Spring has been unusually late this year, so the
strategy of hibernating in the tropics during the northern winter has not been
wholly successful. Instead, we walked right into a barrage of chilling winds,
sleet, snow and rain.
But now, at last, thankfully, Nature is showing signs of reverting to its usual
rhythm. The sun shines and warms the air to a pleasing 18C. Not before time.
Time too, evidently, for a lady of iron to die in a stylish venue. Can’t
imagine how or why she should have chosen to die at the Ritz Hotel in downtown
London except, perhaps, that it was a final act of provocation towards the
proletariat with whom she had those epic fights during her heyday.
Even without her dying where she did, the old battle lines are still as fresh
as they were thirty years ago, and some with appropriately long memories are
showing little respect for the dead. One has often heard it said that “people
will dance in the streets” when some controversial character (usually a family
member) or the other dies, but it must be highly unusual to actually witness a literal execution. There was always the possibility, I
suppose.
These local wars are of course interesting, but where I was taken aback was to
hear that Mrs Thatcher was a great anti-apartheid warrior who fought tirelessly
to have the ANC unbanned, and for Nelson Mandela to be freed from prison so
that he could lead his nation to a better place.
In 1996, the Independent newspaper reminded us of Mrs Thatcher and her
party's attitude to justice in apartheid South Africa. It was not pretty:
So, I can’t imagine what the conversation would go like when, in the fullness
of time, Mandela and Thatcher shall meet.
Tell Fren Tru
