‘There is no higher to go.’
There was silence around the table. There was anger around the table –
‘So the TUC is telling this Union that it can make no changes whatsoever to a document that it has had no hand in negotiating?’ asked Yorkshire. ‘Is that correct?’
‘There can be clarification,’ said the Fat Man, ‘but no negotiation.’
‘And if we don’t like the clarification?’ asked Wales. ‘It’s take it or leave it?’
‘This is their final wording,’ said the Fat Man. ‘They are clear on that.’
‘So what about the amnesty for sacked miners?’ asked Kent. ‘What about them?’
‘There will be no amnesty,’ said the Fat Man. ‘That also was made clear.’
The table looked at the President. The President looked at the Fat Man –
‘I’ll give you gentlemen some time alone,’ said the Fat Man, as he rose to his feet.
The table waited for the door to close. The table turned back to the President –
The President pushed the paper away. He said, ‘It is one hundred per cent worse!’
The table nodded. The table agreed. The table was united –
‘A boy sent to do a man’s job,’ said Northumberland. ‘A bloody boy —’
The table nodded. The table shook. The table was furious –
‘The Delegate Conference will bloody tear this up,’ said Paul. ‘Page by page —’
The President nodded. The President shook. The President stood –
‘This dispute goes on,’ the President told them all. ‘This dispute goes on!’
There was no day. There was no light. There was only shadow. There was only night–
The dog no longer a pet, black and starved –
Its master gone, its teeth exposed.
Here came the men. Here came the hour. Here came revenge.
They tied Malcolm’s hands and feet to an upturned bed —
In an upstairs room, they put phones on his head –
The tapes he’d made on loud in his ears.
They stripped his clothes, they shaved his hair —
They scoured him with wires and rubbed him rare.
They injected him with amphetamines, industrial bleach.
In the park, they soaked his skin —
Among the trees, with a petrol tin —
Lighter to his face, they illuminated tears.
They blamed his flesh, they cursed his bones —
They watched him blister, burn and moan.
In an upstairs room, with the curtains drawn.
This was the month when the oracles went dumb –
The unhappy eve, the voice, and the hum.
Here came the men. Here came the hour. Here came revenge.
The skulls sat and stared, with their Soviet dreams —
In the shadows at the back, the woman schemes —
Her nipples hard, her milk all gone.
These things they brought, they made him buy —
They told him stories, they sold him a lie.
The room was bare, the curtains torn.
These were her men by the side of the road —
Among the living with their language and code —
Their winter dresses in the summer cried.
They followed his car, photographed his home —
They recorded him on reels and tapped his phone.
The cigarette. The kiss. The wrong number. The look and then silence –
Half deaf in these rooms he hates —
In half light, the rebel angel waits.
Here came the man. Here came the hour. Here came revenge.
In the small hours, the thieves’ hours, with their knives of Sheffield steel –
Among the bodies of the animals, the Circle of the Tyrants kneel –
To hear her beat her bloody wings, in her new and lonely Reich —
Herr Lucifer! Herr Thatcher!
Beware! Beware! She will eat you like air –
Beware! Beware! The pits of despair.
There is a man who bought his council house and drives an Austin Princess –
He has a dark room and a very good stereo —
His wife does knitting jobs. His son is a garage apprentice. Karen still at school —
The winds will leave seven dead. He is not who he seems –
Beware! Beware! She will eat you like air —
Beware! Beware! The pits of despair –
The temples of doom. The worst weather in weeks –
These are the terms of endearment. This is the knock on the door —
This is their man. This is their hour. This their revenge –
Beware! Beware! The children of a hasty marriage.
*
Neil Fontaine picks up the Jew from the Goring and drives him into Soho for the lunch. The Jew is in a great mood. The Jew is sanguine. The Jew believes again –
The NUM. delegates have rejected the TUC agreement. The final hours nigh —
‘Make an enemy of Doubt,’ the Jew reminds Neil. ‘And a friend of Fear.’
The gang’s all here. The deeds all done –
Their hatchets buried, the corks pop. The knives sheaved, their glasses raised –
The end nigh –
There is a message waiting for Neil at the County Hotel.
There was a car and its doors were open. There were men and their arms were open —
There was a passenger and her legs were open, waiting —
The German car in the black. The drive out to the forest —
The songs on the radio. The silence in the back —
The unmarked road. The quiet brakes. The exhaust fumes. The open boot —
The spade in the dirt. The hole in the ground —
The soil and the stones over Malcolm’s bones.
Peter
through grilles on window of a Coal Board bus. That you, is it, Billy? He looked at us. He said, You know it’s not, Pete. You know I’ll live in shame for rest of my days. Hate myself. But who’s going to look after our lass when I’m gone. I know I’m sick and I know I’ll not pass their medical. I’m going back to work to pick up them redundancy forms so I can give something back to our lass after all she’s given me this past year. Every bloody year of our lives. I’m not going to die of their fucking dust and leave her with nothing. See her out on streets. I’m all she has and this fucking job is all I have. Lose it and we’ve nothing — There was nothing more to say. I left him be — I went back home. I went straight upstairs — Put blankets over my head. Fingers in my ears — I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to hear anyone — Not Martin. Not my father, either — This was worst week. Fucking strangest I’d ever lived — There were meetings and there were rallies. I went to the meetings and I went to the rallies — But it felt like it was all happening to someone else. Not me — The SDC rejecting that final, worthless, fucking document. Last big rally in Trafalgar Square. Nottingham ending OT ban — Then Monday almost four thousand went in. Yorkshire voted to strike on. News that there were over 50 per cent now at work — The endless talk about returns with a settlement. Organized returns without. Returns with an amnesty. Returns without — The Branch meeting. Packed — Us all listening to Arthur. Looking to Arthur — I want to make it clear, he said, that there is no way this Executive Committee will ever be a party to signing a document that would result in the closure of pits. The axing of jobs. The destruction of communities — Felt that it was all happening to someone else. That Arthur was talking about something that was happening to other people. In another place — Not to me. Not to my family. Not to my friends. Not to my pit. Not to my village. Not to my county. My bloody country — That I was just a shell. That this wasn’t me — Not after all these months. After all these weeks. These days — Just a shell. An empty shell — Not this time.Not now — There were so many meetings. There was so much talk — Them that mattered went down to London. Left us here to wait — To wait and watch TV. To watch and wait — It was Sunday again. Day of rest — I was sat there on settee with Mary and our Jackie. Martin had gone off to help Chris try to sell some furniture somewhere — TV was on. Not fire — We’d spent afternoon at Pinderfields Hospital in Wakefield because Mary’s mother had had a fall and burnt herself with a pan of milk. Had all that and then we’d driven back here in rain — Throwing it down, it was. Bloody miserable day — I was sat there. Cup of tea with no milk again — Middle of Dad’s Army. Newsflash — Miners’ Strike is over — That was it. Just like that — I thought I was going to pass out. Right there and then — I could tell Mary and our Jackie didn’t want to look at me. Didn’t know what to say, did they? But what was there to say? — It was over. Finished. We’d lost. The end — I stood up. Jaw clamped shut. I walked across room. Knocked half a dozen things over as I went — Blinking. Fighting back bloody tears — I walked up stairs and ran into bedroom. I laid down on bed. Face down in pillow and I sobbed. Then onto floor. I bloody sobbed and sobbed. I could hear phone ringing downstairs. I could hear Mary pick it up. Hear her calling my name. Hear her tell them I must have just popped out. Yes, she said. He saw news. He does know. Thank you. Heard her hang up and come up stairs. Heard her open door and come over to bed — She put her arms round me. Her head on my back — I love you, she said. I’m proud of you. Things you’ve done. Things you’ve said these past months. This past year. Just remember that — I wiped my face. I dried my eyes. I turned and I kissed my wife — Kissed her ears. Kissed her eyes. Kissed her mouth. Kissed her hair — I held her and felt her heart beating — Hard. Steady. Strong. True — I felt her heart beating and I closed my eyes — Thistimeit’s me. Here — Inthe darkness. Under the ground — There’s nolight. There’s noexit — Justme. Here— Here on the floor.