The Benefit of Hindsight

The Benefit of Hindsight

In ’84, during the miner’s strike,

A crowd of Kent miners came to our town,

And I met a man who took a dislike

To yours truly, upon me sitting down

At his table, as men of militant renown,

Mingled with locals, supporting their fight,

In the Labour club bar, one Friday night.

The Kent miners, as I recall, were here

All week, fly- picketing the docks by day

And nightly partaking of the cheap beer,

Soft beverages, and food; not to say

Free lodging on the clubroom floor, on which they

Slept, courtesy of the club committee,

Long since disbanded and more’s the pity.

I sat next to Tanya (not her real name),

A girlfriend of sorts; she’d told me about

“These miners” she’d drunk with, when they first came

To town, two nights ago; she being out

With a friend; and I seriously doubt

The two miners had considered she might

Have a boyfriend, let alone invite

Him along to a follow-up meeting;

In any case, their feelings toward me

-Given the cold and indifferent greeting,

Consisting of a handshake, half-heartedly

Proffered by a bearded man, who had to be

At least forty; and the look of disdain

On his burly mate’s face- seemed pretty plain.

The bearded man alerted my alarm,

Having evidently taken offence

At me kissing Tanya and putting an arm

Around her, awkwardly and with a sense

Of self-consciousness, very intense:

“We’ve had to leave our wives at home” he said,

And his mate glared, as if wishing me dead.

The bearded man then patiently suggested

I remove my arm, in view of his frustrated

Fellows; and I complied, as requested,

But his mate appeared still aggravated;

Maintaining, as it were, a look of hatred,

Simmering with psychotic intention,

As the bearded man, put to me a question:

“So what’s your politics then?” he enquired,

And I naively, politely, replied;

“I haven’t got any”, which got him all fired-

-Up; even more so when I further implied

That MPs are all the same, whatever side

They claim to be on, and as for ourselves;

Most people are mainly out for themselves!

“What do you mean?” yelled his furious mate,

As he flicked a match that landed on my top

And burnt it: an undeniably straight-

-Up challenge, which I chose to drop;

Disregarding his impertinent pop,

In consideration of his largeness,

Which I judged to be twice mine, more or less.

There followed a condescending address,

Giving by the bearded man, concerning

The sense of political awareness

I apparently lacked, for want of learning;

In a patronisingly faux-discerning

Manner, he said we need to care for each other,

Like he was some kind of wise big brother,

But he was obviously taking the piss,

And all I could do was pretend to listen;

Nodding, as he lectured on about this

And that, like a preacher on a mission,

Or more like a man in a position

Of power over a rabbit or deer,

Caught in the lights of a van in top gear.

“ARTHUR SCARGILL, ARTHUR SCARGILL,

WE’LL SUPPORT YOU EVERMORE,

WE’LL SUPPORT YOU EVERMORE”

Rang out, as the burly miner laid his paw

On Tanya; all but embracing her; and what’s more;

Tanya didn’t mind! Least not from what I saw,

Watching her face drawn toward the last straw,

i.e. a snog or maybe merely a quick kiss

Goodbye, which either way, was very much remiss

To my jealous mind; I reflexively

Leapt out of my chair, in the interests of pride,

And my rival responded aggressively:

“YEAH COME ON THEN YOU LITTLE CUNT” he cried,

And, to be honest, I’d have probably died

If his mate hadn’t grabbed me by the scruff

And told me that I wasn’t “Man enough”,

All the while keeping the pair of us apart;

I heard Tanya shouting “Come on, let’s go!”

And the next thing I knew, she’d made a smart

Exit; heading home, with yours truly in tow;

And what followed, no one else needs to know;

Suffice to say, a short while later, I

Was chucked, in favour of a manlier guy.

(Funny thing: not long after the event,

I saw the bearded man on my TV;

Him being the shop-steward of the Kent

Miners, and there he was, on the BBC

News; and his first name turned out to be,

Pat; a worthy anecdote, if not a claim

To fame; if I only knew his surname.)

***

The other morning, whilst out dog walking,

I was thinking out loud, as I often do,

Presently, imaginatively talking

To the bearded man and his colleague too,

And when he asked for my political view,

I answered, armed with forty plus years’ worth

Of knowledge; “I’m sorry but how on earth

Is that relevant?” tantalisingly

Leaving him hanging, before I told

Him I was very left wing; and thus he

Adopted a noticeably less cold

Demeanour toward my twenty two year old

Self; with a show of reluctant respect,

Upon receiving further pause to reflect

On my insightful opinions…

But then;

Pondering the benefit of hindsight:

If I had my time all over again

And took up the chance of making things right,

I’d most likely run out of poems to write;

Hence, on second thoughts; I left my young self

To figure things out from his place, on the shelf.

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