I was asked to write a blog post about "living under Thatcher" to which I commented that I was born in Feb of 1979 so it wasn't so much living under Thatcher as Toddling under Thatcher.
I grew up in Calne which is part of the Tory safe seat of Wiltshire North. Can you picture it? A little Wiltshire market town, rolling south downs, chalk hills, the river marden trickling through the town centre which is dominated by a bacon factory. Everyone knows everyone else, it's quiet. One of my relatives, Henry Eatwell, cut the Hackpen White Horse in 1838 to celebrate the coronation of Queen Victoria. Fox Talbot invented photography down the road in Lacock. Joseph Priestly invented Oxygen in Calne. Calne had one secondary comprehensive school (good old John Bentley!) and St Mary's School (notable for having the Jagger daughters attend). The town station was closed as a result of the Beeching Axe in September 1965. The bacon factory was closed and then demolished in 1985 and that's when the heart of the town seemed to die. People just didn't know what to do with themselves. The town lost it's soul and become just part of the commuter belt for Swindon- and that's a name that just reeks of glitz and glamour.
The 80's were notable in that I was attending a Church of England Primary school and in my spare time I wore some clothes that now I'm not sure is fashionable or cringe worthy. Reversible tops, day glo green socks and fingerless gloves. It was like we were responding to the bland seriousness of the government. Drab blues and greys gave rise to a technicolour riot in the streets and fields around where I lived.
As I became more politically aware in the 90's Thatcher had gone but her spectre loomed over the Tory party, section 28, the arts sector on their knees, fear and loathing of Europe, The Tories greatest hits and they just seemed to get greyer and more like the ranks of the undead. The town where I lived was a hotbed of crop circles and UFO sightings (I really hope this starts to explain some of why I'm the way I am), Avebury Stone circle was just a short jaunt up the A4.
I turned 18 in 1997, my first vote, full of hope and promise was a tactical one. Calne being such a safe seat meant that I didn't want to "waste" my vote. So I popped a cross in another box and stayed up with fingers crossed that Blair would swoop to victory.
My parents still eye me with caution to this day due to my politics. I often imagine my mother shutting her front door after I've visited and silently wondering to herself "How did we produce that?". My parents are quietly supportive of the Tories but read the Guardian and have a gay son- how they've not been elected to anything with the Tory party is beyond me. My mother has always threatened that if I ever ran for anything with the labour party she'd attend all my meetings and challenge my every move. Which I'd welcome but I'm not sure you're all ready for naked baby photos just yet. As a premature baby I can say that most of my baby photos look like some stills from an alien autopsy.
My most vivid memories are probably things she did after she left power- expressing her friendship and support for Augusto Pinochet. All too often I hear supporters of the Tories say that Thatcher was a revolutionary figure who revitalized Britain's economy, impacted the trade unions, and re-established the nation as a world power. Apologists and those too young to remember some of the darker days of the 80's and early 90's tend to over look the fake war, the crucifying of industry in The North and how she manoeuvred like a man. There seems to be a wish to retouch history as she gets older and closer to the grave. I don't wish the woman ill but I want there to be an honest recording of her actions and hearing 18 and 19 year olds bleat about how spiffing they thing she is makes my blood run cold. Cold as a little quarter pint of milk.
