Broken. Poem by Ripper Jones

I went to the local park with my
Older cousin Jane and a friend.
In this verdant park (three football pitches
Or cricket grounds) , or
Whatever sport or pleasure the worker's
Children should dutifully, with alacrity
And gratefulness, receive.

But the ‘swings' were death traps.
Concrete greeted you if you slipped or fell.
One fall could break your skull.
You were in danger all the time you
Played on these swings and roundabouts,
A simile for the constant danger of
Sudden and total non-existence
Throughout a life.

Such is our childhood full of forgotten
Memories. Many unpleasant.
Short stories with submerged meanings
Waiting to be unravelled
Before time itself runs out.

Particularly nasty was a contraption
Which swung around on a pole with
Attachments like a Spider's web to a wooden
Bench that went round and round and in and out.
Like a gigantic Spider-spinning top
Luring unknowing kids into its danger-zones.

Into this mushroom-like maelstrom
I myself was tempted having
No reason to question
The logic of temptation being four years old.
I broke his leg.

The hospital which put my leg in plaster
Was called the General Hospital, because it
Was general, I suppose.
What meaning of ‘general' did they have in mind?
Like a ‘general' Store, or general being ‘common'?

This was now a hospital serving the recently
created National Health Service which
Purported to heal everyone,
whatever the ailment, even the commoners,
Without squabble or payment.
The NHS was, per se, free.
The proletariat would be far more healthier and
Thus more productive. A perfect
seemingly apolitical and moral system.

This was the same hospital that I would
have a tetanus injection five years later
Because I'd stepped on a rusty nail in a deserted
and derelict house some streets away.

There seemed to be lots of deserted houses
clustered around the two bombsites
where me and my gang and his gang's enemies,
The Sarfold gang, led by Julie Sarfold,
Because Strangely (for an adult) ,
In this gender-less children's world
The Sarfold gang were girls.

We often threw stones at them and they
Threw stones at us as we cowered behind
Barricades of wrecked cars,
Abandoned sofas, discarded building material,
Pieces of timber, corrugated iron sheets
And pieces of wire.

How I hated the sound of the national anthem
Being played. Television always closed down
At around 11-12 0' clock, and for some reason
It gave me comfort knowing it was on.
But When he heard the anthem, I felt depressed.
This is how I started sleep at night.
Being Depressed.

I was alone now.
Everything was closed down.
The pubs, the shops, the radio.
Civilisation had finally ceased for the day with the
Sound of those opening bars of perhaps the most
Melody-free, dirge-like national anthem in the world.