Malcolm labelled each cassette. Each spool Put the copies into separate boxes. The boxes into the express-delivery pouches. The spools into the briefcase —
He closed the door behind them. They took the stairs –
Heartache to heartache. Room to room. Wall to wall –
Behind private walls in private rooms, the private heartaches of public demons —
Malcolm and Cole had their headphones back on. Tapes turning again —
‘Whatever we do to them, whatever action we take, they’ve still got a job.’
‘We won’t work with scabs.’
‘We’ll have no fucking choice.’
‘Lads won’t have it.’
‘Lads won’t have a job, then.’
‘It’s unacceptable.’
‘It’s unacceptable but it’s now the bloody policy of the fucking Coal Board. They’ve set us a trap and we’ve walked into it. Doesn’t matter what we say or do now. Means we’ve lost Nottingham for good —’
‘Means we’ve lost full stop, President.’
‘Does it heck mean we’ve lost.’
‘See sense, man. Course it bloody does. Nottingham will keep working. Nottingham will keep producing fucking coal. We can’t call strike official in Nottingham. We can’t order them to respect picket lines. Can’t take action against them if they don’t. And now, if we do take away their membership, Board will still let them work —’
‘They’re scabs.’
‘Aye, they’re scabs and they’ll always be scabs — so they’ll keep working no matter how long we stay out. In a word, we’re fucked now.’
‘It’s time to settle, President. Settle now and keep this Union together —’
‘He’s right —’
‘Lads won’t go for it.’
‘Lads always listen to you. Lads will hear you now. Lads will see sense.’
‘Take it, President. Take it now. Take it just for now.’
‘I can’t.’
‘They’ve said they’ll withdraw bloody closure programme —’
‘Verbally.’
‘Verbally, orally, whatever. Them five pits will be kept open. It gives us victory.’
‘Does it heck.’
‘It can be made into one. They’ve backed down. Pits will be kept open.’
‘Not kept open. They said they’ll be subject of further consideration —’
‘Joint consideration —’
‘But for how long? Won’t be like before. Old procedures won’t be there —’
‘President, President, there’ll be time for talk —’
‘And how bloody long will it be before they stop talking and start closing —’
‘But we’d have kept our powder dry, while we still had powder to keep dry.’
‘It’s just one word, President.’
‘It’s one word, aye. It’s retreat. It’s carte-blanche to do what the hell they want. There’s never been a third category before. They’ve set no parameters for exhaustion of reserves. The government is insisting on that word. Because it’s carte-blanche —’
‘But they’ve got that anyway now. Now closed shop’s out the window —’
‘Seam exhaustion, and that’s it. Safety grounds. Geological grounds. That’s it.’
‘It’s time to take what’s on the bloody table, man. Take it to the lads —’
‘Not now! Not bloody likely. Now is the hour —’
The tapes ran. They ran and ran. The wheels turned. Turned and turned again —
The private heartaches of public demons, in private rooms between private walls —
Headphones off. Suitcases packed. Cigarettes. Coffee. Goodbyes —
The drive South again. The wheels in motion (the wheels within wheels) —
Trucks full of troops being deployed. Lorryloads of shaven heads —
‘— there is in no sense a crisis —’
There were curfews in English villages. There were curfews on English estates —
‘— no state of emergency —’
Fitzwilliam. Hemsworth. Grimethorpe. Wombwell. Shirebrook. Warsop.
‘— a touch of midsummer madness —’
York Minster had been struck by lightning. York Minster was burning —
‘— acts of God —’
Malcolm Morris stood among the crowd of ten thousand people at the DurhamMiners’ Galaand listened to the speeches —
‘— we will at the end of the day inflict upon Mrs Thatcher the kind of defeat we imposed on Ted Heath in 1972 and 1974 —’
The spectres. Rising from the dread. The rectors. Raising up the dead —
The old ghosts, without and within –
Malcolm Morris spied Neil Fontaine parked in a lay-by in a black Mercedes —
England was a séance, within and without.
*
The SDC had passed the rule change to discipline anyone responsible for actions detrimental to the interests of the Union. The SDC had passed the disciplinary rule change with a two-thirds majority and in defiance of a court injunction.
Terry made the call. Terry used the code. Terry drove up to Hoyland –
Terry was late. Clive Cook was already parked behind the Edmund’s Arms.
Terry walked over to the brand-new Sierra. Terry tapped on the passenger door.
Clive gestured for Terry to get in.
Terry shook his head. Terry walked away.
Clive jumped out of his new Sierra. Clive shouted, ‘Where are you going?’
Terry went back over to stand by his car. Terry waited –
Clive ran after him. Clive grabbed him. Clive said, ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve spoken to Bill Reed.’
Clive let go of Terry. Clive sighed. Clive said, ‘What did he want this time?’
‘I know everything.’
Clive blinked. Clive said, ‘Know what? He’s a fucking liar and a drunk.’
Terry pushed Clive against the car. Terry ripped open Clive’s shirt –
Pulled up his vest.
Clive Cook was shaking. Clive Cook was sobbing.
Terry tore the microphone off his chest. The micro-recorder off his back.
Clive Cook slid down the side of the car –
‘They pay me fifty quid a day,’ Clive Cook wept. ‘Fifty quid. Monday to Friday. A grand a month. Tax free. Just to tell them what they already know.’
Terry threw the equipment onto the ground. Terry stamped on it –
Repeatedly.
Clive Cook looked up at Terry Winters. Clive Cook said, ‘I’m sorry, Comrade.’
Terry grabbed him by his hair. Terry spun him across the car park.
Clive Cook fell on the floor. Clive Cook lay on the ground. Clive Cook smiled –
‘I’m the one you’re meant to find,’ he laughed.
Terry spat on him once. Terry got into his car –
Terry went back to work.
Peter
sound now. Hooves. Horses’ hooves. I start running. Running and running — Like a bastard. A bastard — Shitting bricks. Sweating buckets — I stared up at bedroom ceiling. I was thinking about my father — How my father died. How my father lived — Then alarm went off and I jumped. They said talks were going well. They said there was a dock strike in offing — It was a bloody beautiful day and all. Felt like we were winning — Then I got down Welfare and saw queue. Be double if it weren’t for Women’s Action Group and Welfare Rights folk — It was still out door, like. Knew what half of them were going to say before they’d even opened their gobs and all. Arthur Larkin was back about his compensation claim; Paul Garrett’s wife had had another run-in with YEB; John Edwards was still being given runaround by DHSS; and Mrs Kershaw would want to know why Mrs Wilcox had got two cans of beans in her food parcel and she’d only got one and did I know that some had got a bag of potatoes and others hadn’t? And, while she was here, what about all them tins from Poland. How was that fair? I nodded and wrote down what she said. What they all said — I didn’t say I knew her husband was working cash in hand on a building site in Chesterfield and that was why he never went on a picket. Didn’t say I knew he’d be first on mesh bus when they started it here. I just nodded and wrote down what she said. What they all said — Didn’t say there were folk ten times worse off than them. Folk that never came down here. Folk that never asked for anything. Folk that said thank you when you did see them and gave them something. Folk that didn’t tell us what we already knew — That we were unprepared. That we were badly organized. That things were going to get worse — Folk whose bloody addresses we didn’t even have. Faces we couldn’t remember — You’re not even bloody listening, are you? shouted Mrs Kershaw. Typical. Bloody typical. I nodded and I wrote it down — Day of Jitters, they were calling it down in London. Not up here, they weren’t — Not at Sheffield University. The Extraordinary Annual Conference — High Court or no High Court, we were still here — Here to say you cannot break ranks to our collective disadvantage. Here to accept Rule 51 with a two-thirds majority. Here to say sod state interference. Sod pit closures. Sod scabs — And sod her. King Arthur stood up and we all stood up with him — Through the police, the judiciary, the social security system, he said. Whichever way seems possible, the full weight of the state is being brought to bear upon us in an attempt to try to break this strike. On the picket lines, riot police in full battle gear, on horseback and on foot, accompanied by police dogs, have been unleashed in violent attacks upon our members. In our communities and in our villages, we have seen a level of police harassment and intimidation which organized British trade unionists have never before experienced; the prevention of people to move freely from one part of the country, or even county, to another; the calculated attacks upon striking miners in streets of their villages; the oppressive conditions of bail under which it is hoped to silence, discourage and defeat us — all these tactics constitute outright violation of people’s basic rights. So to working miners, I say this: Search your conscience — Ours is a supremely noble aim: To defend pits, jobs, communities and the right to work, and we are now entering a crucial phase in our battle. The pendulum is swinging in favour of NUM. Sacrifices and hardships have forged a unique commitment among our members. They will ensure that the NUM wins this most crucial battle in the history of our industry. Comrades, I salute you for your magnificent achievement and for your support — Together, we cannot fail! We will not fail! We were stood with him — Stood by him. Stood for him — Shoulder to shoulder we were all stood. And they must have been able to hear applause and cheering in Downing Street — The new war cry: Herewe are — TGWU had voted to extend their strike to all ports. Here we are — Pound had collapsed. Herewe are — Billions had been lost in stocks and shares. HERE. WE. ARE — I drove down to Annesley before Panel today. Took