Uncle Willie.

My Uncle Willie.

         To those who know me there will be no doubt in their minds about my hatred of the economic system we bleed under. In my eighties now, I have seen this system destroy individuals, tear families apart, and in its voracious greed for profit and power, it has murdered and maimed countless millions in its endless wars. Each individual destroyed, each family torn apart, each war grave, and each veterans hospital are all indictments against a system where people are sacrificed to keep the system functioning for the benefit of a small cabal of over privileged parasites. You would think that our humanity would demand that the system should be altered, modified and shaped to meet the needs of the the people, not the other way round.
        As we look at this society we can see all around us, those unfortunate individuals whose lives are deeply scarred by a system that uses people to perpetuate its greed driven machinations. It is so easy to encapsulate the ruthless viciousness of the system in one person's life, to me my uncle Willie is such a person. To the system, a nobody, a human being of no significance, but to those around him, a father, a son, a brother, a husband and an uncle.
        My uncle Willie was my mother's younger brother, naturally I didn't know him in his early years, but I heard the stories. Willie, like the rest of my family, lived in Garngad, a Glasgow slum in the north of the city. A young man in his 20’s, he was married and had three kids, and like so many of that era, unemployed. It seems that Willie was a family man and loved his kids, he could be seen most days walking with them along the waste ground off Charles Street at the back of Glenconner Park, usually two kids running in front and the youngest on his shoulders. It seems he was an excellent snooker/billiards player, and that is where he supplemented his income, by playing round the many snooker halls in Glasgow. However to the system, he was superfluous to requirements, so could scrape a living in the slums of Glasgow as best he could. 

 

       Then, suddenly, he is a valuable asset to the system, 1939, WWII starts, and Willie is scooped up and shipped out to Egypt. We no nothing of his experiences there, but after three years there and later his demob, he returned home with malaria, this is when I got to know him, just a little. His shaking hands, the troubled look in his eyes. His return to civilian life didn't get off to a good start, on returning home to his family, of wife and three kids, he discovered that he now had five kids. This was the end of his marriage, the family broke up, and Willie moved from job to job, and his drinking got worse and he eventually couldn't hold a job, he was now an alcoholic and homeless. Moving from homeless hostel to homeless hostel, occasionally staying with family, but his alcoholism made that an ever decreasing possibility.
       I remember my mother, a church goer and anti-drink woman, on many an occasion, looking out the window and saying, “Oh here's Willie coming”, then a pause, then, “he doesn't look too drunk”. He would sit and chat to his big sister and myself, my mother would make him something to eat and give a cup of tea. Though it was never a full cup of tea, his hands were shaking so bad it would have been all over him, she only quarter filled the cup and kept topping it up, it was his troubled eyes that have stuck with me all these years, as he was leaving, my mother would slip a 10 shilling note into his hand. 

 

       Willie spent the rest of his years moving around hostels for the homeless, eventually dying in one down in Ardrossan in his fifties. To me, my uncle Willie epitomises this stinking system, you're a worthless entity, left to rot unless the system needs you, either to make its profits, or to fight its imperialist wars, and your reward for either of these activities, if anything at all, is never anything grand, usually nothing or suffering.

 

The Warmth of a Dream.

 

He lay in a dark doorway, dreamed of home,

night frost locked his joints

morning rain chilled the marrow of his bones.

In the dream there was a sister, 

a pram in a garden, a crowd of youngsters

who called him "mister", a time of little pain.

Are these youngsters the same young men, who

now laugh at him, throw beer cans, 

piss on him as he lies drunk in some dark lane?

When was that first step to no forgiveness.

No will to rise to beg for food,

numbness kills the pain.

The dream brings a warmth that feels good,

dark fog shades out consciousness,

an ambulance carries off a body washed in rain.

 

 

Visit ann arky's home at https://radicalglasgow.me.uk    

My Uncle Willie.

My Uncle Willie.

        To those who know me, there will be no doubt in their minds about my hatred of the economic system we bleed under. In my eighties now, I have seen this system destroy individuals, tear families apart, and in its voracious greed for profit and power, it has murdered and maimed countless millions in its endless wars. Each individual destroyed, each family torn apart, each war grave, and each veterans hospital are all indictments against a system where people are sacrificed to keep the system functioning for the benefit of a small cabal of over privileged parasites. You would think that our humanity would demand that the system should be altered, modified and shaped to meet the needs of the people, not the other way round.
       As we look at this society we can see all around us, those unfortunate individuals whose lives are deeply scarred by a system that uses people to perpetuate its greed driven machinations. It is so easy to encapsulate the ruthless viciousness of the system in one person's life, to me my uncle Willie is such a person. To the system, a nobody, a human being of no significance, but to those around him, a friend, a father, a son, a brother, a husband and an uncle.
       My uncle Willie was my mother's younger brother, naturally I didn't know him in his early years, but I heard the stories. Willie, like the rest of my family, lived in Garngad, a Glasgow slum in the north of the city. A young man in the 30's, he was married and had three kids, and like so many of that era, unemployed. It seems that Willie was a family man and loved his kids, he could be seen most days walking with them along the waste ground off Charles Street at the back of Glenconner Park, usually two kids running in front and the youngest on his shoulders. It seems he was an excellent snooker player, and that is where he supplemented his income, by playing round the many snooker halls in Glasgow. However to the system, he was superfluous to requirements, so could scrape a living in the slums of Glasgow as best he could.
      Then, suddenly, he is a valuable asset to the system, 1939, WWII starts, and Willie is scooped up and shipped out to Egypt. We know nothing of his experiences there, but after three years there and later his demob, he returned home with malaria, this is when I got to know him, just a little. His shaking hands, the troubled look in his eyes. His return to civilian life didn't get off to a good start, on returning home to his family, of wife and three kids, he discovered that he now had five kids. This was the end of his marriage, the family broke up, and Willie moved from job to job, and his drinking got worse and he eventually couldn't hold a job, he was now an alcoholic and homeless. Moving from homeless hostel to homeless hostel, occasionally staying with family, but his alcoholism made that an ever decreasing possibility.
       I remember my mother on many an occasion, looking out the window and saying, "Oh, here's Willie coming", then a pause, then, "he doesn't look too drunk". He would sit and chat to his big sister and myself, my mother would make him something to eat and give a cup of tea. Though, it was never a full cup of tea, his hands were shaking so bad, a full cup would have been all over him, she only quarter filled the cup and kept topping it up, it was his troubled eyes that have stuck with me all these years, as he was leaving, my mother would slip a 10 shilling note into his hand.
        Willie spent the rest of his years moving around hostels for the homeless, eventually dying in one down in Ardrossan in his fifties.
       To me, my uncle Willie epitomises this stinking system, you're a worthless entity, left to rot unless the system needs you, either to make its profits, or to fight its imperialist wars, and your reward for either of these activities, is never anything worth having. 

The Homeless.

Tenebrous spectres, they exist,    out there,

on the crumbling edge of chaos,

a father, a son, a brother,

a daughter, a sister, a mother.

Fragments of some shattered family structure;

waste products

from a society being driven to destruction

by a hurricane of greed,

living a life that wears out life,

dying,

the devious death of exhaustion from existence. 

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

COMING TO A CITY NEAR YOU!!!

         Greece is shut down, the people have called a 48 hour general strike against the extremely severe “austerity” cuts being imposed by the financial puppets of the IMF, (International Mankind Fuckers), the Greek government. 70,000 on the streets of Athens, over 15,000 on the streets of Thesilonika, riot police fire stun grenades and tear gas into the protesters, running battles across the city centre. This is democracy Western style, the people don't want the policies the government is forcing on them, so they try to beat the shit out of the people to intimidate them in the hope that they will meekly accept poverty and deprivation.

       What the Greek people have had inflicted on them over the last 18 months or so, is unacceptable in any so called civilised country. They have faced massive pay cuts, not just one but in some cases two pay cuts, cuts to their pensions, if it is over 1,00Euros a month, it is cut by 20%, also lump some retirement payments cut, increased taxes, tax threshold lowered from 8,000 Euros to 5,000, VAT increased to 23%, plus new taxes. One such new tax is the property tax, whereby you have an extra tax if you have a house, it is worked out at so much per square metre. Prices are rising and unemployment is soaring, the health budget has been cut by 40%, health problems are mushrooming plus alcohol problems, drug problems and suicides are on the increase. Perhaps it wasn't the best health service in the world, but whatever it was has now been decimated. Students complain of not having books, 30,000 public sector workers have been put on “reduced” pay, 60% pay, with the possibility of being made redundant after a year. New reduced pay and conditions for all civil servants, and an end to pay bargaining, Still the IMF (International Mankind Fuckers) claim it is not enough, their puppets in Athens must do more. Apart from the savage dismantling of the social fabric of the country, they have been ordered the sell-off of 59 billion Euros of public assets. The IMF puppet government that is hell bent on pursuing these policies, will in no way suffer themselves, no, the “necessary” hardships they claim that must be imposed are for the people, not for the implementers. Western capitalist democracy at work.

       What we are witnessing is the Greek people being sacrificed on the alter of corporate greed, a blood curling and savage process to appease the world's billionaire bankers. The will not suffer any losses, if they can take the money from the general public, and if Greece is not enough then other countries will have to be sacrificed on that same alter. Spain, Italy, Ireland, Portugal, are all being prepared for the sacrifice. With the rest of Europe being held in the same trap in case that last list is not enough. France isn't far down the list, and so it will go on until they own everything and their coffers are secure. All this misery and deprivation to save the wanker bankers from losing their unearned billions that they gambled and lost.

        The fight that the Greek people are involved in is our fight, we are not immune from the greedy tentacles of the corporate greed machine. Whatever it can do and get away with, to protect its wealth and power, it will do. It has no nationality, it knows no borders, the only pain it can feel is the loss of money. People are of no consequence, wealth and power are all that matters. We have to think the same way, solidarity across nationality, solidarity across all borders.

ann arky's home.