“Ronnie Steele, you’re far too political,” is an allegation sometimes levelled at me – as though politics must be the domain of politicians only. My response is, most politicians can’t be trusted.
The great improvements to our lives, such as the vote, the welfare state, gay rights, trade unions, abolishing of capital punishment, a woman’s right to control her own fertility, etc, have all come, not through Parliament, but from mass movements of ordinary people like ourselves.
I’ve been political since the age of ten and while ever there are terrible injustices in the world, I will proudly remain so.
On Wednesday, October 14, 1964, the day before the general election, I was keen to nail my red colours to the mast.
“Come on,” I said to Rob Rookledge in the side-playground at Agnes Road. “Let’s have some fun.” So we put our arms round each other’s shoulders and chanted: “If you’re voting Labour, join on” and before the end of break we’d formed a massive chain and half the school became Labour supporters – in theory, at least.
I remained at the left end of the chain, armed with my school pump bag and anyone who shouted “I’m Tory” or “I’m Liberal” got hit over the head. When the head teacher, Mr Rushforth, bubbled us, he said the offence wasn’t serious enough to warrant the cane – this time.
Of course, there might have been a smidgeon of schoolboy intimidation involved but nothing compared to the subtle media browbeating we all suffer daily.
In those far-off days, Tories and Liberals sounded posh and snobbish and Labour people sounded much like my working class parents. The point is, the division seemed very clear to me – Labour for the working class, Tories for the rich or gullible and Liberals for the fence-sitters.
The day after our illicit recruitment drive in the playground, Labour was victorious, but my mate and I expected radical change to occur within 24 hours.
Two years later, little had altered. One Saturday, Rob and I caught the train to Sheffield to watch the Blades play at The Lane (Barnsley were away) and discovered the train still had a First Class carriage at the front. We were both disgusted. It wasn’t a superior carriage, it just cost extra for ‘superior people’ who could sit with their noses stuck in the air.
The train was only half full but Rob and I marched into First Class where two ladies sat, both wearing fur coats and glittering earrings. Oh, we were going to have such fun.
Unfortunately, the conductor was on his toes and before we reached Stairfoot he asked to see our First Class tickets.
“I think my friend, Julian, has them,” said Rob, in his poshest accent, whilst pointing his thumb at me. I struggled to keep my face straight.
“Are you entirely sure about that, Carmichael?” I answered, pretending to search my pockets.
“Come on! Stop messing me about! I know you scallywags haven’t got first class tickets! Show me them now or you’re off at Wombwell! Hmmm, as I thought. You haven’t got first class tickets at all, have you? Now leave this carriage immediately!”
“Can’t we stay here until we reach Wombwell station,” asked Rob.
“No, you bloody well can’t” snapped the conductor.
I quickly retorted, “There’s no need to lower the tone by shouting and swearing. There are ladies present.”
I’d heard my dad use that argument, once.
We plonked ourselves in the oiks compartment, laughing but every time the conductor disappeared, Rob snuck back into first class to annoy the fur-coated ladies. He had some cheek, that Robert Rookledge.
Fast forward to 2024 and you will appreciate how politics has changed in 60 years. We might be far wealthier as a nation but the gap between rich and poor is greater than since Victorian times. Moreover, the main parties are so much alike, many ordinary citizens can’t see the point of voting at all.
This is scary because it allows the Enoch-Powell racists and opportunists (usually from the wealthy ruling-class themselves) to falsely pose as champions of the underdog.
If they succeed, the super-rich will then be given free reign while the rest of us knock lumps off each other.
That’s why I admire the millions of ordinary people who protest on the streets against genuine injustices.
My view: never leave politics to the politicians because, today, the top priority for most of them is to feather their own cosy nest.
