Ten Bucks And The Iron Lady.

Recently, there was a televised debate where George Bush Snr's second son was asked
who's face he'd paste onto the up-and-coming new ten dollar bill and assuming he was
just being glib, he suggested Margaret Thatcher.

Source:

I know that these sort of questions are tossed out to lighten the talks and attempt to
show the audience and viewers that politics isn't all about poe-faced men and women
sitting in offices with the sole-focus of making their country a better place to live in.

These queries are to hint that these soldiers of social change and betterment have
a human side... a whimsical, jaunty perception that disputes their every-day vigilance
on making our lives better.

Sure, Jeb was being glib... he must have been. A response like his must have been
in hope of drawing a sardonic smile from some of the viewers who chowed-down on
the insincere and duped media that sold her caustic selling-out of the British public or
maybe acquire a vague nod from those who benefitted from Mrs. Thatcher's time in office.
Any arms-dealers here...?

Yeah... politics can be silly at times, I know that.
Hell, the House Of Lords in Englland is a perfect example.



And so, with that acknowledgement that serious folk can sometimes reveal their hidden
loquacious sides, allow me to offer my view of how Jeb Bush's suggested-honorary-monetary
poster-girl was seen by some when she held the distinguished, austere and virtuous title of
Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

I can recall sitting at a well-polished herring-bone design wooden-tiled floor and drinking
my milk... little bottle of milk.
Infant school (kindergarten to our cousins over the sea!)... was a place where the babe that
had only knew it's Mother's arms could now learn how to interact with it's peers. It's a time
of growing up and begin to lay down the hard-wiring that would serve you in later-life.

In 1970, a certain Education Secretary -who, as later documents alleged, at the behest of the
Treasury, decided that the little kids of the 'Sceptered Isle' didn't need calcium for their growing
bones and so, massively cut the free milk for the children of Britain.
This person became known as "Margaret Thatcher, Milk Snatcher"

With Ted Heath sitting in No.10 Downing Street, the Conservative Party held sway and back
in those days, I can assure you that the perception of the working man (and it seems, his kids!)
was that they were merely a burdening cost.

A new currency was placed in the grubby-hands of the British people and the Prime Minister who
enjoyed sailing his "Morning Cloud" yacht around the Isle Of Wight and waving at the orphaned-kids
there, may have perused the new ideas and policy changes that the Selsdon paper had offerd.

Whilst also tinkling on his piano, Mr. Heath took the country into a strange and amazing place
called "The Common Market' now called The European Union and enjoyed the pats on the
back of having a prominent female in his cabinet.
At this time, the Iron Lady was still only silver foil. Like the material they used to cap milk
bottles with.

Four years later, the Labour Party took the reins and with Trade Unions nudging Labour's
shoulder and reminding them that they had funded the political changeover, Britain began to
slide slowing into a country bogged-down with working-to-rule style industries.
It was high times for a Union member, but a wise man (or woman)... knows that commerce
must belong in a world of fat-cats and expenses for it to survive and prosper.
Mr. Trump will tell you that.

So Maggie got busy. She had become the leader of that Conservative Party and Oppostion
Party and worked at dumping her Lincolnshire accent. The "Winter of Discontent" came along
and the country ground to a halt with Union strikes and high interest rates.

The ruling Labour Party under the weak -but likeable James Callaghan began to feel the carpet
move beneath them and I'm sure the sharp-faced lady who's Father had been a green-grocer,
had watched the failings with glee from her seat in the Opposition.

The streets filled with trash and the once-most powerful country in the world, squabbled like
school children after the last bottle of milk.

'Where there is discord, may we bring harmony. Where there is error, may we bring truth.
Where there is doubt, may we bring faith. And where there is despair, may we bring hope'
Mrs. Thatcher's famous speech after she had become Prime Minister in 1979.
I heard that she agreed to omit the line 'Bring me your Dairies...'

The beginning of the Eighties found Britain dealing with the "England Riots' and because
of Maggie's diligence on keeping the working classes down and taxing the crap out of them,
the country looked to the bouffant-haired bastion of union-hate for a mature, sensible answer.
What they got, the media would later tag 'sound-bite' and it was acknowledged that Mrs.
Thatcher was not for turning.

No wonder Denis drank.

She privatised almost everything and "the good-old-boys" of her crowd got their hands on that
everything. Previously nationalised industries were stripped down to the bone by their new owners
in the name of efficiency and the pay-cut demands on the lucky-few that had a job, seemed fine
from the pin-striped businessmen of the country's capital.

British Steel became a battleground to beat the unions into a submission and the idea of being
"competitive" became a reason to bully many of the workforce in the nation's industries to
accepting a yoke that still has repercussions -even today.

Oh, they'll tell you that privatisation brought the consumer prices and bills down and it's true.
But what did you pay those debts with? Lower pay, fear of losing one's job and sanctioned
humiliation in the workplace. I have a T-shirt somewhere.


The Poll Tax, her political love-affair with Reagan, the scuffle with Argentina called "The Falklands
War" in order to garner votes as "The Iron Lady" the treatment of Northern Ireland and the subsequent
attempt on her life.





The Miners Strike, the slitting of the newspaper industry's throat, Maggie's son going awol in the
Sahara Desert (now there's a guy who needed looking at!)... and many, many more.
The prim lady with the immaculate hair-do made quite an impact on her country and I believe we
haven't -and may never, recover from her time in office.

So, with a chorus of 'Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead' -a tune that was uncomfortably sang out across
the land by people who still recall Mrs. Thatcher's exploits -after she passed away, I would humbly
suggest Mr. Bush's proposal of having the lady's visage on your money may not be a wise choice.

By the way, a cow that doesn't give milk can be just bull.