David Peace - GB84

Just one last and final prayer.

*

Mardy Colliery, the very last of the Rhondda pits and forever known as Little Moscow, had voted for an orderly return to work –

The Last Waltz had begun —

‘My concern now is with holding the line,’ said Paul. ‘This is not the time to bow our heads. Not the time to go back to work defeated. This is the time to close ranks –

‘And urge our members to stand firm, to sustain us through this difficult period. Help us over this last hurdle —’

Nobody nodded. Nobody was listening –

‘There’s no prospect of victory now,’ warned Gareth Thomas from South Wales. ‘Not the kind of victory we were all so sure we could achieve a year ago in March 1984. What we must make sure of now is that we do not abuse the loyalty that has been shown to us by the thousands of miners throughout this country, and that loyalty demands –

‘Leadership. Leadership. Leadership! Or there’ll be no Union to lead!’

The leadership met. Again . For seven hours the Executive met. Again –

The Executive leadership prepared now to sign the NACODS agreement –

The leadership desperate to sign the NACODS agreement –

To sign it here. To sign it today. To sign it now –

The Executive called Hobart House. Click-click . The Executive called again –

Again and again and again and again, the leadership called Hobart House –

Click-click . But no one was answering the telephones down at Hobart House –

Click-click. No need to answer them. Click-click. Nothing more to say –

This morning 1114 had gone back. This morning 50.74. per cent of all miners were back.

The majority of the men were gone. The majority of the money was gone –

It was all over. Here. Today. Now —

But Kent and Yorkshire still wanted to stay out to reach a negotiated settlement –

South Wales, with still the fewest scabs, had other ideas –

‘We came out as one,’ they said again. ‘We will go in as one.’

‘It is unreasonable on humanitarian grounds’, agreed Durham, ‘to call upon the membership to endure still further pain and still further sacrifice, to themselves and their families, in loyalty to this Union —’

But there would be further pain and there would be further sacrifice –

For the men. For their families. For their Union –

For weeks. For months. For years and years to come –

‘For there can be no reconciliation,’ said Scotland, ‘until there is an amnesty.’

‘The Coal Board, at the insistence of the government,’ reiterated the President, ‘is not prepared to negotiate. It is a complete war of attrition –

‘And we shall have to take a decision in the best interests of our members.’

Four decisions before them. Four last choices –

To stay out, or to accept the National Coal Board’s offer –

To return without an amnesty, or to return with one.

The Executive called a Special Delegate Conference for Sunday 3 March.

The Executive left the Conference Room one by one –

Back to their local areas. Their panels and their branches. Their local TV studios –

The President sat alone at the table. The President dried his eyes –

He looked up at the empty chairs. The empty table. The empty room –

The heavy curtains. The chipped cups. The two-way mirrors. The hidden bugs –

‘Are you hardcore?’ he asked Terry. ‘Are you hardcore, Comrade?’

Terry picked up his files. His notes and his sums. Terry picked up his calculator –

‘If I flinch from the flames,’ said the President. ‘Believe not a word I have said.’

Terry left the table. The room and the building. Terry left the President alone –

To his dreams of victory in his night of defeat —

‘We are but halfway between Dunkirk and D-Day,’ he shouted after them all. ‘But halfway, Comrades. On the greatest march this world has ever seen —’

Even in winter the days were too long, the nights old and wrong —

They sat in overheated huts. They stood around unlit braziers —

They clapped their hands. They stamped their feet. They woke the Dead.

They had swapped their badges for cigarettes. Their banners for beer –

There were two teenage brothers. Their bodies black, their faces blue —

Spoil fell from their mouths when they said, ‘You don’t remember us, do you?’

Malcolm shook his head. Blood dripped from his holes. From her scissors —

In the shadows. The ghosts without. In the silence. The ghost within –

And then Malcolm nodded. For then Malcolm knew —

This was how it felt to be dead. To be buried –

Under the ground.

Terry changed class as the train approached King’s Cross. It would end here, in London –

Not in Sheffield. Not in Mansfield. Not in Scotland. Not in Wales —

Terry pushed two suitcases and his briefcase along the platform to the lockers –

Here in London. Today or tomorrow. Saturday night. Sunday morning —

Terry put Suitcase 36 into Locker 27. Terry put the key into an envelope –

There was a meeting of the Leftto make decisions for the Executive Committee –

Terry put the envelope in the concourse letterbox. Terry went out to the taxi rank –

The Executive meeting to make decisions for Sunday’s Delegate Conference —

Terry got out. Terry paid the driver. Terry checked in to his room at the County –

The Special Delegate Conference to make decisions for their members —

Terry spat blood in his handkerchief. Terry took another handful of aspirins –

Their members standing in the rain. Their members swinging in the wind.

Terry washed his hands. Again and again . Terry looked at his watch. Tick-tock —

Days to go now. Hours to go. Minutes to go —

Terry picked up the phone. Click-click . Terry called Diane as planned –

They spoke of signals. Tickets and times . They conversed in code –

Terry hung up. Terry went down the stairs and along to the North Sea Fisheries. Dick and Paul and Len on one table. Joan and Alice and the President on the next –

They had all finished eating. Tick-tock . They were waiting for Terry to pay –

Terry paid for the six specials. Terry followed them along to the policy session. Terry kept to his chair in the corner. His mouth shut. His eye on the ball –

Days to go. Hours to go. Minutes to go —

They argued and they argued. Back and forth . They argued and they argued –

Broken words. Broken promises. Broken backs. Broken hearts –

The President threw tantrums. Broken cups . The President threw fits –

The Left achieved nothing. Nothing. Ever . The Left never met again –

Terry paid for twenty breakfasts and followed them to the Executive Committee. Terry kept his chair by the door. Mouth shut. Eye on the ball –

Hours to go now. Minutes to go –

They argued and they argued. Back and forth . They argued and they argued –

The Executive had the choices before them. Decisions to make, courses to take. But the Executive could make no recommendations to the delegates –

Hours to go. Minutes to go –

They voted 11–11 not to recommend the South Wales motion for a return to work. They voted 11–11 not to recommend the Yorkshire motion to strike on for an amnesty –