Peter Branson

BELIEVE!
2019: bicentennial of The Peterloo Massacre

“Rise, like lions after slumber” – Shelley,
‘The Masque/Mask of Anarchy’, 1819 (first pub.1832)

We meet to talk about low pay,
Our masters own the time.
We swear an oath of secrecy;
That is our only crime.
A living wage, fair shares for all,
For bread and liberty.
Tolpuddle way, we reap and sow;
We will, we will be free.

The mills round here are silenced now;
We import all our clothes
From sweatshops crammed with kids and mums
Where labour costs are low.
A living wage, fair shares for all,
For bread and liberty.
Sing “We are many, they are few”;
We will, we will be free.

They shut down all the steelworks here;
They say we can’t afford.
They argue it’s more sensible
To buy in from abroad.
A living wage, fair shares for all,
For bread and liberty.
We’ll work with nature, not destroy;
We will, we will be free.

When Thatcher plots to close the pits
In nineteen eighty-four,
She’s out to break the unions
And flout our civil law.
A living wage, fair shares for all,
For bread and liberty.
Same health provision, rich and poor;
We will, we will be free.

There’s homeless people, others toil
On zero hours low pay,
Denied the rights we’ve struggled for,
I’m talking now, today.
A living wage, fair shares for all,
For bread and liberty.
So “Shake your chains to earth like dew”;
We will, we will be free.

You Diggers and you Levellers,
Trades unions, Chartists too,
Who fought for hard-won workers’ rights,
Those slain at Peterloo,
A living wage, fair shares for all,
For bread and liberty,
We’re “Children of a wiser day”;
We will, we will be free!

Peter Branson lives in Rode Heath, a village
in South Cheshire. A former English teacher
and lecturer, he now organises writing
workshops. Until recently he was “Writer-
in-residence” for the “All Write” project run
by Stoke-on-Trent Central Libraries.

Martyn Crucefix

‘can you imagine under the next rain shower’

for my children

can you imagine under the next rain shower
the boat begins to drive northwards
leaving its routine furrow
its foaming wake familiar on the water

while down below men and women queue for tea
or coffee they buy chocolate bars
or others prefer the sweetened muesli bars
as if to say we are always children

and you carry me safely because the truth is
I’m no burden in your rucksack
(perhaps you’ve picked the one I bought to walk
the Marches with its bindings at the chest

and round the hips making it comfortable)
so you feel lightweight as sunlight strikes
on the water and there’s no need here
to strain to imagine the beautiful

no need for restlessness waiting on beauty
though of course I cannot see it
but you and your chosen companions (or none)
regard it as you stand swaying a little

and – whoever is beside you – you unlock
you trace the rain’s edge the sun’s noonday angle
you find the bridges between us fallen down
and you mourn but you can imagine

Martyn Crucefix’s recent books include The Time We Turned (Shearsman, 2014), A Hatfield Mass (Worple Press, 2014) and Daodejing – a new version in English (Enitharmon, 2016. Just published is The Lovely Disciplines (Seren, 2017) and forthcoming are limited editions of O. at the Edge of the Gorge (Guillemot Press, 2017) and A Convoy (If a Leaf Falls Press, 2017). 

Brian Docherty

Stepping into Autumn at 65

A time of new beginnings, a time for journeys,
a chance to meet new people, discover new places,

store up memories to get me through Winter.
I have just returned again from San Francisco,

and know that I can never live there now,
even for say, seven years, because I am afraid

as I have never been before, after seeing my father
lose weight and muscle tone, so that a short walk

to the pub was almost too much, then Alzheimer’s
kicked in hard and sudden; this biggest and strongest

of men became a shadow who had to ask my Mum
“Who was that guy with the beard who was here?”

and who asked me on the phone, “How’s Rose?”
forgetting that she is gone, and I do not want

to toboggan down that slope into darkness;
when my GP asks about our family medical history

I remember my Nana went the same way; I wonder
how long my Autumn will last, where I will spend

the last stage of this journey, and whether it will
matter, if I know anyone there or then, and whether

anyone will know me; in the meantime, this moment
is all there is, and the weather is surprisingly good.

Brian Docherty lived and wrote in north London for 40 years, and is now part of a growing community of writers, artists and musicians in East Sussex. His most recent publications are Only in St. Leonards: A Year on the Marina, (2017) and Blue to the Edge: for Rosemary, in remembrance (2020)