Maggie is dead, let’s party


Hundreds of people took to the main square in Brixton, an area of south London which suffered serious rioting in the 1980s, to celebrate the death of former prime minister Margaret Thatcher.

Holding placards saying “Rejoice – Thatcher is dead”, around 200 people gathered in the neighbourhood, a hotspot of alternative culture, and toasted her passing by drinking and dancing to hip-hop and reggae songs blaring from sound systems.

“I’m very, very pleased. She did so much damage to this country,” said one man brandishing an original newspaper billboard from 1990 announcing Thatcher’s resignation.  Others scrawled “good riddance” on pavements.

“We’ve got the bunting out at home,” said Clare Truscott, a woman in her 50s wearing a sparkly beret and holding a homemade sign reading “Ding dong, the witch is dead”.

“I’m from the north, where there were no jobs, where the industry was rapidly disappearing, and her policies ensured it went more quickly.”

Brixton was the scene of fierce riots in 1981, two years after Thatcher became prime minister.

Carole Roper said: “We’re here to celebrate her death.”

Sipping from a can of beer, she said, “I don’t think it’s vindictive, it’s not so much about the death of Thatcher but what she has done, the policies she introduced to this country.”

Meanwhile, in the Scottish city of Glasgow over 300 people gathered to hold their own impromptu “party”.

Anti-capitalist campaigners shouted, “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie” while the crowd replied “dead, dead, dead”.

The crowd also broke into a chorus of “So long, the witch is dead” while drinking champagne.

Thatcher, the controversial “Iron Lady” who dominated a generation of British politics and won international acclaim for helping to end the Cold War, died following a stroke on Monday. She was 87.


  1. Bottoms up!! 😀

    Tell me true tell me why was Jesus crucified
    Is it for this that daddy died?
    Was it for you? was it me?
    Did I watch too much t.v.?
    Is that a hint of accusation in your eyes?
    If it wasn't for the nips
    Being so good at building ships
    The yards would still be open on the clyde
    And it can't be much fun for them
    Beneath the rising sun
    With all their kids committing suicide
    What have we done maggie what have we done
    What have we done to England
    Should we shout should we scream
    "What happened to the post war dream?"
    Oh Maggie Maggie what have we done?

    — The Post War Dream by Pink Floyd's The Final Cut album

    • Same album, same subject:

      Get Your Filthy Hands Off My Desert
      "Oi…Get your filthy hands off my desert!"
      "What 'e say?"

      Brezhnev took Afghanistan.
      Begin took Beirut.
      Galtieri took the Union Jack.
      And Maggie, over lunch one day,
      Took a cruiser with all hands.
      Apparently, to make him give it back.

      The Fletcher Memorial Home
      Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere
      And build them a home, a little place of their own.
      The Fletcher Memorial
      Home for Incurable Tyrants and Kings.

      And they can appear to themselves every day
      On closed circuit T.V.
      To make sure they're still real.
      It's the only connection they feel.
      "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Reagan and Haig,
      Mr. Begin and friend, Mrs. Thatcher, and Paisly,
      "Hello Maggie!"
      Mr. Brezhnev and party.
      "Who's the bald chap?"
      The ghost of McCarthy,
      The memories of Nixon.
      And now, adding color, a group of anonymous latin-
      American Meat packing glitterati.

      Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?
      They can polish their medals and sharpen their
      Smiles, and amuse themselves playing games for awhile.
      Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead.

      Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye
      With their favorite toys
      They'll be good girls and boys
      In the Fletcher Memorial Home for colonial
      Wasters of life and limb.

      Is everyone in?
      Are you having a nice time?
      Now the final solution can be applied.

      Southampton Dock
      They disembarked in 45
      And no-one spoke and no-one smiled
      There were to many spaces in the line.
      Gathered at the cenotaph
      All agreed with the hand on heart
      To sheath the sacrificial Knifes.
      But now
      She stands upon Southampton dock
      With her handkerchief
      And her summer frock clings
      To her wet body in the rain.
      In quiet desperation knuckles
      White upon the slippery reins
      She bravely waves the boys goodbye again.

      And still the dark stain spreads between
      His shoulder blades.
      A mute reminder of the poppy fields and graves.
      And when the fight was over
      We spent what they had made.
      But in the bottom of our hearts
      We felt the final cut.

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