Sunday, 28 April 2013

Walfrid’s Dream

There’s a quiet corner of Scotland far from the roaring crowd
Where a simple grave marks out a life not haughty, rich or proud
Here lies an Irish dreamer who heard his children cry
For want of food, or warmth or love and dared to question why?

He raged against the hunger, he railed against the hate
It tore his heart asunder when he saw their empty plates
But dreams can’t feed these children so in his mind was born
A scheme to found a football club to take the world by storm

So a band of men he gathered and told them of his scheme
A community was put to work to build up Walfrid’s dream
And the little ones had food again and the older ones had pride
From far and wide they came to see his marvelous Celtic side

They carved a place of honour and they met with destiny
From Celtic Park to Lisbon’s sun it was plain for all to see
That Walfrid’s dreams had all come true but yet he wanted more
As the wind-blown grass around his grave heard the distant roar

He would smile on all the glory his famous club had won
He’d be glad his people’s children left the shadows for the sun
But he’d point to all those others who hunger here today
Will we watch their trials and struggles and mutely walk away?

There’s a quiet corner of Scotland far from the roaring crowd
Where a simple grave marks out a life not haughty, rich or proud
The man has gone to his reward but his dream it echoes still
For children still need food today, will you help their plates to fill?

In Memory of Brother Walfrid   (1840-1915)
Dreamer of dreams, friend of the poor. RIP

Friday, 26 April 2013

Farewell my Darling Johnny

By Old Firm standards it was a poor game. The restlessness of the 80,000 who packed Ibrox only served to increase the tension the players exhibited on the field. It was a game full of clattering challenges and little football in which both teams seemed more keen to avoid defeat than to go for the victory. Then in the 50th minute a Celtic attack was broken up and the skillful Jimmy Fleming of Rangers released a quick pass behind the Celtic defence which the speedy Sam English raced onto.  Celtic’s goalkeeper John Thomson, seeing his defence breached, reacted with characteristic bravery and decisiveness. He raced from his goal to narrow the angle and force English to hurry his shot. English was in the act of shooting when the young keeper dived for the ball. There was a sickening collision as Thomson’s head impacted on the blameless forward’s knee. The ball spun past the post as Thompson lay prostrate on the turf. His last act as a Celtic player was to defend his goal in a most courageous manner. English, himself hurt in the collision, was first to his aid and seeing the extent of Thompson’s injuries waved frantically for the Doctor to enter the field. As John Thomson was stretchered from the field, his head swathed in bandages, few on the terracing would have guessed that the young Celtic and Scotland star was mortally injured. Despite the best efforts of staff at the Victoria Infirmary, John Thomson died at 9.25 pm that night.

John Thomson knew the dangers of being a goalkeeper in the muscular and rough Scottish game on the 1920s and 30s. In those days shoulder charging of goalkeepers was the norm and only the brave keeper ventured off his line much in games. The year before his death, Thomson had been injured in a game against Airdrie as he dived at the feet of an onrushing forward. That collision left him with a broken jaw, cracked ribs and a few missing teeth. Despite the rough treatment meted out to goalkeepers in those days, Thompson was noted for his bravery, speed, agility and grace. By 21 he had established himself as Celtic and Scotland keeper and was openly lauded as one of the finest goalkeepers in Britain. His performance against a powerful English side in the spring of 1931 when he defied the great Everton striker Dixie Dean time and time again was the foundation stone of a famous Scotland victory.  The quiet, handsome lad from Fife was on the cusp of a great career when fate cut his life cruelly short. James Hanley, wrote of him in the  'The Story of Celtic'...

 "It is hard for those who did not know him to appreciate the power of the spell he cast on all who watched him regularly in action. In like manner, a generation that did not see John Thomson has missed a touch of greatness in sport, for which he was a brilliant virtuoso.’

Celtic manager, Willie Maley, gave evidence at the inquest into Thomson’s death and when asked if in his opinion it was an accident replied ‘I hope it was an accident.’ The ambiguity of his answer was little short of cruel to the distraught Sam English who suffered cruel taunts of ‘Murderer’ at many Scottish grounds. He was transferred to Liverpool but was traumatised by the events surrounding John Thompson’s death and never fully recovered the form which saw him score 44 goals in 35 games for Rangers in 1931-32 season. Maley should have spoken out more vigorously in defence of English who was guilty of nothing more than giving 100% for his team as John Thomson had for his. It had been a terrible accident, nothing more. Indeed, English, who retired in 1938 at the age of 28 after a distinguished career, commented to friends that since Thomson’s death he had 7 years of joyless sport. He died in Vale of Leven Hospital in April 1967 of motor neurone disease, aged just 58.

Tens of thousands went to Queen Street station to see John Thomson’s coffin begin its sad train journey home to Fife. Thousands more made the same journey: by train, by car and by foot. Unemployed workers walked the 55 miles, spending the night in the open air.  Thomson's coffin, topped by one of his international caps and a wreath in the design of an empty goal, was carried by six Celtic players the mile from his home to Bowhill cemetery. Tens of thousands of people from all walks of life lined the route to pay their respects to a sporting great. Who knows what heights John Thomson could have attained had his life not ended so tragically on that tense day at Ibrox? He was laid to rest in the graveyard populated by the victims of many mining disasters to afflict that part of Scotland.His death was a tragedy not just for the Celtic family, but for all of Scottish Football. His family too were devastated by the loss of a fine son as was his fiance who had been in the main stand at Ibrox on the day of the accident.  

John Thomson, like many Celtic greats, didn’t come from a traditional Celtic background. Celtic may have had their roots in the Irish diaspora but they have rightly always been open to all. The ability and character of a player was what counted, nothing else. Like so many others who have worn the Hoops with pride in the last 125 years John Thomson was taken to the hearts of Celtic fans who could see his ability and bravery. The quiet boy from Fife gave his all for his team and in the end his fearless commitment cost him his life. The Celtic handbook of the proceeding season spoke of him with the following words…

‘’John Thomson as a goalkeeper stood out in splendid isolation. Peerless among goalkeepers and still in the morning of his career. He had attained heights never before scaled by goalkeepers of experience and greatness. His memory and his services are remembered and cherished. Amongst the great Celts who have gone, he has a place – an honoured place.”

John entered the folklore of the Club we hold dear. Songs and poems were written about him and an annual football tournament is named in his honour. Celtic supporters buses often stop by his grave when they are in Fife and honour one of the great Celts. On his gravestone are words which list his honours gained as a goalkeeper for Celtic and Scotland. Beneath those words is an old phrase which still rings true; ‘They never die who live in the hearts of those they leave behind.’ John Thomson is rightly remembered with pride by Celtic fans.  There will be few who have not heard the famous old song written about him which contains the words….

I took a trip to Parkhead, to the dear old paradise
As the players made their appearance sure the tears came to my eyes
A familiar face was missing from the green and white brigade
T'was the face of young John Thomson, his last game he had played
Farewell my darling Johnny for the best of friends must part
No more we’ll stand and cheer you on the slopes of Celtic Park
So come on you Glasgow Celtic, Stand up and play the game
For in your goal a spirit stands, John Thomson is his name

John Thompson 1909-1931
Celtic Legend

Saturday, 20 April 2013

A Touch of Steel…

Celtic’s Chairman Bob Kelly tapped on the Hampden dressing room door and entered. His new Manager had made it clear that team matters were his concern and that the interfering the previous Manager, Jimmy McGrory, had put up with from Kelly was not something he would accept. Jock Stein however, still had respect for Kelly and called the players to hush as the Chairman addressed them…

‘‘Now boys, today you’re representing the Celtic Football Club here at Hampden Park. The eyes of the sporting world will be upon you. Play fair and be sporting to your opponents and respectful of the referee at all times. I don’t want anyone booked or bringing any disrepute on to those famous shirts. Good luck to you all and win, lose or draw play it the Celtic way.’’

Stein thanked Kelly quietly as he ushered the club Chairman out of the dressing room door. He closed the door behind him and turned to face his team. They stood in silence as Stein’s eyes slowly moved along the line of green and white clad players. Then he growled at them in his familiar commanding voice…

‘Forget that crap right now! Every one of you has a job to do. You’ll be up against determined opponents used to bullying and bossing Celtic, well it fucking stops today! The first tackle you have with your immediate opponent is crucial. Go right through the bastard, let him know he’s in for a game. We won’t be bullied any more. This is the new Celtic, we can play football but we can scrap too if that’s what they want. Any of you not going into tackles with the right degree of conviction will be on the transfer list next week and I’ll tell any manager interested in in buying you that you’re a shite bag. Do I make myself clear? Now get out there and win this cup.’

The Celtic v Rangers League cup final of October 1965 before a crowd of over 100,000, began with a shrill blast of the Referee’s whistle. Rangers fed winger Willie Johnstone, often the scourge of Celtic and he raced towards full back Ian Young. Young, no doubt remembering Stein’s words, thundered into Johnstone with the sort of tackle which says; ‘Welcome to the game pal, you’re going to have to earn it today!’ Johnstone was left in a crumpled heap on the Hampden turf and Stein’s team had sent out their message loud and clear. Celtic’s physicality that day was augmented by the pace and skill of Lennox, Auld, Johnstone, Hughes and others who would soon go on to conquer Europe. A rattled Rangers gave away two penalties that afternoon and found their stern tackles and manhandling of Celtic players were returned with interest. Bob Kelly may have looked on from the centre stand with concern that his team was rather rough that autumn day. But Jock Stein had added a touch of steel that was badly required by the Celtic teams of the era. He knew that before the match could be won, the personal battles on the pitch needed to be won first. Celtic’s days of being pushed around by Rangers were over.

As Celtic celebrated by parading the cup around Hampden after the game, defeat was too much for some Rangers fans to take. They poured onto the field and assaulted some of the Celtic players, although a few of them were shocked to discover that Stein’s Celts would hit them back too if required. The SFA banned laps of honour for years afterwards. Those years were to be the most successful in Celtic’s history and thus their fans were denied the pleasure of seeing the players parade the many cups won in that golden era.

That League Cup final of almost 50 years ago was won by Celtic and signaled the dawn of a new era in Scottish football. Celtic, so long the underachievers and nearly men had at last found a manager who brought tactical awareness, man management skills and motivation to bear on a talented group of young players and made them believe they were the best. No one dared come off the field to face Stein having given less than 100%.  They set out on a remarkable journey under Stein which would reap 25 major honours in 12 seasons as well as cementing Celtic’s place as one of the greatest European teams of the era. Later in Stein’s reign as the Lisbon team broke up men like David Hay, Jim Brogan and even Kenny Dalglish continued to play excellent attacking football but would still be able to stand up to any physical treatment their opponents could throw at them. Celtic had learned a hard lesson in the barren years before Stein’s arrival. In professional football, the nice guys are often second best. Stein had ensured that as well as excellent players, he sent out street wise and tough competitors to face the rigours of Scottish and European football.

Some felt that the hard days of the early 1990s saw a return to the ‘soft Celtic’ of the early 1960s.  McStay and Collins played excellent football at times but Rangers unleashed the raw muscle of players such as John Brown, Ian Ferguson and Terry Hurlock on them. They bullied them and forced results for Rangers which their play often didn’t merit. No one can deny the talents of Laudrup and Gascoigne but they were free to express themselves because the less talented enforcers dominated their opponents physically. It took Celtic a long time to develop a team which combined the skill and toughness required to win the title again and we endured 9 bleak years. Much as he is disliked by some Celtic fans today, Craig Burley added some much needed steel to Celtic in that pivotal 1997-98 season. As Celtic battled so hard to stop the ‘Ten’ and preserve a piece of Celtic history I recall him putting Gascoigne on his ass and snarling at him with unmistakable aggression in one game. Reiper, Boyd, McNamara, Weighorst and even Larsson showed they were up for the fight that season and that attitude helped win the title back. Martin O’Neil recognised the need for a physically strong team too and combined skill with a strong will to win. Don’t doubt that O’Neil’s team could play excellent football, they could, but they could mix it with the best when required.

This summer Neil Lennon faces losing some of his star players in the transfer window. It is common sense to let Hooper move on if he so desires as a few quid now is better than nothing next year. Wanyama, Forster and possibly even Joe Ledley will be tempted by the money and prestige of the EPL. If some or all of them leave then it’s important that players of equal ability and stature replace them. The Champions League experience made Celtic millions of pounds this season and there is no excuse in not reinvesting some of that money and any transfer funds received on players who will excite the fans and help Celtic to continue to dominate in Scotland and compete in Europe. Any new arrivals had best learn quickly that success in Scotland isn’t just a matter of skill. It requires heart, guts and a desire to win. We begin our quest for Champions League football in July so the new Bhoys need to hit the ground running.  The thoughts of Jock Stein should still echo around the modern, luxurious dressing rooms of Celtic Park...

This is the new Celtic, we can play football but we can scrap too if that’s what they want.'

The new Bhoys had best learn that fast for the fans won’t accept anything less.


Tuesday, 9 April 2013

And they gave us James McGrory

And they gave us James McGrory….

Jimmy, it’s time to get up,’ whispered Harry McGrory in his soft Donegal accent to his sleeping son. Sometimes he hated waking the boy up. He was surely happier in his dreams than he was facing the harsh realities and grinding poverty they faced each day in Glasgow’s tough Garngad district? Young Jimmy opened his eyes, smiled at his Da and then, remembering that today was to be the day of his brother John’s funeral, his smile faded. ‘What time are we due at St Roch’s Da?’ he asked quietly. ‘An hour or so to go yet son so get dressed and have a good wash. Put on your school clothes. Yer Ma is making some breakfast in the scullery.’ As his Dad left the room, Young Jimmy got up and glanced out the window of the tenement they lived in at 179 Millburn Street. The street was quiet and the old buildings, blackened by the soot of industry and the nearby Gas Works, looked dilapidated and dirty. He dressed quietly and before leaving the room sat on his bed, closed his eyes and prayed for his brother John, lost to meningitis just a month after his first birthday. ‘Jimmy, your breakfast is out son,’ called his mother from the skullery jolting him out of his prayers. Jimmy opened his eyes, blessed himself quickly and headed for the smell of toast which wafted through the chilly flat. His Mother looked him over as he entered the kitchen, ‘Yer looking smart son, we’ll get you some boots before winter.’ Jimmy glanced down at the frayed school uniform and sandshoes he wore every day. It was not in his nature to complain as so many of the boys at St Roch’s Primary school were worse off. Some even came to school barefoot in the better weather. The McGrory family finished their breakfast and slipped out of the flat for the short walk down the hill to St Roch’s. Neighbours nodded at them with solemn faces, ‘Sorry for your loss,’ said Dan Murphy, shaking Harry McGrory gently by the hand, a sad look on his face. Others stood in silence as they passed, a few blessed themselves. The sad walk of the McGrory family was one which many families in the Garngad had made in those hard years. Infant mortality in such areas was a national disgrace and as always, the poorest carried the heaviest burden.

They entered the Church and Jimmy saw the little coffin waiting for them by the altar. Tears welled in his eyes for little John but also for his parents. He glanced at his father who sat to his left, eyes closed, rosary beads in his hand. Decent, hard-working Harry McGrory, a man who signed Jimmy’s birth certificate with a cross because he couldn’t write. A man who laboured and sweated for more than 60 hours a week in the Gas Works to try and feed his family. His mother, Kate McGrory, prematurely old due to the wearying effects of poverty and child bearing sat grim faced and stoic. Her faith in God helped carry her through her troubles but losing a child is always a heavy blow.  Whisps of grey flecked her hair and care lines ploughed her proud Irish face though she was still not yet 35 years old. Young Jimmy didn’t know then that he would lose her too before his twelfth year was over. He sat quietly in the rapidly filling Church and glanced at the image of Christ on the cross suspended high above the altar. ‘Help me,’ he whispered quietly to his God, ‘help me to help them.’

20 years later….
England brought their formidable team north to face a Scotland team which though often erratic was capable of occasional brilliance. The crowd packed into Hampden that day was given as 134,710 but this figure didn’t include the thousands of boys ‘lifted’ over the turnstiles to gain free entry. The scores were tied 1-1 and a titanic struggle ensued as both teams sought the winning goal. The excellent Bob McPhail of Rangers sent a fizzing shot whizzing just over the England bar and the packed bowl of Hampden growled and roared sensing Scotland might just snatch a winning goal. With six minutes remaining McPhail drove towards the England goal and saw his strike partner pulling left to make space for him. Instead of shooting though, the adroit McPhail pinged a perfect pass to his strong running team mate who controlled it instantly and stepping inside the English full back found himself through on goal. The crowd roared. This was the moment of decision. The tall, muscular English goalkeeper Henry Hibbs rushed out at the attacker to deny him time to think only to find himself outfoxed as the blue shirted Scot lobbed him with a deft left foot chip. The ball arced through the air as 134,000 Scots willed it into the net. The roar which greeted the goal was described as deafening by commentators of the day. The scorer of the goal which gave birth to the Hampden roar was James Edward McGrory of Celtic FC. The little boy born into poverty in the Garngad was the toast of Scotland.

Jimmy McGrory was the greatest scorer of goals in the history of British football.  He amassed an incredible 538 goals in 534 professional appearances for club(s) and country. Most of these goals were scored for his beloved Celtic. A club which under the autocratic Willie Maley paid McGrory far less than he was worth and shamefully tried to sell him to Arsenal without his knowledge or consent. McGrory remains to this day Celtic’s all-time top scorer with 410 goals, a record that surely will never be surpassed? He played in an era when Celtic had lost supremacy to Bill Struth’s powerful Rangers team but he still found the net with astonishing consistency. That he earned just seven caps is perhaps testimony to the good strikers around at the time although many, including his friend Bob McPhail, were embarrassed at his exclusion from the Scotland team at times. Others muttered darkly about Celtic men being overlooked unfairly because they wore the green. The game of the 1920s and 30s was a lot tougher than the modern game. McGrory lost count of the number of times his nose was broken by the heads of aggressive centre halves but he fought hard for his goals and gave as good as he got. This normally gentle and devout man became a fearsome warrior once he crossed that white line. However, he also set the highest standard of sportsmanship and shook the hands of even the most unscrupulous defenders once the game was over.
McGrory’s 20 year spell as Celtic Manager (1945-65) coincided with a frankly dreadful era for the club. Yes there were moments of genius and delight like the Coronation Cup victory of 1953, the League and Cup Double of 1954 and the never to be forgotten 7-1 demolition of Rangers in the League cup final of 1957. But Celtic fans in that era lived with a board which regularly sold their best players, paid relatively poor wages for such a big club and had, in Bob Kelly, a Chairman who picked the team and undermined the manager. McGrory, the gentle boy from the Garngad didn’t possess the nasty streak necessary to succeed as a Manager or indeed the temperament to stand up to the autocratic Kelly. Bertie Auld said of him ‘He was the most decent and honest man I have ever met.’ Nice as those words are, they don’t describe the qualities a top manager requires to succeed in the tough world of professional football. In 1965 a tired McGrory stepped aside and allowed a new man with new ideas to take the helm. The new manager told his Chairman that team selection would be his decision and his alone. The new manager had the steel, presence and ability to mould the talented young players developed under McGrory at Celtic Park into a formidable team which would restore the club to greatness. His name was Jock Stein.

James McGrory had managed Stein in his playing days and knew his abilities to organise and inspire. He also knew early in 1965 that it was time to let go, time to let Jock take control. His role as Public Relations officer kept him involved at his beloved Celtic Park as the Stein era commenced. Everyone, including Stein, referred to him as ‘Boss’ and treated him with the respect he was due. With Celtic marching on to a dominance in Scotland that would last a decade, Stein guided them to the 1967 European Cup Final. McGrory travelled to Lisbon having lost his brother Harry shortly before the final.  When the game was over and Stein’s immortal team had written their page of glory in Celtic’s history, an emotional McGrory was passed the big Cup by Jock Stein. He says in his own words that he just sat there holding the trophy and crying like a child. Perhaps this great Celt was overjoyed that at last his beloved team had rediscovered their greatness. Perhaps he was also reflecting on those no longer around to enjoy this triumph.

‘Jimmy,’ shouted his sister to the young player walking from the Garngad to Celtic Park for training. ‘Don’t be giving all your wages away today eh?’ He smiled back at her, ‘I’ve only got a few bob on me, will you stop worrying.’  She looked at him, a wry smile on her face, ‘Get the tram home then if it’s raining.’ They parted and young McGrory, Celtic’s new hotshot striker continued the walk through the streets of depression hit Glasgow to Celtic Park. There would be no tram home after training though as every beggar and down at heel Glaswegian who asked him for a copper was met with a patient smile and couple of coins. By the time he reached Celtic Park McGrory had not a penny in his pocket. It was not an unusual occurrence.

Jimmy McGrory was a decent man. A humble and devout Christian, who demonstrated by example rather than preachy words how to live a good life. If his incredible prowess as a striker was not matched by his achievements as manager of Celtic then we can forgive him that. Like us, he loved Celtic deeply and gave 100% for the club. We are honoured to count such a good man and such a splendid player among the lists of Celtic Legends. Those of us too young to have seen him play should still consider his goal scoring record with awe. We should also respect a decent, honest man who was a truly great Celt. 

Sleep well Boss and Thank You.

James Edward McGrory    (April 1904 –October 1982)

Celtic Legend

Garngad Man, 

Sunday, 7 April 2013

Of Mince and Men...

George Square in the Centre of Glasgow is in many ways a reflection of another age. Laid out in 1781 and named after King George III the Hanoverian monarch who lost the American colonies and who ended his life deaf, blind and insane. At the west end of the Square Victoria and Albert sit upon their horses full of pride and Imperial arrogance. In the corner by the Railway station is Robert Peel, founder of the Royal Irish Constabulary and the Metropolitan Police who were often called ‘Peelers’ or ‘Bobbies’ in his honour. The former Prime Minister, who was also known as ‘Orange Peel’ due to some of his views, was also in office during the early years of the Irish Famine. In the Centre of the Square on top of a tall column is Scottish author Sir Walter Scott, a man known as a proud supporter of the Union with England. One concession to the ordinary folk is the statue of Robert Burns. This son of Ayrshire farming stock knew hard work in his time and celebrated the working folk in many of his tales and poems. The Square is an echo of a time when everyone knew their place in Scottish society and those at the bottom were very firmly kept there. It was to this historic place that several thousand ordinary folk, mainly though not exclusively Scots and Irish-Scots of the modern era came to protest at the harsh implementation of a new law.

The events which took place at the Gallowgate three weeks ago, when the Police ‘Kettled’ a peaceful group of Celtic fans and generally behaved in an unnecessarily aggressive manner, upset a lot of their fellow fans. Not all of us who gathered in George Square are always in full agreement with some of the things the Green Brigade do but this was a time for solidarity. A time to register our protest at an obvious injustice. I packed my camera and headed for George Square with 3 or 4 thousand other Celtic fans of all ages. We were joined by fans of Hibs, Motherwell, Partick Thistle and St Pauli to name but a few. The Police were conspicuous by their absence and this was probably the wisest course to follow given the genuine anger about their role in events at the Gallowgate. That being said, I got chatting to a couple of Cops as I headed down past Queen Street railway Station. They seemed pretty adamant that the new law wasn’t actually necessary as simply enforcing existing laws would have been sufficient to deal with sectarian, racist or other hate crimes at football or anywhere else. They did concede that the internet was a place which did need policing more rigorously and perhaps that is a reasonable point given some of the online bile we see from cowards who hide behind the internet’s easy anonymity.

The speeches we heard were eloquent and rounded on both the ‘Offensive Behaviour at Football and Threatening Communications (Scotland) Act 2012’ and the way it’s being implemented by the Police. The targeting of football fans has reached a stage where it is becoming harassment and that can never be acceptable in a democratic country where all Public Servants, including the Police, should be accountable for their actions. Laws made by clueless middle class politicians and implemented by an unsympathetic and heavy handed Police force are unlikely to be successful. Who can forget the inept Kenny McAskill, SNP Justice Secretary, sit through 90 minutes of Bigoted bile from the Rangers fans at the 2011 League Cup Final and then afterwards smile at the press saying it was ‘A great advert for Scottish Football?’ This is the type of person who drew up this legislation seeking some easy popularity among the middle classes. Thankfully some of the judges who deal with the more ludicrous cases set before them are blowing holes in the Act. One recently described it as ‘Mince.’ Are we seriously trying to tell people in a democratic society what that can sing and what they can’t sing? Are we seriously saying that blessing yourself may be a provocative act, even a crime? Is this 2013 or 1690? Are we seriously trying to say that Politicians will decide what we think and which political opinions are acceptable to society?

As the crowd left the Square on Saturday and headed for Celtic Park the songs of people who have had enough of lying down echoed loudly off the walls of the fine Georgian Buildings. Victoria may have sniffed at the noisy progeny of the famine Irish and working class Scots who marched through the elegant square loudly demanding better treatment. But as she and Robert Peel knew all too well from their own age, the Irish and their offspring don’t know when to give up. There is an old Irish song which reminds us of a truth the Politicians had best heed…

‘Laws are made for people and the law can never scorn the right of a man to be free. We are the people and we shall overcome.’’