The Mangling HookA Poem by David Lewis PagetThere must have been seven chimneys In the great house on the hill, I never actually counted them While the house was standing still, But the years had brought their own neglect And the house was well run down, By the time we pulled the place apart For a new estate in town. We couldn’t just use a wrecking ball It was too immense for that, When we took it brick by brick apart We could build a hundred flats. The chimneys were the hardest part For the flues had twists and turns As they rose up through three storeys with Each hearth, soot black and burned. It had been the home of Dukes and Earls Back in Victoria’s day, With gardeners, cooks and pantry maids, All with a place to stay, There were balls and more for the gentlefolk For the vicar and local squire, And after the garden parties they would Huddle, in front of the fire. We chipped away at the chimney stacks And gradually brought them down, Brick by brick to the local tip As red dust covered the ground, But then a guy gave a sudden cry During a working lull, ‘I think I see, what it seems to me, The top of a human skull.’ The top of a human skull it was Of a child, no more than six, Jammed up tight in the chimney there Imprisoned by old red bricks, We managed to pry him loose at last And lifted him from the flue, But then the horror came home to us For his legs were missing, too. We saw the mangling hook they’d used That lodged in one of his ribs, That tore the body apart to clear The chimney, for His Nibs, The kid was lodged in a twisting flue They knew that his case was dire, And tried to make him climb up and through By lighting a smoking fire. We couldn’t tell if the sweep was dead Or simply allowed to choke, When someone ordered the fire lit And sent up a cloud of smoke, Perhaps he screamed as the smoke had streamed And the fire burned, but slow, He was just a sweep, his life was cheap Compared to the guests below. The little lad’s in the cemetery He was laid with special care, With everyone but nobility Gathered to lay him there, It’s a page at last from a cruel past That we turned, but won’t forget, Great wealth destroys our humanity, Have we learned that lesson yet? David Lewis Paget © 2015 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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