Post by Dave on Dec 17, 2008 17:55:12 GMT
Today the father of murdered school child Rhys Jones, has made public a poem he has written. It is very moving and I will add it to the end of this post, so those who have not read it will be able to.
Life here is so different from life in a city, that is one thing I am sure of and I have no understanding or real knowledge, what growing up in a place such as Liverpool is like, or why big Cities and London in my view seems worse, has so many tragic killings of young people.
I know life for children in such cities is different and I found that out at just 15 years old when I joined the navy and lived for the first time with young people who were not from where I lived.
I grew up on Buckland Estate, now some call that a rough estate, but that was not my experience as a young person and I do believe that growing up when I did children were different from what they seem today.
We never had gangs and when playing with your mates, there was only ever three of four of you, the only time there would be more, was if you had arranged a kick around up at the centrax field. We climbed tress and built tree dens, made our trolleys out of wood and old pram wheels and raced down the hills on them and the worst we would get up to, was to scrump apples from some orchard.
Fighting was rare with other children and you did not have any feelings of hate toward anyone, all we were in my day living in Buckland , were just kids, happy and life was simple and not complicated in any way.
Joining the navy I never gave it a single thought what sort of other young teenagers I would meet and have to share my life with. I can tell you it was a major shock for me, as for the first time I met angry and in some cases violent young men, who were the same age as me.
One lad called Wallace from London, showed me is arms, covered in scares from knife fights, I had never seem anything like it before. Yes as kids we had knifes, but we only used them to carve I love you into some tree, to tell the world just who our love was. Never once did it ever cross my mind and I'm sure my others friends that what we had in our hands, was a weapon that we could cause harm to others, if we wanted too.
Another lad was called Carr, he was form Manchester, took delight every night going from bed to bed just after we had all got in our beds and thumping each and everyone, No one dared do anything, but one day I hit him back, it was at the time a big mistake for me as I got truly battered. The next night when he started his rounds everyone got out of bed and set on him, he never did it again.
So that is when I really knew that life for kids growing up in a city was so different to how us country boys grew up. Today we have the odd problem with kid gangs, Plainmoor has had recent problems, but why is so different up country. Why are there gangs who really do hate one another and stabbing and shooting seems to be just a way of life.
Maybe you have grown up in a city, on some real bad estate and you can explain what your life was like and how you copped with it, maybe you can explain why there are the gangs to start with.
What is the answer to it all? does anyone know how we can bring and end to the unnecessary killings of young people, how can we teach them to live a normal peaceful childhood and grow up as children were meant too, I do not know, maybe you do.
The poem
A mother holds her baby
Quietly she holds him, cradled in her arms
Rocking oh so gently, protecting him from harm
Her tears are flowing freely, off her cheeks they race
Always heading downwards, then dripping from her face
A mother holds her baby, as close as close can be
And as his eyes stare skyward there's only her to see
Now fast forward eleven years the scene is much the same
A mother holds her baby whispering his name
Ruffling his matted hair his face covered in blood
Telling him to stay with her and wrapping him in love
But the child will never answer forever to stay young
Dying on a car park it's not where he belongs
A mother holds her baby her child her world her son
His life has been robbed from him she can't believe he's gone
One last hug one last caress to his cheek a simple kiss
To thank that little boy for eleven years of bliss.
Life here is so different from life in a city, that is one thing I am sure of and I have no understanding or real knowledge, what growing up in a place such as Liverpool is like, or why big Cities and London in my view seems worse, has so many tragic killings of young people.
I know life for children in such cities is different and I found that out at just 15 years old when I joined the navy and lived for the first time with young people who were not from where I lived.
I grew up on Buckland Estate, now some call that a rough estate, but that was not my experience as a young person and I do believe that growing up when I did children were different from what they seem today.
We never had gangs and when playing with your mates, there was only ever three of four of you, the only time there would be more, was if you had arranged a kick around up at the centrax field. We climbed tress and built tree dens, made our trolleys out of wood and old pram wheels and raced down the hills on them and the worst we would get up to, was to scrump apples from some orchard.
Fighting was rare with other children and you did not have any feelings of hate toward anyone, all we were in my day living in Buckland , were just kids, happy and life was simple and not complicated in any way.
Joining the navy I never gave it a single thought what sort of other young teenagers I would meet and have to share my life with. I can tell you it was a major shock for me, as for the first time I met angry and in some cases violent young men, who were the same age as me.
One lad called Wallace from London, showed me is arms, covered in scares from knife fights, I had never seem anything like it before. Yes as kids we had knifes, but we only used them to carve I love you into some tree, to tell the world just who our love was. Never once did it ever cross my mind and I'm sure my others friends that what we had in our hands, was a weapon that we could cause harm to others, if we wanted too.
Another lad was called Carr, he was form Manchester, took delight every night going from bed to bed just after we had all got in our beds and thumping each and everyone, No one dared do anything, but one day I hit him back, it was at the time a big mistake for me as I got truly battered. The next night when he started his rounds everyone got out of bed and set on him, he never did it again.
So that is when I really knew that life for kids growing up in a city was so different to how us country boys grew up. Today we have the odd problem with kid gangs, Plainmoor has had recent problems, but why is so different up country. Why are there gangs who really do hate one another and stabbing and shooting seems to be just a way of life.
Maybe you have grown up in a city, on some real bad estate and you can explain what your life was like and how you copped with it, maybe you can explain why there are the gangs to start with.
What is the answer to it all? does anyone know how we can bring and end to the unnecessary killings of young people, how can we teach them to live a normal peaceful childhood and grow up as children were meant too, I do not know, maybe you do.
The poem
A mother holds her baby
Quietly she holds him, cradled in her arms
Rocking oh so gently, protecting him from harm
Her tears are flowing freely, off her cheeks they race
Always heading downwards, then dripping from her face
A mother holds her baby, as close as close can be
And as his eyes stare skyward there's only her to see
Now fast forward eleven years the scene is much the same
A mother holds her baby whispering his name
Ruffling his matted hair his face covered in blood
Telling him to stay with her and wrapping him in love
But the child will never answer forever to stay young
Dying on a car park it's not where he belongs
A mother holds her baby her child her world her son
His life has been robbed from him she can't believe he's gone
One last hug one last caress to his cheek a simple kiss
To thank that little boy for eleven years of bliss.
What the hell are you posting this sanctimonious crap for and and indicating that I am some sort of apologist for crime?
Bad stuff happens everywhere, I believe the population density of an area usually governs the volume of violence of said area, generally this is the case but as always there are cases that break the rule, so in my personal opinion it therefore is quite a ridiculous argument!