Lockout

Slopping out in the morn / Tired and sick, forlorn / The marrow is slowly worn / These walls are tightening / The children are shivering / The children are gaunt and thin / And daily we creak to win / A crust of bread to feed / Down in the early house / Drinking and down in mouth / Paying the foreman’s shout / A debt that must be paid / While up in the tenements / The women in worriment / The bruises that never mend / A role they’re forced to play / The church squabbles on for souls / And envies the status quo / To supplant them with their own / This engine is the poor / In Belfast Carson he sneers / Among Ulster Volunteers / Playing sectarians fears / The bang of what’s to come / The landlords are plainly seen / Salubrious, calm and clean / Clad in the velvet green / What shade I could not say / The peelers would huff and swell / The lawyers then ring the bell / The Judges who feign to tell / Of a fairer price to pay

Born into the cold / Slums of Liverpool / To the working world / Chained to bosses who /  Systematically / Turn men to machines / Systematically / Strip their dignity / So I stood to speak / Drawing from the stage / Anguish of the weak / Spat it out in rage / Workers organise / Many more than few / Sympathetic strike / ITGWU  / You have it all. All within yourselves / Take control of your lives and destiny / One big union made, made for one and all / Rise up, rise up, come and rise yourselves /  Sent to Belfast by the NUDL / Waterford and Cork, Dublin town as well / Jailed, expelled, I was pardoned, rose anew / Irish worker and ITGWU / You have it all. All within yourselves / Take control of your lives and destiny / One big union made. Made for one and all /  Rise up, rise up, come, come and rise yourselves / For how long have we. Far too long, have we / Been so humbled and inarticulate / Irish workers they begin to awake /  Realise the truth of the old saying  / He who would be free must strike the first blow / Seek not for foreign foes your bitterest enemy / Seek not for foreign foes treads your own sod / A fair wage for a fair day’s work 

Good evening employees / Of the DUTC / I wish to speak frankly / On your pledge of loyalty / Put yourself in my place / What margin to make? / But you’re not in my place / And make no mistake / These syndicalist roughs / Will trick and deceive / Those foolish enough / The weak and naive / The working world / Is wide awake / Will bind you all / Make no mistake / And the cups and the saucers / Are clinking, grow cold / The spare-men and paupers / Wilt into the fold / So be not the tool / Of this labour dictator / Disreputable fool / A vile instigator / Shareholders are fed / Eat three meals a day / But the same can’t be said  / For those out in the fray / My vision for you / A Perverted Piety / A managed truth / A selfish sobriety / A free Ireland as planned / Will be built on cheap labour / On your backs I will stand / You’ll consider it favour

On Tuesday August 26th / At 20 minutes to ten / The breaks were heaved the trams were stopped / And out then jumped the men / The strikers stood and pinned the badge / The union’s Red Hand up / Upon their slavish uniforms / The men had up and struck / The peelers primed by Murphy / Drag the union men away / Through cheering crowds the spectacle / For long it could not stay  / Suburban ships up from the moors  / In Sackville Street depart / ‘Til Butler jams the Kingstown Tram / And so it all restarts / To Liberty! / The wild eyed kids tear at the wires / and pelt the trams and tracks / Seconded men now man the car / In anger they’re attacked / The frumpled aristocracy / Who graced the RDS / Dismissed the air of tension / At the DMP’s behest / Partridge heads to Pigeon house / To take the workers out / But Murphy anticipated this / The plans they are a rout. / The Power station ringed with cops / The union men depart / The town’s a mess with stones and jeers / No trams run after dark / To Liberty!

Chattering crowds descend / In anguishing hope to mend / To hear Jim Larkin vent / From a window at Liberty Hall / Cackling gulls are sent / With the mission of discontent / Raised by the cheers, ascend / Past a window at Liberty Hall / They believe / The DUTC / To be the be / All and do all  / But I believe  / We can smash / Them with the same spirit / Shown here  /  It’s not a strike, but a lockout of the men /  It’s not a strike. of the women and children / We have the right to meet where we want to meet / Call it Sackville Street, call it O’Connell Street / Had I his power the cars would run past 7 bells / Carry the workers on and the rest could go to hell / Had I his power the cars would run night noon morn and all / Up Abbey St where they’d jump and rush to hear at Liberty Hall  / The chattering crowds descend / In anguishing hope to mend / To hear Jim Larkin vent / From a window at Liberty Hall / Cackling gulls are sent / With the mission of discontent / Raised by the cheers, ascend / Past a window at Liberty Hall   

Shels versus Bohs at the grounds at Ringsend / Scabs versus Roughs ‘til the coppers descend / Rabid with rage “come on and get killed” / We pelted and battered we bashed and we spilled / Routed we ran and what did I spy? / A pig on a horse with a sword by his side / I wrestled the sword and ran through the nag / And down came the copper to be kicked and be dragged / Seditious speaking seditious intent / The chords of our batons were twisted and bent / As we observed the degraded class / Foaming and fuming and losing their grasp / At liberty hall it kicked off again / Stones in their hands we must apprehend / Send for the dregs of the wet canteen / To steady our nerves and dullen the screams / At Great Brunswick street a standoff ensues / The Irish Independent is Murphy’s news / The newspaper van is cut off and blocked / Two coppers in tow in vain they fought / We shoved those black batons where the sun daren’t shine / And pushed the van toward the brown Liffey brine / But round the corner more peelers attack / They leathered our crowd and we leathered them back / And what of James Nolan him so cruelly / Beaten to death up on Eden Quay / The force of the blows he took to the head / His skull it caved in, he twitched and was dead / “Hit by a bottle, t’was thrown by the mob” / The coppers said later, just doing their job / But we all know what happened, we all know the truth / The bosses and peelers are all in cahoots 

Connolly and Partridge / Were lifted in the morning / The streets belong to the financial brigades / Gone to Ground / With word of the warning / O’Brien politics the march away / The orders come / They all conflict / The Law is baying and baring teeth / The papers run / They contradict / Make the way to Sackville St / In a borrowed suit / Of the gentry class / Ascend the stairs of the Imperial Hotel / Rush past the well heeled / Starch shirted diners / Onto the balcony to shiver and yell / “I am here today in accordance with my promise”

Push back the crowd / As Larkin is marched through / The crowd defenceless / A lash cross the face /  The Policemen have lost  / The run of their senses / I saw no riot / I saw no riot / ‘Cept the blood and panic / Too much to fathom / Penned in a box / And all of the while the rap / On skulls made by the batons / The batons  / Our only hope / For Salvation / Lies in / The policeman’s baton / The gutters ran red / Did they know who they were beating? / The gutters ran red / Did they care who they were beating? / And all the while the sickening sound / Of the rap on skulls

Who owns the Tenement Slums? / Who profits from their ongoing decay? / Who speculates? Who advocates? / Who pontificates this guilt free cult? / Of the laissez faire laws / The crumbling ruins are run by them all / Lawyers, doctors, builders / And the bribed city councillors / They turn their backs they choose not to see / They turn their backs and they choose not to see / Two houses came down / The first without enough time to clear out /The cracks shot up / From the fireplace and down it collapsed / The roar, the dust / Cleaved in half crushed the unfortunates inside / The moans of the / Dying and injured beneath the remains / A young boy John Sheil / Not 5 years old / They say he could be heard wailing / As he slowly suffocated to death / He was found dead in his cot  / Clutching his blanket in terror / Who owns the Tenement slums / Who profits from their ongoing decay?

Blackboard placards they line the streets / The mourners they shuffle through / British Labour’s Hardie leads / The Lord Mayor marches too /  The fife and drum band, it plays a march / Funereal and slow / The coffin laid out upon the cart / Toward Glasnevin it goes / The ordinary people they pause / To pay their last respects / To the first martyr to the cause / James Nolan laid to rest / Murphy states his intention to / A general lockout / Of all the union members who / In sympathy strike out / Later on, that grimmest of weeks / The Church Street victims are / Laid out seven coffins deep / The bleakest week by far / What can you hope for in a life / But to go out fully spent / Freedom it has a heavy cost / At other people’s expense / Freedom it has a heavy cost

The strike takes its toll / The people are weary / English ports pass / Tainted goods freely / All eyes are on / Dublin town / The right, the left / Gazing down / Asquith was sent to resolve and to pass / Through Dublin castle and a cold front of brass / The crowds came to hear, the crowds came to see / Larkin face Murphy and Murphy’s machine / To themselves the rights / They’d deny to the men / They’d deny the rights / Of the women and children / Recognise the union / Recognise the rights / End the Dublin lockout / Sympathetic strike / In negotiation / A clean break with the past / Reconciliation / Reconcile at last / Recognise the union / Recognise the rights / End the Dublin lockout / Sympathetic strike / We are determined that the system will stop / We are determined that this shall no longer go on / We are determined that Christ he will not / Be crucified by these men in Dublin Town / To talk to sit / To settle it / with honour / Not by starving women and children

Having come to sense / With deepest regret / From here, from hence, without mistep / Half penny and pence / We cannot accept / A rose with the loaf / The masters have / Taken on new men / The masters won’t / Dispense with them / What I say is this / These men won’t be dismissed / You understand my friends / No victims of the men / No victims ‘til the end / Loyal tram worker men / Honourable men

The docks are thronged / With the poorest of poor / They all belong / It’s what a union is for / Ragged children / Are upon the crane / They lean out and they look / ‘Til the Fog gives way / A rousing cheer goes up / As the Hare cuts through the mist / The union on the quay / A defiant Red Hand fist / Support enough to hang on / But not enough to change / The British unions stand and watch / The British unions wait

Sitting there, listening to Larkin, I realised that I was in the presence of something that I had never come across before, some great primeval force rather than a man. A tornado, a storm-driven wave. The rush into life of spring, and the blasting breath of autumn, all seemed to emanate from the power that spoke.  It seemed as if his personality caught up, assimilated, and threw back to the vast crowd that surrounded him every emotion that swayed them, every joy and sorrow that they had ever felt made articulate and sanctified. Only the great power that is in all crowds had passed into his nature for ever. “God”, said William Martin Murphy, “is a good investment.” “ Hunger”, said William Martin Murphy, “is a good sauce”. But our God is the God of deliverance and the hunger that we have awakened shall not be satisfied by bread alone. The Masters of Industry, so called. The Captains of Capitol, so called. The Merchant Princes, no less. Self-named and self-praising. They said they would wait and watch us starve. Dublin stood and Dublin persevered. Dublin also said “The great are not great. The great only appear great because we are on our knees.” Let us arise!

The crowds of the union women waiting / Watching with a hungry gaze / The kids in tow, the pots and pans, they go / To drag themselves through the days / Markievicz welcomes all / To the kitchen of Liberty Hall / To the succour and the soup / The strength in the group / The sneering of the men / The Church and the fake offence / They think they know better than / They’d deny us the right to vote / Our voices they’d have us choke / The plight of suffrage is the plight of labour / An equal share, one to savour

At the entrance to Mountjoy Gaol I stand / To address you with some words of hope and / In a chronic state, state of sturm und drang / This our purpose clear, like a bell that rang / This great fight of ours was and it is not / Just for better hours or a better lot /  Freedom of Action, Liberty to live / Working not for self, but what we can give / Now, I will / Be away / From you all / In the body / But I will / Be with you / Fight with you / In the spirit / I have faith / That all those / that are left  / To carry the / Standard will /  Get your own / Heartiest / Honest and / Sustained support, that there will be no compromise / Trust no one but yourselves, there is no compromise / No compromise / Don’t forget the Red Hand / That struck terror  / In their greedy hearts / Don’t forget the Red Hand / Stand by the Union / “Each for all and All for Each” / Don’t forget the Red Hand / And so to all I convey good luck  / ‘Til the Prison gates are open / Don’t forget the Red Hand  

The gathered crowds came through the gates, to mark 1913-oh, mark 1913-oh / Toora-lie a toora-loh / They let the baby sleep, they were human for a moment-oh / Human for a moment-oh, toora-lie a toora-loh / The great and good were sat. They were sat upon their hands o sat upon their hands oh / Toora-lie a toora-loh / And they sang a mighty wave and it was all out of key-oh / All out of key-oh , cartoons of our heroes / They called a minute’s silence for the dead of 1913-oh / The dead of 1913-oh, quiet on the street-oh / Til they let a tram go through, and the bell rang loud and clear-oh / Bell rang loud and clear-oh, toora-lie a toora-loh / And who might own the barriers that we might curse and stumble o’er? / We might curse and stumble o’er, glassy eyed sneer at the poor / And who might own the papers and the TV and the radio / The TV and the radio? Invested in the future-oh. / In the decade of centenaries is there any hope for Ireland-oh? / any hope for Ireland-oh? They drag her down in brutal strokes / The gathered crowds came through the gates, to mark 1913-oh, mark 1913-oh / Hollow and yellow / We owe what they owe us / They bought and the sold us / In the decade of centenaries is there any hope for Ireland-oh? / any hope for Ireland-oh? / Labour waits and fiddles thread / Still not itself, not right in head / Self-made men have self-made luck / And mealy mouths are managed such / Madness, banks are robbed and fall / You’d swear they were not banks at all / Our eyes are dimmed, we’re losing blood / And losing blood, more than we should / Shame! Shame! The silence breaks / The murmur grows. The baton shakes / Shame! Shame! A flinch is seen / They lying stops, none left it seems / At least we know, that’s something friends / At worst, we shrug but can’t pretend / We’ll gurn in sleep at fevered pray / For a rush of life, a storm driven wave.