The Pensive Quill carries a poem by Carrie Twomey on Bobby Sands' anniversary
The Source of Our Anger
We were on a march, for the hunger strikers
This would have been during that time,
Not later when the marches made a mockery
New blankets and fat bellies, no;
We were young and angry then
Although maybe we didn't know it
Or call it anger as such
Or know exactly what we were angry about
Anyway, we started out at the top of the road
Meant to come down and meet others feeding in
And then go onto the main road to make our protest
Already the Brits and the RUC were ringed round
And we were ready for the fight
Wanted it really, that's just how it was
The noise was something else, you know?
Just so loud, the roaring and thudding
and you couldn't even hear the RUC's blares
I remember shouting and we all just wanted to get stuck in
It was all so loud it became just a blur of noise
Yet this one woman,
an older woman like, and I'll not say who she is but
She started in, she started screaming
Yelling, yelling at us!
But it wasn't like that - no,
She was telling us to remember
What were we here for?
What was the march for?
We could get stuck into the Brits anytime
This, this moment, this time
Was for those young men
Who were right now dying
And we owed them our dignity.
We owed them our dignity.
Somehow above all the din we heard her.
And all went quiet, we went silent
And down the road we marched, no more howling
or shouting or abuse
Mindful of the dignity
Those boys were dying to give us
And we needed to give them.
Nowadays that woman would be called a traitor
For having the guts to speak up
And shame us into doing what was right
And for reminding us the importance
Of what was being done in our name
And of the debt of honour we owed,
We still owe
Today where is our dignity?
I now know the source of our anger.