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My job during the war was to administer beatings This didn’t make me better than anyone else, particularly not the people I beat To ensure that I never forgot this, I was periodically beaten myself I, Laura Grimsey, a White, beaten quite roughly but within official boundaries by a Brown A team of Browns was retained expressly for this purpose: to beat the beaters   I celebrated my two-year work anniversary the week the war circus arrived This was by chance also the ten-year anniversary of the war effort itself The economy was soaring To celebrate in a traditional manner, the Bureau had received a shipment of commemorative tin helmets and tin flasks, and at the entrance to the war circus’s big top tent, spectators were handed tiny tin keyrings fashioned in the shape of a nuclear warhead with every circus programme Whites and Browns flocked to the war circus together, flush with anniversary bonuses and promotions In tribute to the unsinkable camaraderie of our army, the Whites and Browns bought each other pails of popcorn from the clown shuffling between the stands with a plastic tube of fluffy kernels braced like a sandbag across her shoulders   #   The War Machine Speaks with a Liquorice Tongue   Immigration, boy Can’t fault the Browns, far better off as they were loping through deserts and savannahs Hunting that big game under their own God-given sun Unafraid of what sails down from the sky But here we are Here we are We can only get on with it Come together, all of us patriots White Brown No matter We know our bombs the way we know our lovers The Annabelle The Betsy The Claudette In the armament factories we bellow out love songs Hands percuss metal shells We forget whose voice is White Whose Brown We’re lucky to have steady jobs What’s more, bonuses Britain Britain First Britain first