The Angry Exile: Thank you, Daily Mail

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

Sunday 5 September 2010

Thank you, Daily Mail - UPDATED

How would I struggle through the day without the critical knowledge that some pale, ginger actress who plays some girl who's the current Doctor Who's current pretty assistant dropped her phone the other day. Fucking world shattering events, eh? I just can't understand why anyone takes the piss.

Even by the usual standards of sleb gossip this is poor stuff. And no, like the Diana underwear adverts in China, I just can't arsed to link to it. ~~I'm just going to sit here and think fondly of Daily Sport headlines.~~

UPDATE - Credit where it's due though. I saw that thing about the Doctor Who girl dropping her phone after following a link to a Mail article from another blog and happened to notice the story in the sleb stuff they always put down one side of their web pages. For some reason I clicked the Mail's homepage before leaving and saw that their top headline was this:

Lifted like a rag doll and hurled into cell: Shocking video of police brutality... on 5ft 2in tall woman, 59, found asleep in car.

Okay, it's next to a picture of Liam Neeson and some woman - don't care, didn't read - and The Mail seems unable to decide if she's 59 as per the headline or 57 as per the beginning of the article (all becomes clear later - she was 57 when she was filled in at a police station and is now 59), but at least a story about police brutality has got the attention it deserves. I suggest you go read it and be outraged by Sergeant Mark Andrews' behaviour towards someone over a foot shorter than him. I am just about old enough that my parents brought me up telling me that if I was in some kind of trouble I should always ask a policeman. Now I think back on it they never said what to ask him, but I very much doubt they were thinking along the lines of 'please stop hitting me, officer', though being a similar size to the bastard I have little doubt I'd have got a shoeing from a pair of them. The only thing that makes the police look at any good is that the cop involved was at least charged and was found guilty, thanks in no small part to a fellow copper, PC Rachel Webb, who saw it happen, complained immediately and went to court to give evidence. That she was prepared to complain about and give evidence against a higher ranked officer (a title the bastard clearly doesn't deserve) does show that they're not all bad, but you have to wonder how many incidents like this might be swept under the carpet because junior officers fear retribution (probably the career blighting kind rather than anything physical) from the more senior bully boys or have ambitions of one day becoming more senior bully boys themselves.

4 comments:

JuliaM said...: "It should be stated that despite her harrowing experience, privately educated Ms Somerville, who has a degree in microbiology from Warwick University, is not consumed with hatred of the police.

‘There are good and bad apples everywhere,’ she offers magnanimously."

She's certainly been proved right about that.

And I notice the incident was initally sparked by a PCSO.; 5 September 2010 at 14:45
Angry Exile said...: Yeah, shouldn't be any great surprise, eh?

Having thought more about it since posting I think the two most disturbing aspects are that the assault happened despite all the CCTV which, since he was the bloody custody officer, the sergeant clearly knew about. Even under their own cameras some police seem to be so power high that they just don't give a shit. Secondly, also CCTV related, is that the amount of time she spent face down and motionless under the cell camera. You'd have thought having slammed her into the floor the bastard would use the camera to keep an eye on her, and then go and back and check. Either he could see and didn't care or he didn't care enough even to check.

Let's see what sentence he ends up with on Tuesday.; 5 September 2010 at 17:34
microdave said...: "Let's see what sentence he ends up with on Tuesday." - A fucking sight more than the six months being mentioned in the article, I hope...

PC Webb is apparently being recommended for a commendation for shopping Andrews.; 5 September 2010 at 22:31
Angry Exile said...: Doubt it, microdave. Magistrates court, so I've a feeling that six months is the upper limit. A suspicious bastard might even wonder if that's why it was at the magistrates in the first place, though I think they're supposed to bounce it up to county or whatever if they think the offence may deserve a stronger sentence than they can impose. Anyway, my prediction is it probably won't be enough - I doubt he'll serve time or maybe a month tops, but he probably will lose his job.

And yes, I noticed that the PC was being recommended for a commendation, and if you ask me she deserves it. You'd hope that anyone fit for the job would have done the same thing but I'm prepared to believe a Constable going up against a Sergeant takes something she's unlikely to have a literal pair of, but she needed to have 'em all the same.; 5 September 2010 at 23:18