Skagboys Read Online Free

murder us!
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    Whaire’s ma fuckin dad?
    We cross the line and ah’m helpin the auld gadge climb up the other bank. His leg’s fucked, but ma back’s giein me gyp, n it’s a struggle cause ma airm’s totally fucked n aw. The boy’s rabbiting in ma ear, in shock. He sounded northern tae me, but tells me his name’s Ben n he’s actually a striking Notts miner. He took a bad whack oan his kneecap
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    My pain has been displaced by a sickness comin fae deep in ma belly. Cause fae the other side ay the track we’re witnessing this terrible carnage; the pickets that are left are bein clubbed like seals and lifted by the polis, some are game as fuck and still fightin back in spite ay it aw. A boy in a red lumberjack shirt, oan his knees, tendin tae his decked mate, gets smashed across the skull fae behind by a riot copper and collapses oan top ay his pal. It’s like an execution. At the overhead bridge a few pickets have grabbed stuff fae a scrapyard and are flingin it at the polis. Some boys have dragged a car fae the yard, and they pull it across the road and set it alight. This isnae about policing or containment, this is a war against civilians
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    War
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    Winners. Losers. Casualties
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    Ah leaves the Ben gadge n gits back tae the road and ah’m relieved tae see my faither. He’s standin wi this boy whae looks weird; it’s like he’s wearin Batman’s cowl. Ah git closer n realise it’s aw rid-black blood, completely covering his face tae the extent ah kin only see the whites ay his eyes n teeth. I’m shocked when ah tipple it’s Andy; his heid’s been stoved in, big time. The polis are still advancin and they half chase, half herd us back intae the village. We get oan the bus, n a lot ay the boys look well fucked. Ma dad has a cut hand. He says it was fae a broken bottle thrown flung by a picket that didnae clear the lines. Andy’s in a bad way and needs treatment, but a polis cunt in the escort tells us that anybody stoaping at a hoaspital is liable tae arrest and that we should jist go hame. The arrogant, hate-filled faces: so different tae the beaming coupons that greeted us oan the way in
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    The cunts set us up
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    We’ve nae reason tae disbelieve the copper, but ah want tae get oaf n see if Nicksy’s awright. ‘My mate,’ ah tells ma auld man, but he shakes his heid and goes, ‘No way. The driver’s shut the door n he’s no openin it for anything
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    The bus starts movin, n Andy’s goat some boy’s shirt tied roond his heid tae try and staunch the bleedin. Ma dad’s sittin wi an airm roond him, makeshift bandage oan his hand as poor Andy mutters, ‘Never seen nowt like it, Davie … cannae believe it
…’
    Ah’m sittin thaire, lower back nippin in the seat, wonderin how far up this goes; the Chief Constable, Home Secretary, Thatcher … whether they gied the orders or no, they wir complicit. Anti-union laws and big pay rises for the polis when everybody else in the public sector’s dosh and conditions are getting cut back … the cunts fuckin primed them for this
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    It’s like a morgue oan the bus as it slithers oantae the motorway. Eventually the bevvy being dispensed n consumed wi a vengence starts tae kick in, and the defiant chants ay ‘Victory to the Miners’ gather force and conviction. But it doesnae feel glorious tae me. It feels like we’ve been cheated, like coming back fae Hampden and the referee’s gied the Old Firm club a nonsense last-minute penalty. It’s really hot ootside, but the bus has been blowin cauld air and it’s freezing in here. Ah’m sitting wi ma heid burrowed intae the windae, watchin ma breath steam it up. Ah’m feeling really sair now, particularly my airm, n every inhalation is like a punch tae that fuckin spine
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    These boys at the back ay the bus start stampin thair feet n singin these Irish Republican ballads of defiance, then a couple of pro-IRA chants come into the mix. Soon they’re exclusively belting out Irish Republican ballads
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    Ma auld