Under August Skies

 

We sat around the table Mam

but none of us got fed,

for the Corn Law has been biting

and we don’t have any bread.

The mill wheels have stopped turning,

so we haven’t any jobs

and we’re under-represented

by the parliamentary nobs.

 

So we gathered in the field Mam,

with our banners and our flags,

and the soldiers sat in lines

with their brightly coloured nags.

We were organised but unarmed

and adamant we would not yield

as we marched in peaceful protest

arm in arm to St Peters Field.

 

There were tens of thousands there Mam

under baking August heat -

and when Mr Hunt got up to speak

we all jumped up to our feet

and a huge roar went around the crowd

as everybody cheered -

but that was just the signal

that the local magistrate feared.

 

He called up the Hussars Mam

and sent them in so we’d disperse

and the Air was filled with shrieks Mam

and I don’t know what was worse -

the slashing sabres on our backs,

or the blood that soaked the ground,

or the groans of all the wounded,

or the chaos all around.

 

There were soldiers in the field Mam

and they all had swords and guns

and they hacked their way through daughters

and they hacked their way through sons,

they hacked their way through husbands

and they hacked their way through wives

and they didn’t care a jot

for the loss of poor folk’s lives.

 

Sorry I didn’t come home Mam

but I’m lying next to John,

trampled by the horses,

but now the horses have all gone.

There are fifteen other mothers

who will grieve the same as you

over this bloody mess in Manchester.

Pray for the dead of Peterloo.