Plus ca change...

"...and when he got in his car, he called her a BIGOT!" The woman's face was incredulous.
"No," her friend replied, ""he said she wor BIGOTED."
"Same difference i'ntit? Whatever. He shouldn't have said it."
The bus changed gear to turn left into Pankhurst Street. There was a squeal from the little girl across the aisle - her mother gripping her arm just a little too tightly as the bus swung round. I caught her eye and flinched at the pain I saw; the stoicism in that little face was far too practised for someone so young.
"SHURRup, Emily, or you'll not be getting any tea," the woman said roughly.

A protest rose to my lips but died instantly as her mother glared defiantly at me with an air of savage challenge. The two friends behind me were still talking politics.
"Did you see the debate last night?"
"No - I'm not interested. They're all liars. They don't care what happens to the country as long as they can line their pockets at the tax-payers' expense. I don't vote for ANY bugger, I don't."
"What - yer never vote?"
"No I bloody don't, Jackie. Why should I waste five minutes of me life when nothing's ever going to change?"

There was another squeal from the little girl. I glanced across, avoiding her mother's gaze, and our eyes briefly met again. Her face was contorted into an expression of mute distress. Was I imagining it, or was that a fading bruise on her cheek?

"But I always think we SHOULD vote, Sandra - I mean... women DIED so we could vote. I teck it very seriously, I do."
"Bully fer you! I just don't trust ANY of 'em. Look at what THIS lot have done. Bled the country dry! Taxes, VAT, benefits cuts... do they think we're bloody stupid, or summat?"

"Emily! STOP it, yer little sod." The words were harsh. I couldn't see what the little girl was supposed to have done, but her misery was tangible. I squirmed in my seat, cold fingers of unease gripping my chest, but unwilling to speak in case I made things worse. And anyway, what could I possibly say? I felt powerless to extricate this little girl from the grip of a malevolent authority.

The bus reached the end of Pankhurst Street and pulled into the terminus. The remaining passengers stood up and slowly filed to the door. Emily and her mother were just ahead of me; the woman pushed her impatiently towards the exit and the child tripped and fell heavily onto the pavement. It must have really hurt - blood was seeping from her knees - but she made no sound, even when she got a clip round the ear 'for being bloody clumsy'.

Sandra and Jackie were still arguing about whether it was worth voting. My eyes were still on the sad little figure going home to God-knew-what.
"The point is, Jackie, nothing's ever going ter change."

I was afraid she was right.