British poet Attila the Stockbroker’s 2015 in review

Posted on December 24, 2015 by petrel41

This poetry video says about itself:

The Corbyn Supporters From Hell – Attila The Stockbroker, 15th Oct 2015 at The Blue Boar Hotel, Maldon, Essex, UK.

Thursday 24th December 2015

2015 has been a momentous year for me, personally, poetically and politically.

On September 12, I was just driving out of my adopted 1980s home town of Harlow, having done a storming gig there the night before celebrating the recent publication of my autobiography. The news came through that Jeremy Corbyn had been elected leader of the Labour Party by a landslide. I had to stop the car as I listened to his victory speech. Tears of happiness filled my eyes and I punched the air. But I forgot I was still in the car and I punched the roof.

That is true, funny and it hurt but I didn’t care. It was the culmination of a very happy few weeks for me. I’d recently been given the all-clear after an operation for suspected bladder cancer, was about to become a step-grandad for the first time, and the Seagulls had just soared to the top of the Championship.

Corbyn’s amazing, inspirational victory was the absolute icing on the cake. In fact, it was two layers of icing with a great big bar of chocolate on top of those, a chocolate seagull with a red star made of strawberries on its head perched on that and the whole thing topped off with a load of clotted cream and six pints of Dark Star Six Hop Ale. Magic.

Twelve years before, in my song Guy Fawkes’ Table, written as the Labour government voted to join Bush in his illegal invasion of Iraq, I had despairingly written off new Labour — “Aneurin Bevan, your party is dead” — and declared that: “We need a new radical party, but not the Judean People’s Front/Not another small sect but a movement, with the power to change and confront.”

This music video says about itself:

Punk poet Attila the Stockbroker‘s ‘homage’ to New Labour – Guy Fawkes’ Table – live onstage at Belper Queen’s Head, Derbyshire, England, on Thursday, 21st May 2010 with backing vocals from David Rovics.

The article continues:

Against all the odds, sneers, put-downs and scare stories from the national media, many of whose so-called journalists’ tongues are a deep shade of brown from constantly ensuring that the rectal cavities of the likes of Rupert Murdoch are as clean as a Singaporean airport lounge, we got it.

And our “new radical party” is the one it always should have been — the Labour Party.

I did 37 gigs between September and December on my autobiography tour, all over England and Wales, and the vibrant new hope I have encountered everywhere has been a joy to behold.

As we know, local Constituency Labour Parties have had a huge influx of members — including yours truly — and a huge grassroots movement is growing. Even in constituencies like my local one, where literally a dead duck could get elected wearing a Tory rosette, the recruits are flooding in.

Of course, the power of the opposition is daunting, not least because some of it is from within the Labour Party itself. But the sneers and jibes of the Tory press are testament to how frightened the tiny, unrepresentative elite which controls it are that their power could one day be taken away and legislation passed to bring true media democracy to this country.

That day certainly can’t come fast enough for me.

I certainly fully intend to spend 2016 as I have 2015, travelling the country and further afield as Comrade Corbyn’s unofficial — indeed unsolicited — social surrealist Minister of Propaganda. With a few reservations, not to be mentioned here — you can’t agree with someone about EVERYTHING, that’s being sycophantic. I’ll be spreading ideas, drinking beer and having fun. Fun’s important, you know! Beery Clashmas and a Hoppy New Year to you all.

Attila the Stockbroker poem on Jeremy Corbyn

Posted on September 22, 2015 by petrel41

This video from London, England says about itself:

Jeremy Corbyn victory celebrations

12 September 2015

Thousands of Jeremy Corbyn supporters celebrate in Hyde Park the moment he is announced Labour leader, drinking champagne, hugging and chanting Jez We Did.

By poet Attila the Stockbroker from England:

Devil of a time with Jeremy

Saturday 19th September 2015

On the road with Attila the Stockbrocker

LAST Saturday was, quite simply, one of the happiest days of my life. I was driving out of Harlow after an absolutely fantastic book-launch gig in the town where I had been based for much of the ’80s and done all my early gigs when I heard the leadership election result.

I found a lay-by, stopped the car and listened with joy to Jeremy’s acceptance speech, immediately deciding to rejoin the Labour Party — which I’ve now done.

And, later that day, Brighton won to go four points clear at the top of the Championship.

Pretty much perfect, I’d say.

I know there are going to be some long, hard battles ahead and they’ve already started as right-wing journalists descend on Jeremy like a slavering pack.

“Freedom of the press,” my arse — it’s the freedom of three media billionaires to employ a bunch of abjectly contemptible and brown-nosing sycophants to vomit their propaganda more like.

Which is why the Morning Star is so important. It is our voice in this unequal battle and that means that people need to be able to buy it.

It pains me to say that in the first week of my tour I have searched for copies in at least ten different shops in Harlow and Lincoln and not found one copy anywhere.

As I travel round the country I shall continue my research and report back in this column. PLEASE get the distribution better!

Five gigs on the autobiography tour this week: Mitcheldean, Wolverhampton, Walthamstow, Worcester and Stroud. All details at www.attilathestockbroker.com.

And here’s my response to the brainless tabloid frenzy. Let’s take the piss out of them.

Corbyn Supporters from Hell!

Just look at us – we’re the scourge of the land
We’re Jeremy Corbyn’s favourite band
We all eat babies and we’re Commies too
And we’ve all got Aids and we’ll give it to you
With scaly tails and horns and hooves
We undermine everything that moves
You can read about us in the right-wing press
The Sun, the Mail and the Express
So don’t mess with us ’cos we’re Lefties and we smell –
We’re the Corbyn Supporters from Hell!

If your telly goes wrong or your car won’t start
You can bet your life we played our part
If your team doesn’t win or you miss the bus
Then ten to one it’s all down to us
If a dog runs off with your copy of the Sun
And brings it back with the crossword done
If your best mate becomes a Red
Or you find a squatter in your bed
We did it — and everything else as well
’Cos we’re Corbyn Supporters from Hell!

We make your pub sell proper beer
We banned the broadcast of Top Gear
We’re all pacifists, bi and gay
And members of the IRA
We love all asylum seekers
And make you pay for their posh sneakers
We won’t sing songs for the Queen
We think X Factor is obscene
So don’t mess with us, ’cos we’re Lefties and we smell
— We’re the Corbyn Supporters from Hell!

A Nobel Prize winner and a best-selling author are among the economists Jeremy Corbyn has selected to advise him. Joseph Stiglitz and Capital in the 21st Century author Thomas Piketty will develop ideas for the Labour leader and shadow chancellor John McDonnell: here.

Punk music police censorship in English football

Posted on March 5, 2015 by petrel41

This music video from Britain is called Sex Pistols – Anarchy In The UK 1976.

By poet Attila the Stockbroker in England:

Anarchy in the UK – but censorship in Gillingham

Thursday 5th March 2015

Now my autobiography is finished the gigs are beginning to start again. Today my wife and I are off to Lerwick for my first ever appearances in Shetland – hooray! Looking forward to that, and to sampling the ale from the legendary Valhalla Brewery — an extended report of proceedings will be in my next column.

And I had a brilliant show last Sunday at the Winter of Discontent punk festival in north London with Sunderland heroes and old mates Angelic Upstarts, Welsh anti-fascist legends The Oppressed and Edinburgh’s hilarious Oi Polloi.

Now a bit more from the book.

To set the scene — it’s 1997 and the crisis at my beloved Brighton & Hove Albion is at its height. Our Goldstone Ground has been sold to property speculators, we’re playing our “home” games at Gillingham, a round trip of 140 miles, and we’re second from bottom of the entire Football League.

To try and liven things up a bit, I’ve persuaded club chairman Dick Knight to let me be PA announcer and DJ, playing punk, reggae and ska. It’s Boxing Day 1997, at home to Colchester. A noon kick-off.

We’d obviously had to set off really early to get to Gillingham in time for the game and everyone was a bit bleary-eyed. So, for the first time, I decided to play Anarchy in the UK by the Sex Pistols. It had been on for about a minute when a policeman burst into the box.

“Take that off! Take that off! Now!”

“Why?’”I asked. But I could see that he was really angry. So I did, and put the Clash on instead.

This music video from England is called The Clash – Janie Jones (live at the Belle Vue, Manchester, UK 15. November 1977).

“You can’t play that record at a football match. It’s banned. It’s on THE LIST!”

“What list?” I asked. “No-one has ever told me there was a list of records I couldn’t play!”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it!’ he shouted. “It’s obvious!”

I stood there, the Clash playing in the background, perplexed. It evidently wasn’t “obvious” to me and the fact that he needed to explain further made him even more angry. “It incites violence in the crowd!” he exclaimed.

I thought for a few seconds. “Well, officer,” I said. “I bought two copies of Anarchy in the UK in the black sleeve on EMI Records on the day that it came out in 1976. I have played it and heard it many, many times since and not once has doing so given me violent thoughts of any kind whatsoever.

“I have also been to all 92 Football League grounds and every time I have heard In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins I have had to restrain myself from committing serious acts of criminal damage!”

He didn’t get the joke and, a couple of days later, Brighton & Hove Albion FC received a formal letter from Kent Police banning me from doing the PA at Gillingham any longer.

Dick Knight phoned me up. “I’m not having that, John!” He spoke to them and the ban was rescinded, on condition that I didn’t play Anarchy in the UK again. So I didn’t.

This music video is called The Damned – Smash it Up; Old Grey Whistle Test.

I did play Smash it Up by the Damned and I Fought the Law and White Riot by the Clash in the next couple of weeks though. No policeman appeared in the box. Obviously those three weren’t on THE LIST.

This music video is called The Clash – I Fought The Law (Live at The London Lyceum Theatre – 1979).

This music video is called The Clash – White Riot.

Attila the Stockbroker on his poetry and music

Posted on December 18, 2014 by petrel41

This 27 October 2014 music video from England is called Attila the Stockbroker – Farageland. The song is about Nigel Farage, leader of the UKIP party in Britain. The title is also a wordplay on, and the music is from, the song Garageland by punk rock band The Clash.

The lyrics of Farageland are here.

And this is a music video of Garageland by The Clash. Lyrics are here.

By poet Attila the Stockbroker from Britain:

I’m not counting the years, just the beers

Thursday 18th December 2014

On the road with Attila the Stockbroker

WONDERFUL night at the iconic and atmospheric Borderline club in Soho last Wednesday, celebrating 20 years of my band Barnstormer.

I started off as a punk bass player in 1977 and always thought I’d be in a band. But the bands I was in kept splitting up — partly because rather than standing meekly at the back as bass players were supposed to do, I wanted to write songs and play lead lines on the bass.

Some people, especially fellow punk musicians, didn’t understand this.

So in 1980 I started getting up on stage on my own in the breaks between bands at gigs, shouting the lyrics I’d written for the bands I was in that had split up. Add a stage name inspired by being told “you’ve got the manners of Attila the Hun” during a predictably horrible 11-month temporary stint as a clerk in a stockbroker’s office — the last “proper” job I’ve ever had — and that’s how Attila the Stockbroker, performance poet, came into the world.

For 10 years or so I was happy going solo, but in the ’90s I had a dream of forming a band to combine punk with my own take on medieval music, in much the same way that the Pogues combined punk with Irish music. I found a very sound bunch of local musicians, The Fish Brothers, called as such because of their drinking habits, and my band Barnstormer was born.

To be honest, we didn’t actually start as Barnstormer. For our first two gigs, our debut being at the legendary old Jericho Tavern in Oxford in November 1994, we were called Flounder and our bass player was Captain Sensible, incidentally.

Now, for me, as a coastal dwelling sea angler “flounder” only means one thing — a rather tasty flatfish.

But it was soon pointed out to me that the word had a rather different interpretation, to be completely useless. Since our band were actually quite good, I christened them Barnstormer and so we have been ever since. That’s apart from our first tour of Germany, where we were called Die Erbrechenden Rotkehlchen, which translates as The Vomiting Robins. Yes, I know.

We’ve done over 500 gigs, mainly in Germany. I’ve been a poet over here and in other English speaking countries and a band over there. It’s worked out very well.

Bands get treated much better in mainland Europe, where there’s free food, unlimited beer and accommodation comes as a basic rule of thumb which, any aspirant musician will tell you, is definitely not the case in Britain.

Above all, we’ve stuck together, so thank you to Dan Woods (guitar) and McGhee (drums) and bassists “Baby” David Beaken, Jason Pegg and Tommy Muir for being lovely, creative and talented and, crucially, for being able to retain those abilities on stage after vast quantities of free German beer.

And so to our celebration at the Borderline. I roped in my old mate John Otway to recite his Xmas hit — yes, he’s in the process of having one as we speak, thanks to a dedicated fanbase and the wonders of the internet — and Thee Faction, TV Smith and Blyth Power contributed hugely to a wonderful evening.

Another 100 gigs or so this year. Not quite as many in 2015 as I take some time out to finish my autobiography, timed for my 35th anniversary as Attila.

Hoppy Christmas and a Beery New Year to you all, comrades!

British poet Attila the Stockbroker on Tony Benn

Posted on December 4, 2014 by petrel41

This 1991 music video from Britain about the 1991 Gulf war is called Atilla the Stockbroker – Blood For Oil. The lyrics are here.

By poet Attila the Stockbroker from Britain:

Great Glasgow gathering to celebrate Tony Benn

Thursday 4th December 2014

On the road with Attila the Stockbroker

IT WAS an absolute honour to be asked to do a set at the celebration of Tony Benn‘s life at the Mitchell Theatre in Glasgow last Sunday. He has been a lifelong inspiration to me and I wrote this poem in his honour and performed it twice on the day:

Red Wedgwood

“The former Viscount Stansgate”
The Tory press would sneer.
“What does he know of struggle?
He’s just a toffy peer.”

But it’s not where you come from
-It’s what you fucking DO.
John Peel and Engels knew that
And Strummer knew it too.

A fighter for the working class:
A giant among men.
He wasn’t Viscount Stansgate.
His name was Tony Benn.

The reason I did it twice was that the day was split into two parts – a spoken-word section in the afternoon featuring the excellent Scottish poets Elvis McGonagall and Tom Leonard and comedian Bruce Morton alongside yours truly and an evening musical event.

I wasn’t due to be performing in the evening but when I arrived I was asked to fill in for the great radical folk singer Roy Bailey, who of course has often appeared alongside Benn, and who had sadly been taken ill.

So instead of the gentle and beautifully voiced comrade Bailey, the assembled throng were treated to a shouty Sussex poet, fortified by a few pints in the Bon Accord in between shows, singing Prince Harry’s Knob.

I’m happy to say that they joined in the chorus with gusto.

But most importantly, on behalf of all at the Star, get well soon, Roy.

It was also a pleasure to meet Emily, Benn‘s granddaughter, who made a short speech.

I actually voted for her at the last election – she stood as Labour candidate for our constituency of East Worthing and Shoreham, a brave thing to do since a decomposing dogfish would get elected round here as long as it was wearing a Tory rosette. Although absolutely lovely, I discovered that she suffers the horrible affliction of being a Crystal Palace fan and is prospective parliamentary candidate for Croydon at the next election, which is logical and eminently more winnable.

Be good to see the family represented in Parliament again and good luck, Emily. To you. Not to Palace.

Tony Benn remembered by Saffron Burrows: here.

John Moore reviews The Best of Benn, edited by Ruth Winstone (Hutchinson, £20): here.

Poem about World War I, by Attila the Stockbroker

Posted on September 13, 2014 by petrel41

This video is called Attila the Stockbroker – A Centenary War Poem For My Father Bill Baine, 1899 – 1968.

By poet Attila the Stockbroker from Britain:

Cheers for proud Hull, punking about in Brussels and a poem

Saturday 13th September 2014

On the road with Attila the Stockbroker

LAST weekend I was on at the Freedom Festival in Hull, and what a wonderfully organised and vibrant event it was.

Set in the old streets of the historic port area and featuring loads of diverse bands, poets, dancers — you name it — all washed down with a fine selection of local beers and food from all over the world.

Hull is Britain’s City of Culture for 2017 and has had a vibrant scene for years. It also hosts my favourite venue the Adelphi, basically a hollowed-out terraced house next to a bomb site. It’s been presided over for 30 years by the indefatigable and inspirational Paul “Jacko” Jackson and spawned loads of household names in the independent music scene from the Housemartins to Pulp to Death by Milkfloat, to name but a few.

What d’you mean, you haven’t heard of Death by Milkfloat? Legends, comrades, legends.

Best T shirt of that weekend: “Welcome to Hull, European City of Culture 2017. We’re not shit any more.” You never were, Hull, you’re great.

This music video from Belgium is the song Nuit blanche, by the band Contingent.

I’ve just been playing bass in Brussels with Contingent, the punk band I joined there in 1979. They still gig occasionally — and incendiarally — and we’re supporting Sham 69 at a celebration of the 20th anniversary of Magasin 4, the alternative venue set up by our late, great guitarist Eric Lemaitre. Belgian beer awaits in vats – and then I’m off with my wife for a week’s holiday in Marseille.

I wanted to use this poem in my column at the actual anniversary of the start of world War I, but so much was going on gig-wise then that I decided to hold it back for the relatively relaxed few weeks between the end of the festival season and the start of my autumn touring, where it could have pride of place.

It is a true and unusual story — and a poem from the heart.

A Centenary War Poem

For my father, Bill Baine

“What passing-bells for those who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.”
And so some lines to spike centenary prattle:
These words a sole survivor soldier’s son’s.

My father Bill, born in Victorian England:
The sixth of January, 1899.
His stock, loyal London. Proletarian doff-cap.
Aged seventeen, he went to join the line.

Not in a war to end all wars forever
Just in a ghastly slaughter at the Somme —
A pointless feud, a royal family squabble
Fought by their proxy poor with gun and bomb.

My father saved. Pyrexia, unknown origin.
Front line battalion: he lay sick in bed.
His comrades formed their line, then came the whistle
And then the news that every one was dead.

In later life a polished comic poet
No words to us expressed that awful fear
Although we knew such things were not forgotten.
He dreamed Sassoon: he wrote Belloc and Lear.

When I was ten he died, but I remember,
Although just once, he’d hinted at the truth.
He put down Henry King and Jabberwocky
And read me Owen’s “Anthem For Doomed Youth”.

“What passing-bells for those who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.”
And so some lines to spike Gove’s mindless prattle:

These words a sole survivor soldier’s son’s.

British poet Attila the Stockbroker on punk rock

Posted on August 14, 2014 by petrel41

This video from Amsterdam in the Netherlands says about itself:

Attila the Stockbroker & Barnstormer – Live @ Soundgarden 02.11.2012 – Pt 1:

1. LEVELLERS / DIGGERS 2. BAGHDAD SKA 3. COMANDANTE JOE 4. TYLER SMILES 5. THE BLANDFORD FORUM.

Attila the Stockbroker on vocals, violin, crumhorn and recorders; Dan Woods on guitar; Baby Beaken on bass; Mass Murder McGee (some of them are also members of The Fish Brothers.)

Attila the Stockbroker (born John Baine, 21 October 1957, Southwick, Sussex, England) is a punk poet, and a folk punk musician and songwriter. He performs solo and as the leader of the band Barnstormer. He describes himself as a “sharp tongued, high energy social surrealist poet and songwriter.” He has performed over 2,700 concerts, published six books of poems, and released 30+ recordings (CDs, LPs and singles).

By poet Attila the Stockbroker from Britain:

The Europeans’ knack for culturally nourishing rebellion

Thursday 14th August 2014

On the road with Attila the Stockbroker

Amsterdam is always a pleasure to visit, and the Paradiso club — once a squatted church — is a legendary presence in the scene.

Did a gig there, solo poetry and with my band Barnstormer, as part of a vibrant and wide-ranging evening of spoken word and music and then headed to Peine, near Hannover in Germany, to celebrate the 30th anniversary of their autonomous centre, the AJZ.

When it comes to independent music, politics and culture generally, much of mainland Europe is a completely different world compared to Britain.

Autonomously run venues emerged from the squatter movement years ago and are now legal and run independently by local left-wing activists — there are literally hundreds of them, dotted across many different countries, which guarantees performers like myself a network of ready-made places to play, run by like-minded people.

For someone whose British network consists of fairly mainstream arts centres and rock venues and sympathetic pubs that let people put on gigs in an an upstairs room, it’s always a sheer pleasure to see how things can be organised differently.

Highlight in Peine was a blistering performance by Canadian punk legend and activist Joey “Shithead” Keighley and his band DOA, whom I was to meet again a few days later at last weekend’s annual Rebellion punk festival in Blackpool.

For many years now, thousands of punks, young and not so young (!) have taken over the Winter Gardens there for a four-day celebration of the music we love.

As usual, this year’s event was a blast and I had a wonderful gig on the Almost Acoustic Stage on the Friday. As for whom I saw on stage, well, here goes…

My mate TV “Adverts” Smith and his band the Bored Teenagers were fantastic. So were The Men They Couldn’t Hang, Peter & The Test Tube Babies, John Otway, Ruts DC, The Cravats, Roy Ellis aka Mr Symarip (doing “Skinhead Moonstomp” and reminding us that real skinheads have hated racism since 1969) and The Outcasts and The Defects from Belfast. To name but a few.

But it’s absolutely wrong to think that Rebellion is just about the old guard, and among the new breed I must single out acoustic singer/songwriter Louise Distras, who is the sharp, angry voice of her generation of punk rockers and a real breath of fresh air in the scene. Her set was a masterpiece.

We have to beware the impostors though. Inside the Winter Gardens there was a real sense of unity, but outside I came across a group of fascists, some with tickets, some not, intent as always in spreading hate and causing trouble.

I had a verbal altercation — I’m 56 and was on my own, I’m glad it stayed verbal — and soon realised that many of them were from eastern Europe. Cue the ironic rant!

“Brain dead morons from mainland Europe, coming over here, singing crap English songs, crap English fascists wrote in stupid accents… We’re full up, mate.

“We’ve got our full quota of racist cretins with IQs smaller than their boot size. Piss off back to where you come from!”

It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.

Next stop Guernsey, and a rather different festival. Happy holidays to one and all.

Attila the Stockbroker poem on British miners’ strike

Posted on June 12, 2014 by petrel41

This video from England says about itself:

Orgreave/Hillsborough: South Yorkshire Police Cover-Up?

By poet Attila the Stockbroker from Britain:

Orgreave: we’ll carry on the fight for justice

Thursday 12th June 2014

I’ve written this for the Orgreave mass picnic and festival this Saturday at Catcliffe Recreation Ground, South Yorkshire, which commemorates the 30th anniversary of the battle of Orgreave during the 1984 miners’ strike.

I am so honoured to be compering the main stage. Hope to see you there.

Never Forget

I remember my stepfather moaning
In the first strike in ’72
‘Miners holding the country to ransom…..’
I was fourteen. I thought about you.
You worked underground, often in danger.
Hewed the coal we depended upon.
He earned more checking tax forms in Brighton.
I knew then just whose side I was on.

I remember Kent pickets at Shoreham
When our port bosses shipped in scab coal.
By the time they were back twelve years later
A new anger burned deep in my soul.
You’d won once, but this time would be harder
For your foe was no bumbling Heath.
It was Thatcher, revenge her agenda.
A class warrior, armed to the teeth.

You were miners on strike for your future:
For your pits, your communities, ways.
We were punks, poets, anarchists, lesbians.
Theatre groups, Rastafarians, gays.
Different worlds in a rainbow alliance
Standing firm and determined to win.
And Thatcher lumped us all together:
Punk or miner. The enemy within.

As a poet, I crisscrossed the country
From Durham to Yorkshire to Kent
Doing benefits, arguing, learning.
Raising funds that were so quickly spent.
Did my tiny bit in that great battle
That you fought so hard right to the last.
A battle so proudly remembered
Now that thirty long years have passed.

I remember those pictures from Orgreave.
Police faces contorted with hate.
The communities brutalized, shattered
By the raw, naked power of the state.
If it took guns and tanks to defeat you
She’d have used guns and tanks on you too.
The veneer of democracy shattered.
The paid thugs of the privileged few.

After Orgreave came Wapping, then Hillsborough.
With the press and police on her side
Thatcher smiled as the printers were beaten
And those ninety six football fans died.
She had a quite open agenda
Summed up well when she famously said
That there’s not such a thing as society.
Don’t blame us for being pleased that she’s dead.

Now the bankers destroy the economy
And the jobless and sick get the blame
And our once mighty, proud labour movement
Is shackled, and timid, and tame
But this poet will always remember
All the brave men and women I met
We will carry on fighting for justice –

And we’ll never, no never, forget.

Full details of the event are available at www.otjc.org.uk.

Barbara Jackson, secretary of the Orgreave Truth and Justice Campaign (OTJC), was speaking to the Morning Star a few hours before hundreds of people began making their way to Orgreave, site 30 years ago of state-organised violence against striking miners in retaliation for their audacity in fighting for their jobs, their industry, their families and their communities: here.

Police are accused of foot-dragging over miners’ strike inquiry. Three decades after Orgreave clashes, the IPCC inquiry is under fire for delaying tactics: here.

Battle of Orgreave 30th anniversary: We demand justice for victims of police brutality, says 1,500-strong crowd: here.

South Yorkshire Police provoked fury on Saturday by deploying a helicopter to hover menacingly over a festival marking the 30th anniversary of the Battle of Orgreave: here.

British poet Attila the Stockbroker remembers miners’ strike

Posted on April 16, 2014 by petrel41

This music video says about itself:

Chumbawamba – So Long – (Bye Bye Mrs Thatcher)

Kept in reserve until the day Mrs. Thatcher moved on, ‘So Long’ here performed by Chumbawamba in May 2009 sums up the feelings of many people in the UK.

By poet Attila the Stockbroker in Britain:

Anger and inspiration in miners‘ commemorations

Wednesday 16th April 2014

On the road with Atilla the Stockbroker

Occasionally I have an experience which affirms my political convictions, blasts away any cobwebs and gives me extra strength for the arguments and battles ahead.

Some can be supremely fun, like the two Rock Against Racism festivals in the late ’70s where, as a young punk rocker, I saw for the first time the power of music to change ideas.

Some experiences can be downright unpleasant, though. To this day one of the most informative — and formative — times of my life was, paradoxically, the 11 months I spent as a clerk in a Stock Exchange firm 33 years ago. It was the last job I had apart from being a poet and the one which gave me my stage name.

The naked greed and crass behaviour I saw there — worse now due to the new technology available which makes it even easier for brokers and bankers to indulge their casino fantasies at the tap of a keyboard — have stayed with me to this day.

And some experiences bring a whole gamut of mixed emotions, as happened a week last Saturday when, following a truly awful 0-0 draw for the Seagulls at Barnsley’s Oakwell ground, I drove to Edlington Top Club near Doncaster to do a spot at the Yorkshire Main Trust’s celebration of Unity Day, commemorating 30 years since the start of the miners’ strike.

On the way I saw a sign for Goldthorpe and remembered that it was the village which had ceremonially burned Thatcher in effigy on the day of THAT funeral a year ago. So I deliberately took a detour through it and entered a scene of utter devastation — shops and houses boarded up, a place which had the heart ripped out of it by the events of 1984-5.

I don’t believe in a north-south divide, to me that smacks of divide and rule, but there are certainly plenty of complacent and ignorant people in my part of the world who talk rubbish about the miners’ strike and its aftermath. I’d love to see them get out of their bubble and walk down the main street in a village like Goldthorpe. Especially the ones who claim to be “Christians,” yet vote Tory. Shame on them all.

And then I drove the short distance to Edlington, another devastated former pit community, a place determined to recreate the spirit of solidarity which sustained it through the civil war it faced 30 years ago at the hands of Thatcher’s private army of police. Earlier that day there had been a march through the village, led by the women who played such a vital role during the strike.

I arrived towards the end of the festivities at the Top Club and heard stories from those days told by proud and dignified people still burning with anger at the fact that such events could have happened in England in the late 20th century. I saw a brilliant young local band called Haberdash. And then I did some poems and songs, very well received, and left feeling inspired by the event and angered beyond belief by the society and politics which made it necessary.

Goldthorpe had a similar commemoration last Saturday, a week later. Thatcher is dead, let’s move on, some say. We can only move on when places like Goldthorpe and Edlington can move on and thrive in the way they did before her hatchet men ripped out their hearts.

Poems about British teachers

Posted on April 3, 2014 by petrel41

This video from Britain says about itself:

15 January 2014

Christine Blower, the general secretary of the National Union of Teachers, warned that teachers do not need more tests on top of the “hurdles at every stage of their career”.

By poet Attila the Stockbroker from Britain:

Today’s lesson: why a good teacher is better than any banker

Thursday 3rd April 2014

ATTILA THE STOCKBROKER salutes the NUT for standing up for education

I like teachers a lot. OK, I’m biased – I’m married to one and two of my stepchildren are in the profession as well. But I simply cannot understand the attitude some English – and yes, it really does seem to be exclusively English – people have to the profession.

The sneers about short hours and long holidays which simply demonstrate a total lack of understanding of what the job entails and, worst of all, that aphorism.

You know the one. “Those who can do, those who can’t teach.” One of the favourite cliches employed by the average Tory-voting, Daily Mail-reading resident of the quaint Worcestershire village of Bell End.

Teachers are precious and their role in society is so obviously and absolutely vital that one good teacher is worth all the bankers in the world put together.

And because I like teachers, I don’t like Michael Gove. I know you don’t have to like teachers to dislike Gove, it’s a natural human reaction, but it helps. I was very happy to be invited to address last Wednesday’s NUT strike rally in Brighton and had my lesson plan fully prepared.

It went like this:

Oh Michael Gove
please come to Hove
and stick your head
in a gas stove.

On second thoughts
I just don’t care:
feel free to do
it anywhere.

A poem which was received very well indeed. Solidarity with the NUT – good to see trade unionists properly standing up for themselves. You don’t need me to tell you that it doesn’t happen enough these days.

This weekend I’m up north again. Brighton [football club] are away at Barnsley and the perennial mission to coincide gigs with the fixture list has worked brilliantly.

Friday night I’m at the Swan in the Rushes pub, a real-ale heaven in Loughborough, and after the match at Oakwell on Saturday I’m heading to Edlington Top Club just outside Doncaster to do a short set at the Edlington NUM National Unity Day marking the 30th anniversary of the start of the miners’ strike. Incidentally, I heard that Barnsley fans unveiled a big “Coal Not Dole” banner during their match against Nottingham Forest a couple of weeks ago. Nice touch.

Then on Sunday at 2pm I’m on stage at one of my favourite venues ever, The Adelphi in Hull. It’s one of the last remaining independently run alternative music venues left from the 1980s, a hollowed-out terraced house with a WWII bomb site as a car park and toilets which until a recent refurbishment were legendary. Owner Paul Jackson is a veritable unsung hero of rock n roll. Cheers Paul.

To finish, here’s another one for the NUT and especially for my primary school teacher stepdaughter Rosie. Gove apparently wants to force teachers to return to the days of rote learning. OK, here we go:

He wants kids to learn poems –
Well, teachers, here’s a start
And every five year old
Should know these words by heart.
‘Oh, shut up, Michael Gove!
You haven’t got a clue!
Where most folk have a brain
You’ve got amoeba poo!’