The Rag 'n' Bone Man

I live in the English West Midlands, North of Birmingham, on the cusp of Staffordshire and in an area known as 'The Black Country'.  Lately, it has been impossible not to note the rise of early morning cries of 'OLD IRON' and horns blowing in my direction in that regard.

This morning, Quigsy had an appointment with the local Priest and as she took my buggy off the driveway to get upon her way she managed to avoid a pony and trap, with one adult, one lad, and a young child sat upon.  'OLD IRON'!  They cried.

And well they might.  An old working class uncle of mine has laughed about the quaint return of the TATTERS, TINKERS and HAWKERS - well I don't think it is funny at all.


It is a disgraceful indictment of a so-called civilised society that very enterprising and useful people have to sell their energies and dignity for a few pieces of scrap metal.

The Capitalist ruling class will never have to beg or hawk - at least not until we put a stop to their personal corruption and theft of our labour and dignity.  It will be my wish until I die that the Rag 'n' Bone man has the last laugh along with all the other workers of the world.

ANY OLD IRON? NO THANKS!  We have a world to win and nothing to lose but our chains.