Dawn Fraser: Echoes From Labor's War

The Wearing of the Red

I walked up-street this morning.
And it being May Day
I wore a crimson ribbon
You could see a mile away.
Most folks smiled in sympathy,
Others shook their heads,
And some just showed their ignorance
And terror of the Red.
But I smiled at those in pity
A smile of lofty scorn
Some men are slaves by circumstance—
And some for slaves were born.

Young lady with ambitions
To shine in "sassiety"
Says she, "I want to shine my shoes,
Will you give that rag to me?"
Poor simple little pin-head.
Oh, God, you owe her brains!
I just bowed to her politely,
And I left her in her chains.
She thinks she is a highbrow,
Above the working mass,
And to sneer at workers' emblems
Is a way to show her class.

Tho' her father and his fathers
All were working men,
She wants to play aristocrat,
And to discredit them.
The hand that rocked her cradle
Is far beneath her now;
The hand that toiled to shelter her,
The hand that held the plow:
Poor silly little infant—
Will you never come to know?
If it were not for the workers
You'd have starved long ago?

Yet they call us trouble makers.
I never shook my head,
And I never said, "You quitters,
You ought to wear the Red."
I leave them their opinions,
But, by God, they'll leave me mine,
I am choosing my own colors,
And I'll wear them every time—
On every such occasion
Will that banner be unfurled—
A tribute to the workers:
To the men who feed the world!

(Written on May 1st, 1924, between the hours of two and five minutes past two, p.m.)

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