David Peace - GB84

‘Then everything will be all right?’ asks the Lord.

The Jew nods. The Chairman nods. The Jew hands the Lord his pen.

‘The Queen won’t have to work in Woolworth’s any more, will she?’

‘No, Johnny,’ says the Jew. ‘The Queen will be fine, if you just sign that.’

The Lord smiles. The Lord signs the cheque. The Lord hands it to the Jew.

‘Thank you very much,’ says the Jew. ‘You’ve turned a bad day into a good one.’

*

The President had appeared before Rotherham Magistrates over charges of obstructing the Queen’s Highway at Orgreave on May 30 1984. The magistrates had found him guilty. The magistrates had fined him two hundred and fifty pounds, plus seven hundred and fifty pounds costs. Meanwhile, the government had agreed to meet the entire costs incurred by the receiver and the sequestrators, and more High Court actions had been brought to make the national and area officials of the Union personally liable for monies spent on the strike. The Nottinghamshire Area had also voted heavily in favour of a new constitution to give them greater autonomy from the National Union of Lepers –

The President was back locked behind his door. Not touching his food.

Len Glover came into Terry Winter’s office. Len didn’t knock –

Terry was sat under the portrait of the President. Terry looked up at Len –

Loyal Len had a bandage across his nose and two black eyes. Someone had thrown a tin of cat food and a can of extra-hold hairspray at the President –

They had missed the President.

Len said, ‘The President wants you to come to Goldthorpe with him.’

Terry shrugged. Terry nodded. Terry put his coat back on.

Loyal Len drove. Terry Winters sat in the back of the Rover with the President. The President talked about moving the families of Union employees into the St James’s building. For protection –

Insurance —

Terry tried not to listen to the President. Terry didn’t want to think about Theresa. Think about Christopher, Timothy or Louise. Terry had enough to think about.

Len parked outside the Goldthorpe Miners’ Welfare Club. Len paid four local lads to watch the Rover. Len and Terry rushed the President out of the back of the car –

Up the steps. Into the hall. Through the crowd –

The rapturous welcome. The thunderous applause –

To the stage and onto the podium.

The President stood on the stage. The President poised at the podium –

The branch banner hanging behind him on the wall.

The President turned to see the branch banner. The President stared at the banner. The President turned back to the hall. The hall packed to capacity. Eager and expectant. The President closed his eyes. The President bowed his head –

The hall silent.

The President opened his eyes. The President raised his head. The President said –

‘You are not saying: “Here we go.” You are saying: “Here we are” –

‘We are here and have found ourselves!

‘And with that spirit, this government and their courts can put their receivers in; they can put their sequestrators in; they can smear us and they can attack us –

‘But there’s one thing for certain: provided we stand firmly together, your Union –

‘Not my union, not any receiver’s union –

‘Your Union is on its way to the greatest victory in history!’

There was rapture. There was thunder –

The President bowed his head. The banner hanging behind him –

Rapture and thunder —

Terry looked at his watch. The clock ticking. The storm soon upon them all.

*

The Chairman goes home to the States for Christmas. The Jew moves down the hall into the Chairman’s office. He cannot go home. He must stay to guard against weakness. Guard against defeat –

Inside and out. Outside and in –

There are still Suits about. There are still Suits out to settle –

Informal talks. Preliminary discussions —

The papers full of Christmas cheer. Hints of hope. Peace in the coalfields.

The Jew shows some Suits the front door and the street. The Jew sends others on compulsory leave. The Chairman has given him permission. Permission to use his name. The Jew uses it. Uses it to guard against weakness –

Defeat.

There are still new battles to win. New campaigns to run –

Here’s something for every miner to think about in the New Year.

The Jew already knows his New Year’s resolution. It’s the one he always makes –

For the worldwide defeat of Marxism, Communism and all forms of Socialism.

The Jew has good reason to believe his wish might finally arrive in ’85.

The Prime Minister has invited the Jew to dinner with Mikhail Gorbachev. Mr Gorbachev is from the Politburo. Mr Gorbachev is tipped for the top. The Prime Minister says Mr Gorbachev is a man they can do business with.

The Jew hopes the PM is right. The Jew will put Mr Gorbachev to the test. The Jew will ask Mr Gorbachev to stop all Soviet support for the NUM –

For the worldwide defeat of Marxism, Communism and all forms of Socialism.

The Jew can’t wait to meet Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev –

For the New Year to begin. For this Christmas to end –

Foul feast of the pagan and the Roman.

The Jew hates Christmas. Neil, too.

than any other I got involved with doing Union — Hammering stops. Mice gone — I didn’t want to be down there any more. I hated it. But I wasn’t going to show it today. Not in front of management. Not in front of scabs — They’d actually had sense to lock scabs up when we went through yard. Must have stuck them in offices or somewhere. Thing was, I was that worried about going back down that I didn’t think about scabs. I got into cagewith Tommy and Barry and manager and we went down — Different noise now — No one spoke until we got down thereand Tommy started to have a look about. Took him for ever, it did — Fucking for ever. I thought I was going to collapse. That bloody nervous — Slightest sound set us off and there’s always strange fucking noises down there. Especially with water. I don’t think I spoke once whole time I was down there — Three and a half fucking hours. It was worst when we were going back up — Thing was out of practice and it was stopping and starting like an old fucking woman. Longest fucking ride up I’d ever had — It were worth it, though, I suppose. Tommy said it wasn’t that bad. There was no need for lads to go in. There was enough of management there to deal with it. Thing now was to get message out to all lads. Fucking rumours flying about — Pit was falling to bits. Pit was going to be lost. Be no pit to go back to — Must have been coming from scabs, most of it. Had to be. Even after we’d been down, there were still them that said we hadn’t — That it was a lie and we’d never gone down. That pit was too flooded even to check on it. That it’d be shut before Christmas if lads didn’t go back in and start on safety work — Pack of lies. Bloody lies — But fucking hell, did folk go on about it. They’d come up to you in street and call you a liar to your face — I couldn’t be doing with it. Not now — I just gave them Tommy’s number at Huddersfteld Road. Told them to phone him themselves. Did my head in, to be honest. These fucking rumours — No end to them. To any of it — Sound of hooves. Horses’ hooves again — Latest police trick was to take photos of folk up at picket line. Smile . Lot of rumours again about why they were doing that. Folk reckoned it was because they were going through all film they had of mass pickets. Using photos to identify anyone who they’d caught on tape throwing. That way police could nick them and Board could sack them. Then there’d be no need for mass redundancies. Half of workforce would have already been sacked. That was rumour anyway. That and talk about privatization of pits, too. That was another big one doing rounds. This was reason why so many had got so agitated about flooding and general state of pit — No one was going to buy a broken pit, were they? Top of all that, you had business with Nottingham changing their rulebook. Moving closer to UDI–It was going to happen. That was obvious — Good riddance to bad rubbish, said most blokes. They’d come crawling back like last time — But then brave talk stopped and rumours started up about future of NUM. About what would happen if there were two unions and so on — Rumours. Tension — It was all scabs’ doing. They had no shame these days — There was one older bloke who had been on bloody committee at one time. Had always claimed he was right Militant. Even been to Soviet Union with King Arthur once. Liked to tell you how it was paradise on Earth. Two of others had been two of hardest we’d had on picket lines. Dead keen, they’d been. Liked nothing better than a scrap with coppers. Had called first scab all names under sun. Now they were sat on scab bus, laughing and waving at all their old mates on picket line. It were these three who were behind all rumours — Rumours that filled emptiness. That was thing that made it worse — Never any bloody news to give lads. Rumours were all they had — Dark days now. Days when I’d walk round village and it was like walking round village of dead— Like one of them old photos or something. Little figures all thin and drawn — Their clothes hanging off them. Pushing their babies down to Welfare — Ladies going through bundles of other folk’s clothes. Cast-offs and hand-me-downs — Putting tins and packets into boxes. Making three meals