Bloodshed at the Beanfield
Not all summer days are beautiful
A traveller child, that is who I was
As we drove through the towns in our double-decker bus
And boy did they stare and glare and frown
At the convoy of hippies driving through their town
But on we drove for solstice night
To worship Stonehenge in all its might
To sing and to dance, to love and to laugh
To feast and to hug and to play and to chant
But in 1985 there was none of this
For Maggie’s boot boys waited for us
With their batons and their shields and their hatred for our kind
The Battle of the Beanfield is imprinted on my mind
So summer to you might mean flowers, warmth and hay
But for me it’s a reminder of this violent, blood-filled day
About the Creator
Sara O'Shea
Passionate about social justice and politics. Hobbies include entering travel competitions and writing short stories and poetry. I love spending time with my family and pets, travelling, and reminiscing about my alternative childhood.
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