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By Danny Morrison
Only once did I feel any sympathy for Margaret Thatcher. It was
January 1982 and her son Mark was lost in the Sahara Desert
whilst rallying. A camera caught her going into Number 10 and
she was clearly distraught at the thought of her helpless son
dying from hunger and thirst. It occurred to me: maybe now she
realises how the mother of a hunger striker felt.
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