Weaned off Maggie

Ever since we ran an article by Damian Barr in the Campus edition of Business Line following Margaret Thatcher’s death on April 13 this year, I’ve been looking forward to this book. The article promised much and the book doesn’t disappoint.

Maggie was hated in Scotland for many reasons, not least her anti-trade unionism stance. As the British Prime Minister, she shut down steelworks and coal mines leading to large-scale unemployment and attendant hardships. Earlier, as Education Secretary, she had withdrawn the free milk scheme for all children over seven. The people’s anger found expression in the chant “Thatcher, Thatcher, Milk Snatcher”, as indeed other slogans have followed.

But for Barr, she appears to have been some kind of beacon, despite his realisation that he was “allowed to swear at Maggie. That’s how bad she is”. But he swore only to keep up pretences. In this memoir of Barr’s childhood and youth in Newarthill, Scotland, Maggie is an intangible presence. In a sense, we may presume that everything that happens to him and his family is a direct result of the politics of the times. We may also presume Barr’s life is shaped despite all of that.

The book opens on October 12, 1984. Margaret Thatcher’s hotel in Brighton has been bombed. Eight-year-old Damian and his baby sister Teenie have been dragged away from their father, whom he loves, by their mother. She has moved in with another man, whom he fears. As they sit amid unpacked boxes in the living room of their new home, with only the telly unpacked, they watch the news about the assassination attempt. As “this blonde woman rises from rubble again and again like a Cyberman off Doctor Who ”, Damian is fascinated.

“The Grand Hotel survives. So does Maggie. So will I.” These last words of the introduction set the tone for the book. It’s a survivor’s tale beautifully written, unambiguously detailed, unsentimental and laced with the humour of reality, that trusty shield of ordinary everydayness.

The Ravenscraig Steelworks, where Barr’s father and many others in the town work, dominates Newarthill and influences the lives of its inhabitants. Sectarian tensions, grinding poverty, alcoholism, child abuse, serious illness… all these are part of Barr’s life and he writes vividly about them. And as he discovers his own sexual orientation, the story of his own acceptance of the fact, and his dealing with the social implications, the bullying by children, the stigma, the politics of being gay… all of this is recounted with unflinching clarity. It touches you, it makes you mad.

Yet, never does the book slide into a misery tale, although much of what it reveals would make you miserable. It is also a book about friendship, the support of teachers, love of family.

Importantly, it is a book about love of books. In an interview posted on YouTube, Barr speaks of how books saved his life. He likens the library to a travel agency that takes you places and reiterates that books are not a luxury, they are a necessity. His memoir is a testament to that belief.

Reading Maggie & Me , I was reminded of The God Squad by Paddy Doyle, the Irish disability activist whose account of life as an institutionalised orphan is stomach-churning to put it mildly. It also recalled A Long Way Home by Ishmael Beah (https://www.thehindubusinessline.com/todays-paper/tp-life/wars-fought-by-children/article1115263.ece), who writes about his experiences as a child soldier in Sierra Leone, another wrenching story.

These are books about spirit and endurance and courage, and about being a child. Yet the story bears telling every time.

Barr, who begins each chapter with a Maggie quote, opens the memoir with: “Of course it’s the same old story. Truth is usually the same old story.” (Margaret Thatcher, Prime Minister’s Questions, 1990) Maggie was right. It’s amazing the kind of things we allow our children to experience and either know nothing or care little about. Barr and Doyle and Beah show how children suffer, and survive, even as other children don’t.

Those with a knowledge of British history or an interest in Thatcherism would probably enjoy Maggie & Me a little more; the political overtones will certainly resonate more. For instance, in another YouTube segment, Barr told the interviewer, “If I met Maggie now I’d say ‘thank you’ and ‘f*** you’ — don’t know in which order.” I’d like to have known more about that. Even so, and despite the somewhat cheesy undertone of the penultimate chapter, Barr’s memoir is memorable and moving, an example of fine writing that rings true.

P.S. “Despite Thatcher’s cuts many local education authorities continued providing free milk and in 1977 the EEC School Milk Subsidy Scheme was introduced. If, like me, you got free school meals you continued to get free school milk - this remains true today.” - Barr’s postscript to Maggie & Me

COMMENT NOW