miserable experience

Lift my morale come on stop you know you want to
I only want to go to London not bloody Timbuktu

My god do I look like I’m frothing at the mouth
I’ve no disease just feel some compassion and take me south

Look at that motor and the driver she’s well alright
I’ll dream of you love when I’m asleep here overnight

I should have shaved off my beard
Maybe they’re scared of me, do I look that weird?

I can’t light a fag a potential lift might be a non-smoker
Ah sod I may get lucky and be picked up by a hash toke

Look friendly and smile as the car nears you know the routine
It speed past now utter abuse no words too obscene

Yes Yes he’s stopping on the hard shoulder keep cool this might be a mirage
Quick before he changes his mind run Dave charge

I don’t believe it he’s pulling away
A Danish lorry Damn foreigners must have lost his way

Please stop I’ll be fascinated to hear your long stories about snooker and how to pot a red
and promise to be so interested and not turn your seat into a bed

I’ll profoundly agree with all you have to say
Well except on a Forth Reich which I’ll reserve opinion if I may

May be your wife doesn’t understand you and you want to talk about matters deep
Well I’ll listen even about your perverse fascination with female sheep

Oh please please please won’t one of you stop
Look at me I’m dying I’m ready to drop

Hello what’s this I notice out of the corner of my eye?
Another hitcher well think again little guy

First lift that comes well that’s for me
Still I’ll wave adios as I lie back and listen to the in-car CD

This is a disaster 6 hours here and not even a glance at my sign
What a foul overcast day not even a ray of sunshine

Trying to remember what one of a thousand songs I haven’t twice sung
Go on drive by you shit hope you son gets hung

Its getting dark I’m shattered so I’ll pitch my tent
But wait that car its slowing could it really be heaven sent?

Disco Dave. Hitching South. 1995

Rab and Ethel go to meet Her Majesty

“Ah hello, you must be the Scottish peasants here to see the Queen.”
“Aye, I’m Rab this is Ethel, we’re from a Glasgow Housing Scheme”
“How quaint. I’m Jeremy Templeton Frazer, Her Majesty’s personal valet.
I see you’re admiring the décor must be quite an improvement on your house or chalet.”

“Just a minute, ‘Frazer’ that’s a Scottish name by the way.”
“’Fraid not old boy, I’m from Edinburgh a distant relation of the Earl Grey”

“I believe you’re here to receive some prestigious award,
What was it for valour, endeavour or to be knighted with a sword?”

“Nae man, we were picked out of 10 million,
To meet the Queen with her well earned billions.
I’m a modest man but today I feel right proud,
For today we’re not just one of the crowd.”

“What Rab is trying to say is we’re the poorest folk in Britain,
Scum of the earth the media said, such honour, such recognition.”

“We were nobodies now we’re in the papers and meeting the Queen,
We’re here to get a copper plated trophy, oh Rab this is a dream.”

“Calm down now Ethel I know it’s hard not to get excited,
Rab, Ethel, please be your jolly working class selves, Her Majesty will be delighted.”

“It’s hot in here Frazer almost like an oven,
Bit different from our place, nae heating broken windows, aye that’s Govan.”

“Well I’m awfully sorry for the delay,
The Queen’s been meeting a dictator she’s had such a busy day.”

“Nae bother we’ve been on the go all day ourselves,
Nicking this and that from supermarket shelves.”

“You’re shoplifters I say? That’s a story for down the club.”
“We’ll tell it ourselves if they give us a wee bit of grub.”

“It’s very unlikely you’ll be permitted entry, rules you see,
Dress code etiquette, no offence old boy fancy some tea?”

“You’ve gone very quiet Ethel, is there something on your mind?”
“Nae Rab I’m just sad, I thought they’d treat us kind.”

“Oh my dear hope my patronising English attitude hasn’t been too much for you to bear,
Please get up from the floor I’ll permit you to sit on a chair.”

“Not long now and you can meet the Queen in all her glory,
Then you can tell her your sad little story.”

“Right now then, in you go.”

“Well well Ethel dear, these English are so easy to trick,
For with our cunning plan will soon make us a republic.”

“The other lads will soon arrive,
And off with Destiny we shall strive.
History will treat us kindly my sweet,
For the stone is ours not her seat.”

Disco Dave. Written in 1995. (The Stone of Destiny was returned to Scotland a year later)

The Convoy of Death

The convoy of death is coming your way
A reliable source from CND was heard to say

Five Foden carriers possibly more
Full of warheads fro their next wonderful war

In Balloch town we stand near the roundabout curve
Lighting fags looking cool keeping our nerve

The police motorcycle outriders speed into view
Like in the movies this is our queue

Others may watch it pass by with an indifferent sigh
We’ll stop it though with that fundamental question why

Charging out then lying in its path
No easy matter in this game where few people laugh

The warhead carriers remind of the Steven Spielburg film Duel
Dark windows and there's a vertical exhaust chugging out spent fuel

The convoy trundles then grinds to a halt
The commander knows only too well its protesters and not a technical fault

Friends clamber all over the dark green trucks
A sort of camouflage but nature thinks they suck

With no police I see my chance and climb aboard
Against this beast a d-lock is my sword

D-locked to the truck I think what the heck
As I fling my key to where no one will check

My comrades dance on truck roofs to the sound of engine roars
Then dragged and jostled by grubby police paws

With the other lads and lassies arrested I’m the only one causing a delay
I just sit and wait for the bolt cutters to cut me loose on this fine March day

It takes twenty minutes or more
After which my neck to say the least was rather sore

I’m stuck in a police van feeling from a gallows I’ve just been cut
I wave cheery by to my flatmate and her wee furry mutt

In Dumbarton cop shop we’re charged and for seven hours remain
The police are quite pleasant we’re a change from the usual criminal grain

We may have stopped the convoy for only half an hour
But we were 12 against the MOD now that’s people power

Disco Dave. Faslane Peace Camp. Scotland. 1996

So here’s to you Eco warrior

So here’s to you Eco warrior with your dirty head of hair
You’re a filthy beggar but you don’t bloody care
No warm house for your love and kid
You came to stop us and of course you went and did
In our blue hard hats and coats of yellow
We smoke like troopers trying to act all mellow
We form a line in the perishing cold
Remembering No M11 and No M77 days of old

So here’s to you Eco warrior
You’re here to save the planet we just want our next half at the Cock and Gannet
Here you come the rag tag army
Why do you bother sometime I think your bleeding barmy
A push a shove you try to break through our line

No luck here mate we’re four ranks deep
God you look shattered where did you sleep?

So here’s to you Eco warrior
You’ve no medal of campaign to show in twilight years
Just story’s that’ll bring out tears

It’s raining hard the ground turns to quagmire
How will you dry have you no fire?
You taunt abuse call us names
The battles lost you play a psychological game

I shouldn’t care with what you think
Please don’t get close you bloody stink
But for all the nasty things you say
Your patter’s never personal in the fray

So here’s to you Eco warrior
Living in a bender made of stick and rope
Huddled inside merrily singing songs of hope

Go home can’t you see you’ve lost?
Do you realise how much 300 security guards cost?
But though I may moan and groan
Employment helps repay my Barclays’ loan

If you weren’t here I’d be out of a job
Come on then you hairy mob

So here’s to you Eco warrior
In your idealistic world
Heart heavy as another tree is felled

What you’ve found a gap in our defences?
Damn it we’re going to need barbed wire fences

In among the chainsaws causing merry hell
Keep this quiet but I think you guys are swell

Two against 20 that’s the odds you face
Yet daily you break through an unguarded space

So here’s to you Eco warrior
With your long fat spiff and scaring us stiff

And here’s to you Eco warrior ponsing fags and whiskey galore
Living out here’s better than Babylon, god it’s a bore

WHY?

Disco Dave. Pollok Free State. No M77 Campaign. Scotland. 1995