73. Wednesday July 25th, 1984.

The mood of the men this morning was very militant, especially amongst the Durham lads, and I saw all the lads I’ve come to respect, Tommy Ashurst from Easington, ‘Cosh’ from Herrington, and lads from Wearmouth and Sacriston, all of them up for a fight.

This morning’s picket began with a push that was quickly broken up by cowardly bastards throwing stones from the back, one of them hitting a lad just in front of me and splitting the back of his head open. Some of us ran to the back of the picket and told the lads either to join the push or fuck off! We formed up again and linked arms, but this time I was on the outside of the front line. i was trying to avoid the crush for once but there wasn’t much difference. We crashed into the police lines and began a strong push. The ‘man down’ shout went up but this time most of us ignored it and continued pushing. as I was out on the edge I could move more and to my shock I spotted a man getting trampled on the floor. I shouted for help and grabbed his arm and began pulling him out. Other lads helped and we got him to the side of the road. he looked in his fifties and his face was white and he was unconcious. Another lad took over who said he was a first aider and I rejoined the push. It broke up angrily, and the pickets were furious because there’d been loads of arrests and at least a dozen lads injured. The man I helped pull out had had a heart attack but was still alive as they took him away. the lads were saying that the pigs had been vicious and had deliberately tripped lads up and then gave them a kicking when they were down!. Punches were aimed at stomachs and faces and the violence had really gone up from the pigs.

Our response was a hail of missiles raining down on the pigs, with loud cheers when one of them went down. In my opinion that was just stupid because it’ll just make them worse next time we clash. anyway the situation was diffused by one of the Scottish union officials telling everyone to assemble at the Dalkeith Strike Centre for a special meeting to discuss tactics. a real novelty.

When our coach got there we were given a standing ovation from the Scots pickets for our support, and the 100 Durham lads arrested and in hospital. There must have been about 700 men in the hall and I was wondering how we could never get more than 200 on the picket line.

The Delegate from Monktonhall gave a rip roaring speech that spoke of defying the police and ended by urging us all to go to Bilston Glen ‘the noo’, and take the pigs by surprise and take control of the main entrance to the pit. this was greeted with loud roars of approval and we all started to pile out of the hall and into cars and coaches to take the ‘Glen’. There was a real positive buzz on our coach because we felt there was a real chance of us achieving something solid. We were wrong!

Our coach was the first to arrive and we filed out and stood defiantly in front of the gate, which was ‘guarded’ by a few security men. More lads started to arrive in dribs and drabs but not the hundreds we were expecting. At most we were 200 but at least our hosts from Arniston and Penicuik stood alongside us. Some of us wanted to invade the pit and occupy it because our numbers were too small to hold the gate. Lads started to talk about riot police with dogs being inside the pit so we just stood in front of the entrance with the sun beating down on us. the only event of any note was the arrival of a car full of pensioners come to see about their fuel allowance so we let them through. The guards turned them back and I guessed that meant we were in for trouble.

I had just taken off my shirt and given it to Marlene, who was across the road, for safe keeping when double decker buses full of pigs started to arrive. I ran back and joined the back row of pickets right in front of the barrier and gasped. there were bloody hundreds of them, lining up in ranks and marching to stand in front of us. There were ambulances and police vans rolling up, and they started to rush into the pit yard behind us, coming from the sides. We linked arms and steeled ourselves.

We didn’t stand a chance! We were bloody massacred! Without any warning they crashed into our front ranks and forced us back. I was terrified I was going to break my back as we were forced hard up against the barrier so i pushed forward with all my might to get away. Suddenly an arm snaked around my neck and I was choking and forced to leave go of the lads either side of me as I struggled to free the arm. I kicked backwards and the arm went and I pushed forward again. My luck ran out when my arm was grabbed and in an instant I found myself up against the barrier facing two pigs. One of them grabbed me by my ears and pulled me over the barrier and I landed on my head. I felt blood on my face but before I could do anything boots started to fly into me and I tried to curl up to protect myself, arms covering my face. I’ll never forget one of the pigs saying as he kicked,’ Ah’ll teach you to interrupt ma fuckin’ dinner’. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so bloody painful. They dragged me over to a van and literally threw me into the back of it, where I was badly trampled by some pigs getting out. One bastard deliberately kicked me in the head as he got out! A picket helped me onto the bench that lined the van and I was suffering from double vision and pain everywhere. Another man was thrown into the van and even with my blurred vision I could see he was in trouble with his breathing and was in a lot of pain. a lad shouted for an ambulance but they just ignored us. The man was also helped onto the bench.

After a hazy ten minutes or so in the van I was roughly grabbed and told to get out, then I was frogmarched to another van with my arm up my back and shoved in. The first thing I saw was Butch grinning at me and I sat next to him. We swapped tales of how we’d been lifted whilst a poor lad lay on the floor with a broken ankle moaning loudly. he was in agony and his face was contorted with pain. The whole thing was made worse because it was sweltering hot inside the van because we had no ventilation. We shouted for an ambulance and the door opened and a pig told us one had been sent for. We could plainly see an ambulance just outside and when we pointed this out the pig told us it was for police use only! I couldn’t believe it and said to Butch that they wouldn’t be putting that on the telly or in the papers. That lad was forced to wait for 35 minutes in sauna like heat whilst an ambulance stood empty outside. Outrageous! Thatcher’s Britain 1984. We know who the ‘enemy within’ really is after today.

We were kept waiting in that bloody van for over an hour and there was a puddle of sweat at our feet. The only thing that kept us amused was the fact that one of our fellow prisoners was the toilet cleaner from Dalkeith who had got carried along with the enthusiasm and found himself arrested. He kept saying,’They can’t arrest me. Ahm no a miner. I’m in NUPE’! He amused Butch and me anyway.

We were eventually taken up the road to Dalkeith Police Station, photographed and charged, then put into cells. I had one to myself which was clean, with a toilet bowl in the corner and a thin mattress along one wall, opposite the grey door. The only light came weakly through thick glass tiles and I regretted having taken off my shirt because it was quite chilly. I lay on the thin mattress and tried to get some sleep, though my head and ribs were aching badly. I had a cut on my head and a black eye. I was roused from my attempt by Butch calling my name. I went to the hatch in the door, which had been left open, and looked out. At another hatch opposite and to my right I could see Butch grinning like a loony, proudly displaying a pig’s silver button. I couldn’t believe his nerve and had to laugh when i tried to imagine where he’d hidden it when we got searched. Butch is a good laugh, and a good picket and he cheered me up a bit.

I was lying down again when I heard voices and a key turn in the lock. I jumped to my feet as two westoe lads were shoved into the cell, Geordie Allen and John Scott. They told me there were 12 Westoe lads in the cells and we spent ages talking about what we’d seen and heard. Geordie Pape’s son had been taken to hospital and his dad was really worried about him until he was brought into the cells a couple of hours later, bruised and battered, but fine. I got bored and started to write my name on the cell wall. Geordie and John were laughing at my gyrations and asked what the hell I was writing with. They laughed when I showed them my fly zipper!

We were finally fed by a policewoman at 6.30 who shoved three paper plates of fishcake, chips and peas through the hatch, and some lemonade supplied by the NUM and 3 cigarettes. I was so hungry I almost ate the plate as well. As John and me smoked our fag, and shared Geordies cos he doesn’t smoke, Geordie shouted for seconds through the hatch, and we were gobsmacked when three more plates of food were passed through. Geordie started on his but John and me held back feeling sure they’d made a mistake. However, hunger got the better of us and we gobbled up the warm food, giggling like loonies between gobfulls of food. I heard a gruff Scots voice calling to us so I went to the hatch. An angry looking Scotsman shouted,’Yous Geordie bastards have eaten wor dinner’! I ducked down to tell the others and we couldn’t help laughing whilst the Scotsmans protests got louder. We heard him arguing with the policewoman that the men in his cell had not been fed, with her shouting back that 33 meals had been served so they must’ve been fed.. It was only after the pigs had searched their cell for empty plates and found none that the lads finally got their food.

We were released at 8.30 and told that although we were free to picket we would be banned from every picket line in Britain if we got lifted again. He also told us we would hear by post when we were due to appear in court.

We had a few pints and then headed for an early night to be ready for the morning picket.

71. Monday July 23rd, 1984.

I had an early start to the day, getting up at 3.30am so I could get to the Armstrong Hall for 4.30 and get a lift to Tow Law. My first day back since May and it was a big disappointment. Apathy was rampant and there were only about 100 pickets. Just a bit of loud shouting when the lorries sped in. The ‘highlight’ of the picket was when someone threw an egg at a copper and missed by a mile.

The order came through to call in at the Philadelphia Workshops near Houghton le Spring where there was a picket to try and stop COSA staff from going into work. I had a run in with a vicious pig who really pushed me hard in the chest for no other reason other than I was facing him! I went for him but some lads came to my rescue and we got away from the front. Time to go home.

This afternoon I got a phone call from Gary telling me that a coach was leaving from the hall to go to Scotland and that 55 men were required. I rang the union and volunteered and was told to report to the hall at 5.30pm with a sleeping bag.

I went down to the Women’s Aid Refuge and told Kath I was off to Scotland again. She seemed resigned and warned me not to get arrested. She told me to be careful and ring her to let her know what was going on.

We arrived at Dalkeith Strike Centre at 9.30pm and it was a much more relaxed journey than the one we had last month. We only stayed a few minutes whilst details of accomodation were picked up. We were to be in Arniston and Penicuik but a bit of a row broke out because the people in Arniston wanted the lads who had stayed there last week to return. This caused the lads who hadn’t stayed there to think it was the best place to stay and demanded that the ‘rubs be put in’. I couldn’t be arsed to join in such a petty squabble so I volunteered for Penicuik. The SWP already had a few members there so I wanted to experience something new, and meet more people.

After dropping off half the lads in Arniston we headed for Penicuik, stopping off at Shottstown Miners Welfare for a piss. I wasn’t too surprised to see the two union officials from Westoe, sent to help co – ordination, were with us, leaving no one in Arniston to co – ordinate with. We spotted none other than Mick McGahey sitting at a table full of empty whisky glasses. A lot of the lads were excited to see him but not me. I’d met him before and also heard loads of tales.

We were given soup and bread, and a free pint, and as we were eating Mick came swaying over to give us a pep talk. His speech was slurred and it was sad to see a man who was once one of the top fighters in the NUM reduced to a drunken old man. He spoke of his hope of renewed talks bringing about a quick settlement, but when the men started to ask questions about the Incentive Scheme, the 4 day week and sacked miners he just put on his most sincere face and voice and promised us there’d be no sell out! He put enough money behind the bar for 2 pints for each man so we all cheered loudly as he left. He called back and said he was seeing Arthur in the morning and he would tell him what a fine body of men we are. Bullshit!

Exit Mick Senior, enter Mick Junior, a big lad with thick glasses, curly hair and a flair for organisation. Within minutes we had all been allocated places to stay and were on our way.

Dave Butchard, Micky Cunningham, Andy Halliday and me were all sent to the home of Willie and Marlene Forsyth. Andy got the couch because he’s ancient, over 50. Dave, Micky and me got the son’s bedroom, a bit cramped but fine. As I try to note this down ‘Butch’ is poncing round the floor in his silk underpants, a horrible sight, and I get a strong feeling we won’t get much sleep because Butch is as mad as a hatter. Anyway, the Forsyths have made us feel really at home so roll on tomorrow.

63. Tuesday June 26th, 1984.

I got no sleep at all last night, and after picketing at Bilston Glen this morning I managed to grab an hour in the TV room of the club before being turfed out by the cleaning woman.

Scotland’s showpiece pit didn’t impress by its outward appearance, looking tiny in comparison with Westoe and Wearmouth. We all assembled at a social club just down the road from the pub and a man who the Scots lads called ‘Gadaffi’ made it perfectly clear he was in charge and would organise tactics. We followed him up the road until we were forced to halt by a double line of police across the road. Gadaffi urged us to follow him, about 200 of us, and we made our way through a housing estate and ended up on a road that ran at right angles to the pit. Apparently scabs drove up this road and we were going to block it off. We lined up across the road and initially caught the police napping but not enough men were prepared to attack the pit entrance and the police arrived in numbers and lined up so we were facing each other. Within minutes a push had started and we began to force them back a few yards before police started rushing in behind us and a lot of men scattered. We fell back and regrouped, linked arms and clashed heavily with the pigs, forcing them slowly backwards until the cry of, ‘man down’ went up and forced us to ease off, only to find no one was down and we’d been conned by the pigs. The pigs took full advantage of our confusion and began forcing us backwards, with some of the bastards lashing out viciously with feet and fists. Some of us retaliated and a few lads were dragged away through police lines.

There was a building site to our right and some of the lads grabbed bricks from here and began lobbing them at the advancing pigs. We beat a hasty retreat and I was one of the fortunate ones to escape unscathed. I cautiously made my way back to the main entrance where the rest of the picket was spent without any further incident.

As we were about to leave at 8.30 I spotted the Scottish NUM leaders, Mick McGahey and Eric Clarke coming through police lines. They joined the ‘official’ six man picket. I asked them if it was possible to co-ordinate the pickets more effectively so we  could concentrate our forces at the best points. McGahey’s reply is classic, ‘Picketing has nothing to do with me son’. I should have known better than to ask such a question of such a leading figure in the class war!

We had breakfast in Dalkeith before being told to gather our things before being moved to better accomodation. Gary and I were to stay with a lad called Kenny McCormack, whom we’d met at the SWP miners meeting in Doncaster. We were going to stay at his uncles house in Arniston, a small mining village about seven miles from Edinburgh. We put our stuff in the house then had dinner in the local miners welfare, soup followed by mince and ‘tatties’. I just had the soup and ‘tatties’ because I’m a vegetarian, much to the amusement of my fellow pickets. We’d barely time to breathe before setting off for the afternoon picket at Bilston Glen.

The sun was burning hot and I was dressed for it in white jacket,shirt,trousers and white shoes. The lads all took the piss and voted me best dressed picket but I was going to the theatre after the picket and wanted to look as smart as I could.

There was an excellent turnout of about 400 men and at least 50 women and we were all confident of a breakthrough. We all linked arms and formed up into a solid block in the road, marching towards the police lines chanting,’Here we go.here we go etc.

The pigs didn’t know what hit them as we forced them back strongly. Unfortunately double decker buses full of pigs soon arrived to reinforce their lines and stopped our progress. The crush was terrible and I lost my shoe,having difficulty hopping on one foot to avoid my foot being trampled. The push broke down as pigs started hitting lads again and we scattered. I went back to find my shoe and was lucky to get it. One of my Westoe mates wasn’t so lucky doing the same thing and got arrested, along with Bede and Gordon trying to help him. It was a bad day for arrests with over 30 lads lifted but that has just made us more determined to return in the morning for another go.

I made my way into Edinburgh to watch my mate, Stuart Hepburn, perform in Chekhov’s,’Three Sisters’. I did feel a bit out of place amongst the posh perfumes and people but I really enjoyed the play. It was excellent, and nice to catch up with Stuart afterwards and have a few pints. He kindly paid for a taxi back to Arniston but I couldn’t remember Kenny’s address and so was forced to find our parked coach, and I’ll have to kip here tonight.