In 1969. In 1972. In 1974. In 1979 —
These were the times and the places where Malcolm Morris had sat and stared into the silences and the spaces —
The loving wife he’d never met and the whore he had. The lovely children they’d never had and the abortions they had.
The waiters did not bring him the menu. The waiters did not take his order —
Malcolm Morris was nothing but a ghost now. Nothing but a shadow —
In 1984 —
A shadow in the back where the light did not reach.
Mr Verloc woke up in his double room at the County. He was naked in his private bath. The water was cold, the shower still running. Mr Verloc dried and dressed himself for the day ahead. Mr Verloc ate breakfast alone with a sore cock and extra toast –
Terry had known it was risky. Diane had known it too. But they just didn’t care. Diane wanted to fuck Mr Verloc in his double room at the County. In his private bath. And Mr Verloc wanted to fuck Diane to thank her for all the things she’d done. So Terry and Diane had waited until the President was back at the Barbican; Paul and Dick in the Crown & Anchor with everyone else. Then Terry had gone to King’s Cross for Diane –
And no one saw them. Not even the moon.
Diane had fucked Mr Verloc in his double room at the County. In his private bath. Then Mr Verloc had fucked Diane to thank her for all the things she had done –
And no one heard them. Not even the man pacing about in the room upstairs.
Mr Verloc finished his breakfast. Mr Verloc went back up to his room to pack. Mr Verloc checked out before Mr Smith.
Terry spent the morning back at Congress House on the phone to Luxembourg –
‘The bank won’t let us move the money until after the court has made its decision as to the validity of the receiver’s claim against us,’ said Mike in Luxembourg.
‘Find out all you can about the judges‚’ Terry told him. ‘And fax it to Bill Reed.’
Terry hung up. Terry went upstairs to the President and the TUC Seven –
The President wasn’t asking for sympathy Just sympathy strikes –
But the Seven said they would need legal advice. The Seven were still worried they would be held in contempt for assisting the National Union of Mineworkers –
The President shook his head again. The President rolled his eyes again –
The President went back to Sheffield.
Terry and Paul went back to court. Terry and Paul took separate taxis.
Hubert Harold Booker had asked to be allowed to resign.
Terry and Paul agreed. They argued he was not a fit and proper person.
The court did not agree. But the court accepted Mr Booker’s resignation.
Terry and Paul asked that the Union be taken out of receivership. Terry and Paul argued that the trustees of the Union were fit and proper persons –
Including the President.
Terry and Paul argued that the trustees were only following the orders of the Union’s National Executive when the money was transferred from British to foreign banks. Terry and Paul argued that the trustees, including the President, were therefore very fit and proper persons to be in charge of other people’s money –
Fit and proper persons. Including the President –
Especially the President.
The High Court did not agree. The High Court appointed a new receiver to take control of the Union’s funds and assets.
The receiver was a Matthew Ruskin. Mr Ruskin planned to leave for Dublin. Mr Ruskin intended to seek the release of the Union’s two and a half million pounds held in a secret bank account there –
Immediately.
Terry and Paul asked for an adjournment. Time to appeal.
The High Court did not agree. The High Court rejected their appeal –
The appointment of Mr Ruskin as receiver stood –
Mr Ruskin held the purse strings now. Mr Ruskin was the boss.
Mr Ruskin left for Dublin –
Immediately.
Terry and Paul travelled back to Sheffield separately. First and second class –
There was still silence on every floor of their building. Still silence in the street –
Just the buckets of rain. The buckets of pain —
The bomb scares and death threats still coming. The letter bombs in the hate mail.
Terry Winters drove back to his three-bedroom home in the suburbs of Sheffield. There were no lights on, the police car still parked outside –
They were all still lepers. Second class, the lot of them –
Forever lepers now.
Peter
Tell them it weren’t like that. That if they stopped scabbing they’d be welcomed back — They didn’t believe me. They saw graffiti all over village — We won’t forget scabs — Drawings of gallows and nooses. Wall of shame up by gates. Signs in pubs and shop windows telling them their business wasn’t wanted — They weren’t daft. Not that daft, anyway — They heard words on picket line as bus sped them inside. They saw faces filled with hate — They’d gone too far. They knew it — They were lost to most folk. Dead — Hammering in distance. Maybe here. Near — I went over to Silverwood on Monday for Panel — Just Mondays at moment. Unless something sudden came up — No more new faces going in. Big back-to-work push had finished. Time to take advantage of their bribes had passed. Our own brass drying up, what with sequestrators and receiver. More bloody cars packing up and all. Packing up or smashed up. Johnny reckoned that had been bloody plan all along — Police had waited until High Court had begun to bite. Then they’d gone in with their truncheons into cars — Not just what had happened to our lads at Brodsworth. Happened everywhere and all on same day — Tyres had been slashed. Windscreens smashed — Knew it meant we wouldn’t be able to fly as much and that saved them brass, I suppose. Main thing now was taking care of business at your own pit — It was twenty-four hour a day now. Front and back — Broke it down into six shifts. Each shift were four hour. Long enough now winter was here. Lads had used this old horse-box to put a little hut up there on front gate. They’d stuck a stove and couple of car seats from scrap inside. Them on back gate just used old snap cabin that was already there. Folk had their preferences, both for time and for folk they’d be stood with. There were family commitments and what-have-you to take into consideration, too. I was in Welfare doing that up when Barry came in to tell me latest — Fucking hell, I said. You’re joking? Barry shook his head. I got my coat and we walked up to Pit. Undermanager was waiting for us by hut. Morning, Pete, he said. I said, There’s floor lift, is there? That what you saying, is it? Under-manager had a big drawing of flood. He said, Just take a look, Pete. Barry and under-manager held corners of paper so I could have a good look. We all got your letter, I said. But what do you expect us to do? Pete, there has to be some safety work done or — Not by my men, I told him. They cross a picket line for any reason, they’re scabs — They came in before in summer, he said. You all helped us then — Aye, I said. There was no picket line then, though, was there? No picket line because there were no bloody scabs. That’s why we helped you. And what thanks did we get? You took bloody scabs back. That’s what thanks we got. Get them to bloody help you — We didn’t want scabs back, he said. Board made us take them. We had to — That’s as-may-be, I said. But there’s a picket line now and no one will cross it — So what do we do? he said. Just let waters keep rising? Let all them bloody scabs you got in there deal with it, I told him. There’s not enough of them and them we have are useless and you know it. I said, You shouldn’t have took them back then, should you? He shook his head. He said, Pit will flood and then there’ll be no bloody work for anyone. That what you want? Look, I said. I’ll phone Barnsley and get Union engineer in. See what he says — Thank you, Pete, said under-manager. Thank you very much — Smell of wood.Mice— Tommy Robb came out minute I phoned. Click-click. Tommy was Union’s mining engineer for this area. He met Barry and me and manager and under-manager. Picket had been taken off for duration of our visit. Tommy wanted to go down straight away. This was a problem because only folk doing winding were members of management union who shouldn’t have been anywhere near bloody winding gear in first place: There was no way Tommy and me and Barry were off down if they were doing winding. That meant I had to get in touch with Winders’ delegate. Click-click. I called him up and he came out to wind us down. That was what I was dreading. Fucking dreading it, I was — Been best part of a year since I was down there. Reason more