David Peace - GB84

The Jew opens his eyes. He looks at Neil Fontaine. The Jew smiles. He says, ‘Neil, there are two separate paths for them to choose now; they will either choose the way of the ballot or, better yet, they won’t. Either way, the courts can really roll now –

‘Really, really roll now, Neil.’

*

The Union was alone in an upstairs room in Congress House. There was still no support. Just a few sandwiches. The Union was on its own. Isolated –

‘I remember we gave that bastard an oil lamp back in 1980,’ said the President. ‘He had tears in his eyes. Tears in his eyes because of support our lads had given his lads. Our lads who would rather salvage used steel in old workings than touch any scab steel. Now they sit by sea in Scarborough and their conference applauds the striking miners. Gives us a bloody standing ovation. Promises of moral, financial and physical support. Then they go back to their plants and their offices and handle scab coal and scab coke. There’d have been no need for Orgreave if they did for us what we did for them. Bastards. Bloody bastards. Thank Christ for the railwaymen —’

There was a knock on the door. The President stopped speaking. Terry stood up. He opened the door –

It was just Stan with more sandwiches.

*

Roll up. Roll up. The carnival is back on the road. Roll up. Roll up. The Border Country. Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire. Roll up. Roll up. For this week only –

The fear. The misery.

The Mercedes tours the coalfields with a convoy of pressmen and television vans. The Jew takes them to Bolsover. To Creswell. To Warsop. The Jew shows them the places where gangs of men with wooden sticks wrapped in barbed wire rampage and maraud at night –

Intimidating. Threatening.

Roll up. Roll up. The Jew introduces them to Bolsover Bill. Bill has had his waste pipes blocked. Bill’s house was flooded as a result. This happened to Bill because Bill chooses to work. The Jew tells them that there have been fifty-six attacks upon homes. Ninety-five vehicles damaged –

The intimidation and the fear.

Roll up. Roll up. The Jew introduces them to Creswell Chris. Chris was attacked outside the Top Club. Chris had his leg broken. This happened to Chris because Chris chooses to work. The Jew tells them that there have been sixty-two cases of physical assaults upon men and their families –

The threats and the misery.

Roll up. Roll up. The Jew introduces them to Warsop Wendy. Wendy’s cat was covered with paint. Wendy’s cat is blind now. This happened to Wendy’s cat because Wendy’s husband chooses to work. The Jew tells them there have been countless cases of attacks upon the pets of working miners and their families –

Of fear and misery. Intimidation and threats.

Roll up. Roll up. The Jew leads the carnival on through the Scab Alleys –

Suddenly Neil Fontaine brakes hard. He swerves to the side –

Cavaliers struggle with the broken wheel of a wagon. Purple-frocked men bark orders in the rain and the mud. Crosses around their necks. Rings on their fingers —

Neil Fontaine blinks. He starts the car. He glances in the rearview –

The Jew is staring at the back of Neil’s head. The Jew is watching Neil.

Roll up. Roll up. Finally the Jew brings the carnival to the village of Shirebrook. The ringmaster leads them with their cameras and their pens up the garden path to the home of Stuart Tarns –

The late Stuart Tams.

Mrs Tams shows the gentlemen of the press and the Independent Television News their boarded-up windows, each covered with one single painted word –

Scab.

‘They were getting at the kids,’ says Mrs Tarns. ‘That’s what hurt him the most. He tried to tell them of the hardship he was facing. They would not listen to him. They spat at him. They turned their backs on him. They had been his mates. His colleagues. He bottled everything up. He kept putting off discussing financial matters. He would just go upstairs. He sat in his bedroom alone for long periods. Then the telephone calls started. Nine times they called. They were against our daughters. That was it then. Stuart was put in a position where he had to decide whether to continue to put the children through this ordeal. Stuart chose not to. Stuart chose —’

The Jew puts his arms around Mrs Tarns. The Jew glances at the garage –

The press take their photographs. The press shoot their story.

‘The men who made the telephone calls threatening violence against a twelve-year-old and ten-year-old girl are cowards. Murderers,’ says the Jew. ‘They are not fit to stand side by side, shoulder to shoulder, with miners such as Stuart Tarns. They are a disgrace to the great tradition of mining and mining folk.’

Mrs Tams nods.

The ringmaster leads everybody back down the garden path to stand out on the street. To stand before the skinny hedge and the boarded-up windows covered with that single painted word –

Scab.

The Jew introduces Fred Wallace from Pye Hill –

‘Fred is the spokesman for the Nottinghamshire Working Miners’ Committee. He is here to help any miner, regardless of his area. Here to help any miner who wants to work but is denied that right by his own Union. Any miner who is intimidated and threatened. Any miner’s wife who is intimidated and threatened. Any miner’s children who are intimidated and threatened. Fred is here to tell you that you are not alone. That what happened here to the Tarns family will never again happen –

‘Never!’ shouts the Jew. ‘You are not alone.’

Fred Wallace nods.

‘Fred would also like to add that the Nottinghamshire Working Miners’ Committee will compensate any miner for any act of criminal damage or vandalism to his person, property or vehicle which occurs as a result of his determination to exercise his right to work, if that miner does not himself have insurance,’ says the Jew.

Fred Wallace nods again.

‘My name is Stephen Sweet,’ says the Jew. ‘I am here to help.’

ten thousand that day. Put me in mind of my father and all — Marched with my father that day. He’d be retired now if he were still alive. He’d still march for Joe, though — Banners were out and bands. Arthur, Jack and all lads. Half of us with black eyes and bandages. Piper playing Flowers of the Forest in a right strong wind. Service were at Pontefract Crematorium. It lasted an hour. Then Arthur spoke. He said, We owe it to memory of Joe Green and David Jones to win fight to keep pits open, jobs secure and our mining communities intact, and make no mistake — We are going to win. Magnificent, Arthur was. Needed to be — They weren’t going to charge that TV Copper. Krk-krk. Talk Union might take out a private summons against bastard. He were only one of many, like, but he were one they caught. One they caught on camera, lathering this young lad with his truncheon. That was Great Britain in 1984 for you — Policeman could belt living fucking shit out of an unarmed, shirtless kid on national television and get away with it. Not only that, whole of state jumped to his defence — But if a bloody miner, who had served this country, man and boy for thirty year, if he wanted to stand on a picket line and persuade another man to help him defend his job, his family, his community, his whole way of life, then they’d nick you and charge you — 3444 of us since start of March. Probably a few fucking more today and all — Back on active service. Coal Houseagain. NCB’s Regional Office, Doncaster. Not all lads were impressed. Older blokes especially — Just lasses that work there, said Joey Wood. Tall Paul nodding, too. He said, Going to look bad on telly — Fuck telly, said Brian. It always looks bad on fucking telly. I said, If you don’t want to go, go direct to Harworth for half-eleven — Few of blokes nodded and stayed put. Rest of us went out to cars and vans. Drove straight up to Doncaster, no problem. There for quarter to eight. Parked down a back street. Made us way to Coal House. Not many stormtroopers today. Krk-krk. Them that were there looked a bit shocked when we all rocked up. Made themselves into a police wall for scabs to hide behind. Only enough of them to reach from Police Station to Court House, which was where lads had chased first lot of office scabs they’d come upon. Half-eight scuffles started. Then reinforcements arrived from RAF Newton or Lind-holme or wherever it was they were hiding them this week. Now wall stretched from Court House to doors of Coal House. Nine o’clock and scabs set off — Big push from all lads. Load of bricks thrown at Coal House windows — Lot of lasses who were scabbing had got bags over their faces. Lot of them crying and shaking. Running as fast as they could, like — Not very nice for them. All abuse they got — Then this fucking policeman went through a plate-glass window. That was that then. Load of arrests after that — Sixteen windows broken. Eleven cars damaged. Thirty-seven people assaulted. One thousand pickets — Bloody pointless. Drove back to Welfare.Queue of folk waiting for us as usual — Bills. Debts. Bills. Debts — Bloody DHSS. YEB. Same as fucking usual — They were talking about discipline, Panelwere — NEC were proposing a new national disciplinary rule. Rule 51 — It was a way to clamp down on acts detrimental to Union, meaning Notts mob mainly, though it could be anything: breaking strike by crossing picket line; leaking documents; anything — There was a lot of anger about our own discipline, too. Discipline on our own side — Disobedience. Things that had happened at Coal House — SCC had been dead against it. Lads had still gone — Pissed a lot of folk off, that had. Then there was still anger about Orgreave; Scholey, vice-chairman of BSC himself, he’d been on box saying Orgreave was only a diversion so they could bring in what they needed through Immingham and Trent Wharves. But here we were still arguing toss about whether to picket place or not. I’d heard enough — Enough to last me a lifetime — I stood up. I took out piece Mary had cut from paper. Notes we’d made from news. MacGregor’s told his area directors that a long strike was preferable to an early settlement, I said. Now how’s that