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<\/a>For most young\u00a0working class loyalists the routine would have been the same:\u00a0 When school finished st the end of June the period between then and the eleventh night centered around the “boney”.\u00a0 Most of your waking hours were spent there and sometimes you slept\u00a0in the hut\u00a0as well–guarding the wood from raiders.\u00a0 You took a piece out of the house–jam and bread–Veda and cheese–and stayed there till all hours.\u00a0 You became so attached that when bonfire night came round you didnt want to see the wood being burned………………<\/p>\n
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A Kingdom of Pallets<\/p>\n
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\u00a0<\/p>\n
Timber stacked high\u2014an edifice to the sky
\nA labour of love\u2014months in the making
\nBlood\u2014and sweat-and tears-and tears- and fret
\nAnd frayed clothes and nerves and backs ready for breaking.<\/p>\n
Like ants we scramble to the summit and review
\nOur wooden kingdom distended far beneath
\nAnd marvel at the effort and endeavour
\nBasking in the glory of the Empire at our feet.<\/p>\n
Proficient in the skills required to build
\nA structure that won\u2019t stand the test of time
\nA configuration of lumber, sticks and kindling
\nA mountain\u2014that is ours alone to climb.<\/p>\n
We linger in defiance of the moment
\nRebel against the once appointed time
\nStall in an instance of non compliance
\nAnd postpone the sure and downward climb.<\/p>\n
And gaze from a distance when finally grounded
\nEyes moist and faces still as figurines
\nDespondent that our realm should turn to ashes
\nDownhearted \u2013thinking of our smouldering dreams.<\/p>\n