The Angry Exile: Not your friend.

The Hangman

Into our town the Hangman came,
Smelling of gold and blood and flame.
And he paced our bricks with a diffident air,
And built his frame in the courthouse square.
The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
Only as wide as the door was wide;
A frame as tall, or little more,
Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.
And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal, what the crime
That the Hangman judged with the yellow twist
of knotted hemp in his busy fist.
And innocent though we were, with dread,
We passed those eyes of buckshot lead --
Till one cried: "Hangman, who is he
For whom you raised the gallows-tree?"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:
"He who serves me best," said he,
"Shall earn the rope of the gallows-tree."
And he stepped down, and laid his hand
On a man who came from another land.
And we breathed again, for another's grief
At the Hangman's hand was our relief
And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn
By tomorrow's sun would be struck and gone.
So we gave him way, and no one spoke,
Out of respect for his Hangman's cloak.
The next day's sun looked mildly down
On roof and street in our quiet town,
And stark and black in the morning air
Was the gallows-tree in the courthouse square.
And the Hangman stood at his usual stand
With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;
With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike
And his air so knowing and business-like.
And we cried, "Hangman, have you not done
Yesterday, with the foreign one?"
Then we fell silent, and stood amazed,
"Oh, not for him was the gallows raised."
He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:
"Did you think I'd gone to all this fuss
To hang one man? That's a thing I do
To stretch a rope when the rope is new."
Then one cried "Murder!" and one cried "Shame!"
And into our midst the Hangman came
To that man's place. "Do you hold," said he,
"with him that was meant for the gallows-tree?"
And he laid his hand on that one's arm.
And we shrank back in quick alarm!
And we gave him way, and no one spoke
Out of fear of his Hangman's cloak.
That night we saw with dread surprise
The Hangman's scaffold had grown in size.
Fed by the blood beneath the chute,
The gallows-tree had taken root;
Now as wide, or a little more,
Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,
As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
Halfway up on the courthouse wall.
The third he took -- we had all heard tell --
Was a usurer, and an infidel.
"What," said the Hangman "have you to do
With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?"
And we cried out, "Is this one he
Who has served you well and faithfully?"
The Hangman smiled: "It's a clever scheme
to try the strength of the gallows-beam."
The fourth man's dark, accusing song
Had scratched our comfort hard and long;
"And what concern," he gave us back.
"Have you for the doomed -- the doomed and Black?"
The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again,
"Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?"
"It's a trick," he said. "that we hangmen know
For easing the trap when the trap springs slow."
And so we ceased, and asked no more,
As the Hangman tallied his bloody score.
And sun by sun, and night by night,
The gallows grew to monstrous height.
The wings of the scaffold opened wide
Till they covered the square from side to side;
And the monster cross-beam, looking down,
Cast its shadow across the town.
Then through the town the Hangman came,
Through the empty streets, and called my name --
And I looked at the gallows soaring tall,
And thought, "There is no one left at all
For hanging, and so he calls to me
To help pull down the gallows-tree."
So I went out with right good hope
To the Hangman's tree and the Hangman's rope.
He smiled at me as I came down
To the courthouse square through the silent town.
And supple and stretched in his busy hand
Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.
And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap,
And it sprang down with a ready snap --
And then with a smile of awful command
He laid his hand upon my hand.
"You tricked me. Hangman!," I shouted then,
"That your scaffold was built for other men...
And I no henchman of yours," I cried,
"You lied to me, Hangman. Foully lied!"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
"Lied to you? Tricked you?" he said. "Not I.
For I answered straight and I told you true --
The scaffold was raised for none but you.
For who has served me more faithfully
Then you with your coward's hope?" said he,
"And where are the others who might have stood
Side by your side in the common good?"
"Dead," I whispered. And amiably
"Murdered," the Hangman corrected me:
"First the foreigner, then the Jew...
I did no more than you let me do."
Beneath the beam that blocked the sky
None had stood so alone as I.
The Hangman noosed me, and no voice there
Cried "Stop!" for me in the empty square.

Maurice Ogden

Monday 19 April 2010

Not your friend.

Whether they're granting themselves powers to spy on you or enriching themselves at your expense, or simply assuming that everyone is a complete mong and unable to make the simplest decision for themselves, governments are good at providing evidence that they are not your friend. The latest, and one of the most glaring examples, comes courtesy of the French government.

The ban on flights in European airspace - which itself might be a huge overreaction according to at least one big mouthed journo and some airlines - has left a lot of Brits crossing Europe overland only to get stuck in France because all means of getting across or under the English Channel are now booked solid. This might be a good thing for those who are fans of the wine and cheese but a pain in the arse for people who just want to get home. So, in the Dunkirk spirit and coincidentally just a few weeks before the 70th anniversary of Operation Dynamo, TV historian Dan Snow planned to get a few boats and make five trips across the Channel to take people back to the UK on a first come first served basis. He'd set it all up via Twitter, had arranged unpublicised rendezvous points to avoid lots of people turning up that he couldn't possibly take back, and organised the immigration details. Hard to say how much more responsible he could have been really so you'd think the French government would be happy that some private citizens were stepping in to help, even if it they could only cope with 42 people per trip.

And you'd be wrong. AFter getting barely two dozen people onto three boats the French government put a stop to it.

Asked why the operation had been halted, Snow said: "They didn't like the idea of all those RIBs turning up and taking Brits back.
"They just told us they didn't like us doing it and said it was bad competition for the ferries."

Do fucking what? This was only happening at all because everything else was either grounded or fully booked. With all the extra revenue they were getting with the airlines out of the way who the fuck could possibly imagine the ferries and Eurostar services would even notice the loss from a couple of hundred people going home on some kind soul's RIB? Not just wrong but retarded.

3 comments:

Bill Sticker said...: That's the French for you I'm afraid. Quebec can be just as bad when it comes to officialdom. Mind you, the natives are getting restless up there too.; 19 April 2010 at 14:46
Bill Sticker said...: Sorry. Wrong red shirt protesters.

These are the ones I was really referring to.; 19 April 2010 at 14:50
JuliaM said...: Ah, but you see if they are forced to stay in France awaiting the first ferry or Eurostar with space, they are spending money on food, lodging, etc. In France.

Follow the money. Always, follow the money...; 20 April 2010 at 01:04