I've been working in Manchester quite a lot and frequently crossed the area in front of GMex and around St Peter's Square where the Peterloo Massacre took place on August 16th, 1819 when a large peaceful gathering of working class men and women were protesting for the right to have a vote. They came mainly from Manchester and the cotton towns surrounding the city, including, I am proud to say, my own home town of Atherton.
They were subjected to a cavalry charge by the yeomanry many of whom, witnesses reported, were drunk. These were part time "soldiers" mainly mill owners and wealthy land owners.
Figures vary but around 18 people, including four women and a child, were slashed to death with sabres and hundreds more were injured.
In recent years there has been a surge of interest in this terrible event and rightly so. You can read about the memorial campaign here.
It has always been on my mind, since first reading about it many years ago, so I wrote this poem.
THE ANGELS OF ST. PETER'S SQUARE.
It was on the eighth month of the year
A vision I remember clear
The sixteenth day and I will swear
I saw them there. I saw them there
as I sat in St. Peter's Square.
I saw them there. I saw them there.
Screaming, fleeing through the square
With bloodied ribbons in their hair
White dresses slashed and shoulders bare
And trampled banners everywhere
I saw them there. I saw them there.
Weeping in St. Peter's Square.
I sat in silence, filled with dread
Saw men with gashes in their head, leaving trails of deepest red
And carrying their martyred dead.
I saw them there. I saw them there
Fill with blood St Peter's Square
And as each person helped their neighbour, suddenly came men with sabres
Bloated slugs all giving chase, each one with a smirking face
It suddenly was clear to me. This was the drunken yeomanry.
I saw them there. I saw them there.
Fill with slime St Peter's Square.
Lashing out both left and right, piggy eyes ablaze with spite
Laughing at each sabre's bite.
For shame! For shame! Forbear! Forbear!
I saw them there. I saw them there.
Hunting in St. Peter's Square.
My heart was aching through and through but there was nothing I could do
To help the ghosts of Peterloo.
They'd only wanted what was fair: to have a vote, to have a share.
I saw them there. I saw them there.
Helpless in St Peter's Square.
Then all at once, this too I swear, I saw the dead rise in the air
Ribbons falling from their hair
On their tormentors standing there.
Was it a dream?
I do not care.
I only know I saw them there.
I saw them there. I saw them there.
The Angels of St. Peter's Square.