I slammed the car door shut, and walked to the picket line,
My comrades’ faces were glowing, ‘neath the glorious sunshine.
The campfire burned warm and strong as we sheltered by its flames,
‘Til the lorries lumbered up the hill and trundled through the gate.
As the scabs crawled through the hole in the fence,
Covering their faces as a means of self-defence,
Cowering with shame in their treacherous intent.
Face to face with a thin blue line of police,
Cries of anger filled the air as we started to break the peace.
And through the violent clashes that followed, our spirits did not sink,
And as in injured comrade fell, we gathered round to protect him.
Little negotiation had ever been allowed,
So we stood there in defiance, and we stood there proud,
As others undertook our work, leaving us an embittered crowd.
Some were frog marched to the station, whilst others tended to their bloody nose,
And what followed from the carnage, was the decision that the plant was to close.
Near six months of picketing, had reached a fruitless end,
I no longer had employment, nor would I find local work again.
And within a few months, I was forced to move,
Though the spirit of the strike, I would never lose,
The friendship, the support, the camaraderie, shall never be forgotten.