David Peace - GB84

Monday 11 — Sunday 17 June 1984

Operation Vengeance. Imported from Ulster. Updated for Yorkshire. Computer recording equipment activated by voice-imprint, the speaking of selected words, the coincidence of individual listed or unlisted telephone numbers, and the combinations of telephone numbers and/or area codes. Recordings filed and cross-referenced with terminal surveillance records on all employees of the National Union of Mineworkers, their families, friends and known sympathizers. This included, but was not limited to, the home phone numbers of all members of the National Union of Mineworkers; the home and office phone numbers of the owners of all vehicles logged in noteworthy circumstances in the Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire coalfields; all public telephones in the Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire coalfields. Information cross-referenced with data from the Department of Health and Social Security, the Inland Revenue and the Union, company and personal bank accounts of the above via two hundred and fifty terminals nationwide. The movement of all persons and assets could be further tracked byGCHQCheltenham in tandem with NSAC-groupnetwork via the Morwenstow and MenwithHillstations –

Operation Vengeance. Imported from Ulster. Updated for Yorkshire —

By Malcolm Morris —

‘— picked them until they bled —’

Malcolm Gordon Morris, forty, government fairy –

Tinkerbell.

‘—told her, leave them bloody scabs alone. Would she? Would she —’

For the collection of words —

The air full of them. Everywhere. Heard but not seen —

Expressions. Assertions. Declarations. Statements. Utterances. Asseverations Designations. Locutions. Affirmations. Pledges. Promises. Guarantees Assurances. Commitments. Reports. News. Information. Accounts. Intelligence. Advice. Tidings. Greetings. Phrases. Secrets. Passwords. Catchwords. Watchwords. Shibboleths. Signals. Calls. Signs. Countersigns Codes. Commands. Orders. Announcements. Enunciation. Proclamations Pronouncements. Judgements. Rows. Polemics. Quarrels. Feuds. Altercations. Contentions. Debates. Arguments. Shouts. Questions. Answers. Responses. Facts. Figures. Messages. Interactions. Interplay. Intercourse. Transmissions. Connections. Contacts. Intercommunications. Communications. Interchange. Notifications. Telling. Discussion. Articulation. Rhetoric. Vocalization. Dialogue. Discourse. Speech. Comment. Remark. Observation. Opinion. Critique. Wisecrack. Prattle. Conference. Confabulations. Chatter. Rumours. Gossip. Hearsay. Tattle. Scandal. Suggestions. Hints. Undertones. Murmurs. Grumbles. Mumbles. Whimpers. Lies.Cries. Whispers. Talk —

‘— sent up the horses, brained us, knocked shit out of us, to disperse us, he said —’

Talk. All talk. Nothing but talk —

Language. The air full of it. Everywhere —

‘— ruptured blood vessels in his chest which caused a massive accumulation of —’

Words and –

‘— blood around his heart —’

Death.

Terry was out of the talks again. Terry took another aspirin. Fuck them –

One day in. The next day out. In. Out. In. Out. Piss Terry all about. Fuck them –

Fuck them. Fuck them. Fuck them —

It was a waste of petrol anyway. Terry knew that –

Terry had seen the so-called shopping list: the settlement of the pay dispute; early retirement; a shorter working week; extra holidays –

The President thought the Chairman was on the ropes. Terry didn’t –

Terry had just finished reading the interview with the Chairman in today’s Times. The Chairman had described the President as a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde character.

A waste of petrol. A waste of breath. Terry could read their minds –

The Board were winning the legal actions; they were getting men back in Derbyshire day by day; the scabs unseating the pro-strike delegates in the Nottinghamshire branch elections. The government were further cutting off benefits one by one; they were saying they had coal enough until the New Year –

Repeatedly.

A waste of petrol. A waste of breath. A waste of time. It was up to Terry –

Terry Winters would save the day. Terry packed his briefcase. His papers and his pens. His facts and his figures. He locked up his office. He checked the door –

Fuck them all.

There was a Denim in the lift. He said, ‘Missed you on the march, Comrade.’

Terry put his finger to his lips. He whispered, ‘Union business, Comrade.’

The Denim looked at Terry. The Denim raised his eyebrows.

Terry tapped the end of his nose. He winked at him (glad it wasn’t a Tweed) –

Fuck him. Fuck them all.

Terry got his car. He drove out to Huddersfield Road. He’d left it too long –

Clive had kept phoning. Kept leaving messages. Never using the code.

Terry parked outside the headquarters of the Yorkshire NUM. Terry went inside. Terry went upstairs. Terry knocked on the door of the Yorkshire Area Finance Officer. Terry didn’t wait. Terry went straight in –

Clive Cook looked up. Clive shook his head. He said, ‘Fuck —’

Terry put his finger to his lips again. He said, ‘Walls have ears, Comrade.’

Clive shook his head. He got his coat. He followed Terry down the stairs –

Clive and Terry went for a walk. They found a bench in the sun.

Clive said, ‘Me and Gareth have been talking. We’re worried …’

‘What about?’

Clive sighed. He said, ‘The money. What do you think we’re worried about?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Terry. ‘The strike? The hardship? The legal issues …’

Clive said, ‘People are beginning to ask questions.’

‘And that’s exactly why we’ve done what we’ve done,’ said Terry.

Clive said, ‘These are our own people asking the questions. Not just Bill Reed.’

‘Let them ask.’

Clive held out his hands. Clive said, ‘So what do we tell them?’

‘You tell them to ask me,’ said Terry. ‘That’s what you tell them.’

‘The President knows what we’re doing?’ asked Clive. ‘Supports us?’

Terry leant into his face. He said, ‘Who got Bill Reed off your back, Comrade?’

‘But who put him on my back in the first —’

Terry poked Clive in his chest. Terry said, ‘Who? Who was it, Comrade?’

Clive Cook closed his eyes. Clive Cook nodded.

Terry stood up. Terry said, ‘The battle hasn’t even begun yet, Comrade.’

Clive opened his eyes. Clive looked up at Terry. Clive said nothing.

‘They’re laying traps,’ said Terry. ‘Setting out the bait. But I’m ready for them.’

Clive stood up now. Clive sighed. Clive said, ‘I really fucking hope you are.’

‘Trust me,’ said Terry Winters, his hand on Clive Cook. ‘Trust me, Comrade.’

Clive shook Terry off. Clive headed back to the office.

Terry watched him go. Terry banged his head against the trunk of a tree –

The stupid things he said.

Go, go, go, go, go —

‘We are on target for more and more conflict.’

Edinburgh down to Sheffield. Sheffield out to Rotherham –

The Clifton Park Hotel, Rotherham —

Cole said, ‘This is the place the press have been using for Orgreave.’

‘Place is tidy, then?‘Malcolm asked him.

Cole flicked through the notes on his lap. He said, ‘Bar the Conference Suite.’

Fuck. Malcolm looked at his watch. He put his foot down —

Go, go, go, go —