( About ) I am a British queer trans socialist who is very mentally ill and neurodivergent. Political history is my special interest especially the 1970s! My own political hero is Barbara Castle. 18.

I revolve the politicians I like studying a lot but right now it’s largely Ted Heath.

I take suggestions! Namely art (which I cannot guarantee), webweaves and moodboards - maybe short fics if I feel particularly interested. Please keep in mind due to the individuals I focus on, as well as the fact this is A-level year for me, accuracy and focus may vary.

Message to anyone lurking: I personally use my interest in political history as a coping mechanism for C-PTSD. I will not cross-tag with normal political content and I separate fiction from reality. Most of the time I just like making webweaves and pointing out fun facts. However, an obligatory dead dove do not eat warning that I do write RPF of politicians who are now dead. If you are uncomfortable with my content, please prioritise your comfort and internet experience, and just block me <3 Thank you for your kindness and respect!

And for the record, I don’t support any unsavoury individuals, especially a certain Mandelson, and I have been disdainful of him since before he was made a brief ambassador. I also utterly despise Blair. Most of my interest in the individuals I talk about are from a historical perspective.

To Westminster they voted me,

They voted me;

And cheers rang loud in ecstasy

When I rose on the floor.

I spoke on many an act and bill;

I voiced the starving people’s will,

And elder statesmen sat quite still

And begged me to speak more.

The kingdom knew my beck and call,

My beck and call.

My word was hearkened to by all;

For all men held me dear.

I kept his secrets for the King

Who told me all and every thing;

And solemn ministers would bring

Their troubles to my ear.

My days were spent in gilded state,

In gilded state.

I ate off gold and silver plate,

And drank the choicest wine.

High ladies bent their gaze on me;

They thought me all a man should be;

For never had they dreamed to see

Such manhood as was mine.

And little chaps with tender eyes,

With tender eyes,

Would gape on me with mad surprise,

And stroke my thick black hair,

Or seated on an eiderdown

Would fumble with my dressing-gown,

And turn on me a puzzled frown

Or loving little stare.

From Romney March to Orkney Isle,

To Orkney Isle,

All knew and loved my winsome smile.

I was their fancy-man.

In herring-fleets and beetroot-farms

They longed to nestle in my arms.

There had not been such melting charms

Since history began.

A duke’s daughter was driven mad,

Was driven mad,

By the soft winning ways I had.

She thought of none but me.

From husband and from marriage-bed

She shrank in horror and in dread.

She sighed to win my lustihead

And manly potency.

She begged me oft with tears of grief,

With tears of grief,

To grant her misery relief

And take her to be mine.

Such love was never known before;

She lay and grovelled on the floor.

Without me she could live no more.

She ‘gan to peak and pine.

Deeply I felt the pang of it,

The pang of it.

Upon my bed I made her sit;

I brushed her tears away,

And with a pitying embrace

I laid her in my sleeping-place;

She was a girl of ducal race.

I could not say her nay.

I kissed her as she begged me to,

She begged me to.

It was the least that I could do.

I settled at her side.

She gasped with joy to win her prize,

To have one of such strength and size

With coal-black hair and coal-black eyes

In all his power and pride.

So softly passed the nights and days,

The nights and days.

And yet the goodman turned his gaze

From what I did for her.

Her hapless husband, whiskered Hal,

Would gaily greet me in the Mall

As tho’ I were his truest pal

And no adulterer.

But whiskered Hal, that loveless man,

That loveless man,

Conceived a stealthy secret plan

To mitigate his gloom.

With crafty words and subtle wile,

With double face and jaunty smile,

He set about him to beguile

Me to an ugly doom.

In friendly guise he came to me,

He came to me.

He said, “A duke’s daughter is she,

And she is mad for you.

But still she bears an ancient name,

And I must keep her storied fame

From blot of scandal or of shame;

The world must deem her true.

“Her love for you I understand,

I understand.

The little price that I demand

Is set out in this deed.

Give me five thousand pounds a year,

And you shall have my dearest dear.

Come sign your name and have no fear.

The woman shall be freed.”

I signed along the dotted line,

The dotted line.

I did it for her sake, not mine.

Oh, she was mad for me.

I yielded to her man’s device.

For her I made the sacrifice.

Tho’ burdensome indeed the price

I felt it had to be.

I had to get five thousand pounds,

Five thousand pounds;

And dismally I went my rounds

To find what I could find.

I visited my dearest friend,

A man with stores of wealth to spend,

And begged his charity to lend

The gold to ease my mind.

“Of scrip and gold I have no store,

I have no store.

What once is mine is mine no more,

But spent on dance and song.

My mistresses have swallowed all;

I have no friend on whom to call;

I cannot find the wherewithal

To help myself along.

“But orphans three are in my care,

Are in my care;

They have good money and to spare.

Of this you may partake.

‘Twill bring you freedom from your cares.

No man shall know that it is theirs.

Let us divide in equal shares.

It is a gallant stake.”

He showed it me, the good Czech gold,

The good Czech gold,

And through my hands the pieces rolled.

They set my heart astir.

Content in sooth was I to see

The cash that set my lady free

From impotence and slavery.

I thought of none but her.

But whiskered Hal, the double-dyed,

The double-dyed,

The squalid-soiled and serpent-eyed,

Knew whence the money came.

He found the orphans in the street

Begging for scraps of bread or meat.

His words were soft, his smile was sweet;

He played a crafty game.

In brutish rage they told him all,

They told him all.

With tears they conjured him to call

The law to help their need.

In hypocritical wrath he swore

To get them back their gold and more;

He was the guardian of the poor,

And he would act with speed.

Six officers in weaponed state,

In weaponed state,

Went marching forth that evening late

To make a fell arrest.

They caught my best friend in his bed

With mistresses at foot and head;

They pricked his buttocks till they bled

And truncheoned him with zest.

They carted him to Brixton Gaol,

To Brixton Gaol.

His heart began to quake and quail;

His face turned green and blue.

And when the rack was carried in,

He only sought to save his skin

And shameful liberty to win

By telling all he knew.

They hunted me both near and far,

Both near and far.

They found me in a liquor-bar.

I fought them till they fell.

I left three officers for dead,

And through the darkened streets I fled.

There was a price upon my head,

But life I would not sell.

Gray councillors of Church and State,

Of Church and State,

In solemn conclave held debate

On what price I must pay.

They seized my mansions and my lands,

And drunken judges gave commands

To grab my lady with rough hands

And force her to lewd play.

His Majesty had been my friend,

Had been my friend,

But he betrayed me in the end.

My name he spoke no more.

His lips were sealed, his tongue was tied;

His old acquaintance he denied;

With his own hands a noose he tied

To swing me from his door.

I tricked them all. I cut my hair,

I cut my hair,

And now a redcoat’s garb I wear

And guard a barracks’ gate.

And those who jest and quaff with me

Have little thought that one they see

So modest in their company

Once moved among the great.

But when at night I toss awake,

I toss awake,

I meditate the toll I’ll take

Of Hal the shifty-eyed.

Though I live now in direful need,

Before me paths of honour lead,

And I shall make that cuckold bleed