B$@@#y Dog food

Many people who know A and I wonder how we got it together. He is affectionately known to some of our friends as Tory Boy. I, however, think of myself as a liberal with a broad socialist streak. A believes in survival of the fittest in a dog eat dog world; I believe all of us have a responsibility to support those members of society who, for whatever genuine reason, are at that moment in time unable to support themselves. We seldom discuss politics because whilst I am prepared to listen to another's point of view even if I don't agree with it, A just sticks his fingers in his ears and sings "La, la, la, I can't hear you."

Over the last little while, however, politics has been discussed in our house and this week has seen me reduced virtually speechless by some politicians' views regarding their expenses.

Last year I could be heard wondering aloud why an MP's second home would need such expensive items as those from the "John Lewis" list. Within the last couple of months I have failed to understand why the Home Secretary was able to claim for any TV, let alone her husband's choice in adult pay-per-view movies. And don't get me started on that bath plug. You can't afford 88p?

This last week, though, has taken the biscuit. As I shuffle around the house trying to deal with the delights of catching up on planning, marking Optional SATs and reviewing the school's assessment details, my contemplative silence is broken by Tourette's style outbursts.

N: Mutter mutter

A: What's that love?

N: Mutter mutter

A: No, still didn't catch what you said.

N: B$@@#y dog food!

I don't CARE that every one of the little slimeballs in our venerable (cough) Government is legally entitled to claim for this ludicrous list of allowances in relation to second homes - the question is are they morally entitled to them? I have no quibble with MPs from regions across the UK needing a residence in London. I do have a quibble with MPs who think this entitles them to claim for housekeepers, moat repairs, lawnmowers and effing dog food. Sorry, but where does this come into the grand scheme of things?

I am a primary teacher and like many, I suspect that I buy things for my classroom or lessons that I would be entitled to claim back, but don't because "it's only a couple of quid". Did the woman with the dog food think that? What about that Jacquie Smith's bath plug?

A works in industry. He visits different customers around the country and could stay away overnight in hotels - but he doesn't. He views pretty much anywhere is the UK as within a reasonable distance to return to Cheshire. "I can get back home", he says, "so I do". He also visits Europe, and again, tries to go out and back in a day rather than clock up hotel bills. When he does stay away, he is expected to stay in mid-price range hotels. He could probably write a thesis on the corporate branding of Holiday Inn or Novotel. He is entitled to claim the mileage from home to the airport, but doesn't because it is less than his usual home to work mileage.

Now don't get me wrong - I don't live with a paragon of virtue by any means. Both of us have had our fair share of works stationary for personal use. We both benefit from the Airmiles A clocks up on our credit card when he pays for his hotels up front. But he does not claim for every single cup of coffee or bottle of water he has when he's away, because he doesn't feel that's appropriate to do so.

So why has it not occurred to some of our MPs that some of the things they have been claiming for are not morally acceptable? Why on earth should any taxpayer have to pay for someone's TV subscription? We voted them into Parliament to represent us, not to watch Sky. They're welcome to keep a dog, but good grief - you want one, you feed it.

But you know the bit that really rankles?

They don't seem to be struggling to find the money to repay any of these five figure sums... which begs the question of why they needed to claim for them in the first place....

All buttoned up!

So, I've knit a bag in scratchy scratchy Herdwick:

and felted it:

So now what I want to know is...

Should I put buttons on it?

When I bought the yarn last year, I bought the buttons specifically to use as embellishments, but I actually quite like the bag bare. Before I wear a hole in my finger sewing them on (and you all know just HOW much I love sewing!) I'd love to know your opinion. I won't be doing anything before the beginning of next week at the very earliest, since it's the Year 5 residential this weekend, so you have a few days to let me know your opinion.

Edited to replace crappy poll that doesn't work with a Blogger one on the sidebar

Frugality

Of course, the downside of spending the housekeeping on yarn is that one must be somewhat frugal until the next payday - which is over two weeks away. Cauliflower cheese, anyone?

Wonderwool Wales

Look what I bought!

This is my life

..or at least it has been the last week! 18 months ago, I made a pinwheel sweater for a friend's little girl, then used the rest of the yarn to make one for my cousin's little girl a few months later (pics here and here) For my birthday last year A bought me the yarn to make one for myself and this month I finally cast on for it. It is the biggest thing I have ever knit, having now exceeded the baby blankets. I only have 21 rounds left to finish the body, but each round has about 450 stitches in it. It sits in my lap, a great puddle of knitting, as I trudge round and round.

So of course, what I really need as I wrestle with it and try and finish it off, is this:

Twenty Years

Twenty years ago.

A fair Saturday afternoon.

I was packing my things ready to return to Liverpool for the last term of my first year. I was probably listening to Otway.

The doorbell went.

To my surprise I opened the door to a boy I knew from school, but hadn't been particularly close to at the time. He was on a year out and had dropped by on the off chance that I might be in. He became a good friend.

I offered him a cup of tea or coffee. He asked for a glass of milk.

Meanwhile 150 miles away, the girl who worked a few benches down from me in the chem lab went to a football match.

Whilst Nick and I were chatting, Mum was listening to the radio. As he left she came to tell me there had been some trouble at the Liverpool match. By the evening news it became apparent that this was no ordinary case of crowd trouble. As we were to find out later, it wasn't a case of crowd trouble at all, whatever some sections of the media wanted us to believe.

The drive back to Liverpool on the Sunday was sombre. As I returned to my Halls there wasn't the usual sense of laughter at reunion; people were subdued. I unpacked, grabbed my granny square blanket and went to my boyfriend's room. As I sat and crocheted the blanket that I am sitting on now, the evening news came on. The first victims of the disaster were named and their photos flashed onto the screen: sisters Sarah and Victoria Hicks, 19 and 15.

The shock was immense. Even now, the sensation of my insides turning to water vividly remains. I didn't know Sarah very well and it shook my world at the time; I will never be able to fully comprehend how the families feel and how they survive from day to day.

The Thursday after the disaster, a friend and I got a map, plotted a route and walked to Anfield. We joined the snaking queue to lay flowers. By the time we got there, the flowers covered half the pitch. The fences at the front of the Kop were a riot of colour, with football scarves and shirts from clubs across the country. The sense of grief was almost overwhelming. It was the first and only time I have been to Anfield. I spent a fair bit of free time that week at the Metropolitan Cathedral, just across the road from the Guild of Undergraduates. I found it then to be a place of peace.

Today the urge to be in Liverpool was overwhelming, so I went. Without A, I didn't think I could face Anfield and in retrospect I'm glad I didn't go there. My composure was wobbly enough as it was and 28,000 people singing "You'll Never Walk Alone" would have finished me off. Instead, I returned to the Met. I stayed for the two minutes silence, then sat outside listening to the bells of both cathedrals as they tolled 96 times.

RIP

Archive radio and photos are here.

Faces from the past

This week I bumped into someone I went to college with and haven't seen since my Graduation in 1991. I recognised him immediately, but he needed some help to recognise me. The years have been kinder to him than me, I suppose, or I was pretty forgettable, which could also be the case. I did have the advantage of having often wondered if I would bump into him, however; I work in his home town and last I heard from him (mid 1990s) he was still living in the town.

It's funny, I often wondered what we would talk about, and we were predictably boring, sticking to work. I told him I had married A, since we were all at Uni together, but realised afterwards I hadn't asked him about family life at all. I also didn't get any contact details, much to several people's subsequent displeasure, but I'd already detained the poor chap and just didn't get a "vibe", if you know what I mean. I didn't want to foist myself on him, I know I can be pushy and try not to be.

I've spent a lot of time in the last 10 months or so thinking of the past. Last summer marked twenty years since my A levels, leaving school, moving to Liverpool, meeting A (although we didn't get together we were good mates) and my thoughts turned to people that I haven't seen for many a year. There's a faint wistfulness there for the girl I once was, even if I was screwed up. There's so much potential when you set out on that journey, leaving a small town for the big city. Arriving in Liverpool felt like arriving in a different country, not just a different region. My memories are full of colour and noise - Liverpool was (and still is) a very vibrant city. Did I meet that potential? I don't know - am I the best judge of that? I do feel that I missed out on things - that I didn't take full advantage of being in Liverpool. I was so embroiled in a relationship that was ultimately doomed that I didn't go clubbing the way others did, I didn't develop female friends the way I perhaps should have done, but then I look back at school and see that I was friends with more boys than girls, so many that's just me. After all, I'm not much of a "girly" girl, and things that teenage girls were supposed to be interested in left me cold. Make-up? Clothes? Not really. I was much more into music, not chart stuff but searching out what was cool and different (a legacy from an older boyfriend?) and that was viewed far more as a male trait than a female one. Jackie magazine? No, NME and Melody Maker. Cosmo? Sometimes, but I'd rather read Q.

So.. wistfulness? Yes. Regrets? Some. Would I have my time over? You betcha, I loved moving to Liverpool. But would I do anything different? You know what...I think I'd still make the same mistakes.

Enough. Navel-gazing gets you nowhere. Let me leave you with this, a favourite in the early 1990s which rings with even more resonance today.

Bloggus Interruptus

We apologise for the lack of service on this blog. Partly this is due to problems with Blogger on an old PC, partly to do with a large workload but predominantly to do with the fact that the author is a lazy git.

Sorry.

Must. Try. Harder.

Happy New Year!

Gosh it's been ages, hasn't it! Sorry, I am still alive, just life back teaching Juniors is far more hectic than I remember it. Either that or I'm more aware of what I should actually be doing to be effective...;-)

Anyway, here we are in 2009. For those of you worried that the Ravelympics were too, much, I'd like to assure you I made it through. I finished the Swallowtail Shawl and the Chevron Scarf I'd cast on for.

During the experience I learned:

I love watching the Olympics, especially as GB doesn’t field a soccer team so the BBC shows lots of other sports!
I can knit nearly 7 foot of scarf in 11 days (as well as working on 2 WIPs)
I can focus on a deadline and not be a butterfly brain
I can’t relax enough to knit at my Mum’s (hence on one WIP finished, not the hoped for 2)
I REALLY hate embroidering details (as witnessed by the fact that I didn’t touch Pondemonium at all)

At the beginning of September, I went to London to the iKnit Day, meeting up with Sock Knitter Extraordinaire, Mad Engineer and Mrs Pink from the Knutsford Knit Group. I actually went to Grant and Cutler, the foreign language bookshop first (just behind Oxford Street), and had fun there, then went on to the Royal Horticultural Halls ( a short walk form Victoria station) for the show. I think I was overcome by yarn fumes, to much to my friends' amusement, because I went a bit scatty. Squeee!

Whilst I was trying to pay for some gorgeous yarn at the Socktopus stall, I realised I didn't have my bank card.... ho hum. One quick phone call established that I had indeed left it at the bookshop (Doh!) who had kindly put it in the safe. I ascertained the closing time and agreed to go back on my way home to collect it. After a quick bit of lunch and meeting up with Mrs T (my first ever blog meet up, poor girl was not very well!) I went to stand in line to get in to the main attraction, the talk by the Yarn Harlot herself. For some reason that I still can't put my finger on, I looked in my bag for my purse.

Nope.

Not a sign.

Imagine the scene - a queue of (predominantly) women, snaking around a building in drizzling rain. Buried in the middle of this queue is someone turning the entire contents of a knitting bag and some shopping out.

Yep. That was me. By the time I was finished, all WIPs were so tangled it looked like I'd kept a cat in there for a while.

Re-tracing my steps, I discovered my purse at Socktopus... where I had put it down to ring the bookshop to see if they had my card...

If I had a brain I would be dangerous.

Yarn Harlot was good, though. Many knowing glances were exchanged between SKE, ME and Mrs P as we sniggered our way through the talk.


Stephanie always starts here talks by taking a photo of her sock in front of the audience, so here is my photo of my sock as she takes here photo of hers.



Her photos are here. We are in the middle photo of the audience, six rows back on the right hand side as you look at it, but you can't see us. Our backs did make it into Simply Knitting magazine's right up, though. (Way to go girl! Matches my photo being on the front of Mathematics Today or some such journal back in 2005)

Anyway, after the talk, we decided to queue up for the book signing. Or more accurately, SKE, ME and Mrs P queued up whilst I tried to break the land speed record for crossing London to retrieve a bank card. I made it back in time and got Stephanie to sign my book and she even posed with my sock

The rest of the term passed in a blur, but thankfully without a Christmas play this year (the upside of life in Year 3)

I've cranked out a few hats, not touched any socks really since I finished those in the Harlot's hands and made a lovely jacket out of Noro that I don't have a photo of. I've also been on a crochet workshop and made a little bag that I gave to A's niece.

And finally...

During the last few months, several people, myself included, have been trying to sort out a long-running problem with a yarn company, who shall remain nameless here. As an offshoot, we've taken part in a gift exchange.At the weekend, the parcel arrived at mine and I chose these three things:

Some circular needles, a kit to make wrist warmers and some Fortissima sock yarn and a pattern. Thank you!! I replaced these with a Socks That Rock Raven Clan yarn, some Posh Yarn Cecelia laceweight and a little sock book and posted it on to the next person. A little yarn love can go a long way!

An update from the Beijing Ravelympics (aka the sofa)

(NB originally composed on Day 8 - Saturday 16th August. Blogger wasn't playing...)

Well, we are now half way through the Olympics and Ravelympics and although Team GB is having one fantastic day, I have to 'fess up and admit to something most of you already knew - I've bitten off more than I can chew!

I can't provide photos of the knitting, or indeed the few days we spent in the Lakes, since the camera battery needs recharging and I'm too busy knitting to do it. Or cook. Or clean the house.

No change there then.

Anyway.... as of Day 8, the halfway point, the Mint Choc Chip scarf clocks in at about 50 inches (that's over four foot, people - it's getting bit cumbersome for my lap!) and the Swallowtail Shawl only has 23 more rows to go, so the end is definitely in sight. I am confident that I can get those two items completed. I am motoring towards the end of the second square for Best of Both Whirls, but also had the sickening realisation that I need to make eight if I'm going to make a cushion out of them, not four as I have been reckoning on (It's only been five and a half years that I've been labouting under that misapprehension...)

And Pondemonium... well, the less said, the better, I think. Sorry.

I will post some photos in the next couple of days, and also put some photos up from our trip to the Lakes... I went down Memory Lane on the West Cumbrian Coast and got a bit misty eyed...

Ravelympics

So it's been nearly six months since I've shown any knitting content on here. Today was the start of the Beijing Olympics and simultaneously, the start of the Ravelympics. (Non-Ravelers, don't worry, this is just another sign of my madness. Go with the flow and humour me...)

I have signed up for WIP Wrestling, where I am determined to finish Best of Both Whirls (top left - started over five years ago), Pondemonium (top right) before the child in question grows out of it and my Swallowtail shawl (bottom left) to keep Elleyon quiet.

Foolishly though, because I am part of Team Posh, I felt the need for some Posh Yarn on my needles, so signed up for the Scarf event, and yesterday, whilst listening to the Opening Ceremony on the radio whilst sat in the car park of Walton Hall Gardens waiting for a friend, I cast on a chevron scarf (bottom right) using some stashed Posh Yarn Emily in Polynesia and Mocha. Elizabeth at Fibre and Clay looked at the colours last night and waxed lyrical about how they reminded her of the rich brown earth and springtime leaves. Me? Well, you might well recognise my inspiration if I tell you I've called it my Mint Choc Chip scarf...

So guess what I'll be doing over the next 16 days. Only time will tell if I will complete any of my goals, or die of humiliation at the end (or at a bare minimum develop RSI)

Food for Thought?

A sent me a link to this video.

Pop Corn téléphone portable micro-ondes
Uploaded by sassiere

Maybe that's why my brain doesn't work very well anymore...

Rose's Comfort and Donna's Tragedy

So.

It's over.

And I'm washed out by the whole experience.

Again.

This happens every year. I get so involved in the development of the companions' characters that the end of a series of Doctor Who usually involves a box of tissues along the line somewhere. Maybe for the silent tears that roll down my face, like last year. Maybe for the heaving sobs that heralded the end of Series 2. Maybe even for tears of joy, like last night's episode, when I really though it might be alright and that Donna had fulfilled her destiny without a sacrifice.

That misconception lasted for a full minute until I realised there was still 10 minutes to go and the whole team had already saved the Universe and this is Russell T Davies, after all.

So, Rose has a comfort for her old age, who does actually seem capable of loving her back, but who isn't actually the Doctor while the amazing Donna is cruelly left in the state we first found her in 18 months ago - shallow, shouty and with absolutley no idea of the feisty, brainy, compassionate woman she could be, with a mother who doesn't seem to mind and a Grandad* who actually noticed the difference and will mourn it for the rest of his days.

Oh bloody hell, even as I type, I'm welling up.

Let's hope the departure of RTD doesn't mark the end of an era.

*Bernard Cribbins deserves a BAFTA

What an episode...

The Stolen Earth.

OMG.

Surely they can't be about to exterminate Torchwood and The Sarah Jane Adventures?

Surely he can't be regenerating?

Can't wait until next week.....

The Game

I spotted this over at Stomper Girl 's blog and I was rather taken with the idea. At some points, I wasn't overly taken with some of the photos when I first looked at the selection, but on the whole, I really like the effect of the overall image. You do need to look closely at some details, which always appeals to me.

The concept:

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd's mosaic maker.

The Questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favourite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favourite colour?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favourite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favourite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you.
12. Your Flickr name


You can play too.

Music Meme

Maniac Mum tagged me to take part in this meme.

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring. Post these instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they’re listening to.

Hmmm. Well, the thing is, my tastes in music are somewhat... eclectic? A would just say weird, but every one is entitled to their own opinion. I've been thinking about this for a long time, and I've decided that you're jut going to get it as it is.

Which may actually go a long way towards providing a highlight to the fevered state my brain is in most of the time.

One of the tunes currently ringing around my head is The Fratellis' Chelsea Dagger, a reminder of the Year 5 residential last month. Imagine a conga line of 10 year olds: "Da da-da da da dad-da da da da..."



As a complete contrast, I have been writing reports (now finished, and handed in on time, hurrah!) to a lot of Ralph Vaughan-Williams. I first heard his work as a child in primary school, and I'd forgotten until recently how much I liked it. Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tullis is lovely, as is The Lark Ascending, but I thought I'd treat you to this, the first movement of the English Folk Song Suite. One of the things I love about RVW is that, although not religious, he loved uplifting Church music and created some lovely arrangements for a popular hymnal from some of the music from the bawdiest folk songs that he had discovered!



One of the albums I am repeatedly playing at the moment is Freedom Fields by Seth Lakeman. I still haven't got to see him live yet, so here is a live performance of Lady of the Sea.



I love live music, and I never get to see enough of it. The last band I went to see as the Proclaimers, and I'm still giddy from it, even though it was nearly a year ago. There are many Proclaimers songs I could list, but this one is possibly my favourite (well, today, anyway).



A few years back, I dabbled in the music industry myself. No, seriously. A and I invested in a company that had been set up to make and promote a CD made by a London based band, Clear, that my friend played in. The band got some airplay on local radio stations, and even onto the soundtrack for the Channel 4 series Teachers, but unfortunately, the chance to give up the day jobs never came. Shame really, because I really liked their music. This was their first release, "Johnny Marr Was A Mistake", apparently a quote from some guy who thought that guitar music was dead, and that Marr, unmistakeably a genius, was in fact a bizarre anomaly. Eejit. I have a couple of copies of the album this appeared on, Coming Around, and one lives permanently in the car for those times when I end up driving in a bad mood. It invariably cheers me up. N, I hope you don't mind me sharing this, but finding it on YouTube was a gift, especially since I'd only ever seen stills from the shoot.



But Clear was not my first venture into the music business. Oh no. I have actually notched up a Top 10 single. Well, a B side anyway. Long time readers may remember me mentioning John Otway in the past, and in the early part of 2002, around a thousand people made their way to Abbey Road studios (A and I included) to see a small gig and take part in a recording of one of his live set highlights - The House of The Rising Sun, which has evolved over the years into a set piece of audience heckling. This became the B-side to his second hit, Bunsen Burner, which we managed to hype up to Number 9 for his 50th brthday in the October of that year. This video was recorded downstairs at the London Astoria on the night of the Abbey Road recordings and I am actually somewhere at the back of that crowd. This is another song that never fails to raise a smile and I have fallen back on it a lot during the assessment period this year.



And finally, because Boggy Marsh has recently been on Wake Up to Wogan, the theme to this top show is now firmly embedded in my mind - scroll to the fourth parchment to hear it in all its glory!

Of course, being a meme, I have to tag people, so I tag Scarletti, Stomper Girl, Hanna, HansuN and my friend Lou. And I know that's not 7, but I don't care!

Hello... anyone there?

It's been a bit quiet around here, hasn't it?

Sorry about that. If here is anyone out there still reading, be reassured that I'm not actually dead, just terminally boring. (Or at least this blog is, according to Jo. Thanks, mate!)

Actually, I was even boring myself, which is one of the reasons that I've taken a little bit of an unplanned break from this blogging lark. When I started I still had the time and energy to do things like go out in public and watch what was going on around me, but since I have committed myself to the foolish mission of trying to be do absolutely everything within my job spec and a bit more (and falling short on many counts) I do feel like I've got nothing interesting to say. I don't even bother showing you my knitting now, because I've got Ravelry - by the time I've uploaded pictures to Flickr and then into Ravelry I really can't be bothered to fight with Blogger - so I've just shut up.

Some would say that was a good thing.

But a couple of events this week have made me reflect a bit and I thought maybe it was time to put my toe in the water again. That and the fact that Maniac Mum tagged me for a meme and I so seldom get tagged I got very excited. How sad is that? The meme will wait for a couple more day as I am reflecting on it.

But I will leave you with this.

As I was driving to work, I think I heard that Boris Johnson wants children to learn Latin and Greek as it will reduce street crime. I nearly crashed the car, because all I could see in my head was this...

Blood and Gore

Apologies for the poor quality of the video photos. I went to make a cup of coffee earlier this afternoon and saw a pile of feathers under the apple tree. My first thought was that Stella had tackled a dove on the ground, but immediately saw movement and realised that a female sparrowhawk had taken a collared dove, probably from within the elder tree, since there were feathers stuck to the branches from about 6 feet high down to ground level. A was a little too squeamish to stay once he realised that the dove wasn't killed immediately, but I stayed and watched her pretty constantly for the best part of an hour and a half (well, it beats the Grand Prix)

I have a grainy video too, but YouTube's not playing ball at the moment so you are spared that joy...

In or Out?

Today was the first nationwide strike by teachers since the 1980s. During those strikes, I was on the receiving end as a student. This time, I was at the sharp end, but although people who know me well know I have socialist leanings (much to A's horror - how Social Girl ended up marrying Tory Boy baffles both of us at times) I wasn't on strike. Much as I am an admirer of the Trade Union system, I decided a long time ago that I didn't agree with teaching strikes and this influenced my choice of union when I joined the profession.

Part of me feels uncomfortable about this now though. After all, if the action is successful, I will benefit. But (whisper it quietly) I don't think the wage is that bad. I do agree there does need to be some consistancy on which index the profession uses to decide on inflation and it's obvious that pay rises should be in line with inflation. I also think if we want quality in the profession, we do need to be able to compete with other industry sectors to attract good candidates. But on balance, I made my choice on this issue over 12 years ago and I will stick to it. I support my colleagues in their action and made use of today, when the school was closed to pupils, to review whole school assessment data and try to pull together identification criteria for Gifted and Talented pupils. At least one good thing has come of this strike, after all.

The Justice Bell

by Dave Kirby (2007)

A schoolboy holds a leather ball
in a photograph on a bedroom wall
the bed is made, the curtains drawn
as silence greets the break of dawn.

The dusk gives way to morning light
revealing shades of red and white
which hang from posters locked in time
of the Liverpool team of 89.

Upon a pale white quilted sheet
a football kit is folded neat
with a yellow scarf, trimmed with red
and some football boots beside the bed.

In hope, the room awakes each day
to see the boy who used to play
but once again it wakes alone
for this young boy’s not coming home.

Outside, the springtime fills the air
the smell of life is everywhere
violas bloom and tulips grow
while daffodils dance heel to toe.

These should have been such special times
for a boy who’d now be in his prime
but spring forever turned to grey
in the Yorkshire sun, one April day.

The clock was locked on 3.06
as sun shone down upon the pitch
lighting up faces etched in pain
as death descended on Leppings Lane.

Between the bars an arm is raised
amidst a human tidal wave
a young hand yearning to be saved
grows weak inside this deathly cage.

A boy not barely in his teens
is lost amongst the dying screams
a body too frail to fight for breath
is drowned below a sea of death.

His outstretched arm then disappears
to signal eighteen years of tears
as 96 souls of those who fell
await the toll of the justice bell.

Ever since that disastrous day
a vision often comes my way
I reach and grab his outstretched arm
then pull him up away from harm.

We both embrace with tear-filled eyes
I then awake to realise
it’s the same old dream I have each week
as I quietly cry myself to sleep.

On April the 15th every year
when all is calm and skies are clear
beneath a glowing Yorkshire moon
a lone Scots piper plays a tune.

The tune rings out the justice cause
then blows due west across the moors
it passes by the eternal flame
then engulfs a young boy’s picture frame.

His room is as it was that day
for eighteen years it’s stayed that way
untouched and frozen forever in time
since that tragic day in 89.

And as it plays its haunting sound
tears are heard from miles around
they’re tears from families of those who fell

...awaiting the toll of the justice bell.

http://www.footballculture.co.uk/