81. Thursday August 23rd, 1984.

The bloody fence was still there when we arrived at Wearmouth this morning so someone suggested we blockade the nearby Wear Bridge to highlight what is happening at Wearmouth. We all started to march off up the road to cut off the rush hour traffic into Sunderland at 8.15am. As we set off the pigs stayed where they were, hundreds of them, probably because they thought it was a tactic to draw them away. Just before we reached the bridge two motorcycle cops tried to block our progress. Someone lobbed a brick which hit one of the pigs on his crash helmet, causing the stupid bastard to lunge himself into a crowd of pickets in a vain attempt to nick the culprit. Unfortunately for him he tripped over an outstretched leg and crashed heavily to the ground where he lay apparently unconcious until someone stubbed their toe against his crash helmet, causing him to jump to his feet. When he saw he was on his own he fell down unconcious again. We marched past him, content that he had been given a small dose of his own medicine.

We stopped all the traffic but then men began to drift off towards the shipyards, enjoying the freedom to roam, stoning any police vehicle foolish enough to get too close. A car driver wound down his window and warned us there was a large body of police waiting for us up the road so we cut off down a side road that brought us out opposite the police station and the DHSS. Within minutes there wasn’t a pane of glass left in either building. Unfortunately the pigs got organised and charged at us, splitting us into two groups. I was lucky enough to stay with the largest group and avoided capture. The other group was not so lucky, with 13 arrests being made. One of the Westoe lads was chased down by the river by 3 pigs and was overjoyed when shipyard workers came out and started pelting the pigs with nuts and bolts, forcing them to retreat! Now that’s solidarity for you, and it DOES work.

The media have had a field day, calling us thugs and hooligans, and reported that, ‘A brave motorcycle policeman was dragged from his bike and beaten unconcious by violent thugs’. We know the truth and people should realise that what happened this morning was a reaction to all the shit miners and their families have been suffering for months.

The dock strike is on and already the media are trying to undermine it by calling it a set up job between Scargill and the TGWU leaders, and calling on ‘responsible’ dockers to scab. Bastards!!

MacGregor has offered the scabs a 5.2% pay rise if they agree to work overtime. I expect they’ll take it.

70. Saturday July 14th, 1984.

Today should have been the 101st Durham Miners Gala but because of the strike it’s been called a rally instead. I fail to see the logic behind the name change but there you go.

The Westoe contingent, two bus loads, left the Armstrong Hall at 8.45, half an hour late due to another cock up by our Lodge officials. It was pissing down with rain, and on a normal Gala day this wouldn’t have dampened our spirits but 18 weeks into a strike it did. Everyone seemed quiet, though a few of the pickets were in a very optimistic mood due to the dockers having come out on strike earlier this week and they talked enthusiastically about Thatcher not being able to fight on two fronts. Admittedly the dockers have the power to really damage the Tories but the bastards are clever and I can’t see them letting it happen. They’ve come too far and will find any way to compromise, just as they did with the railway workers. I hope I’m wrong, but the TV and the papers are doing all they can to stop a dual front.

The rain was still pouring down when we arrived in Durham and we tramped onto a wet field to get ready for the march. I had brought Jennifer and Sasha along with me and they were just enjoying the whole experience. Kath had refused to come, choosing to go shopping instead. I wasn’t too surprised when it was discovered that the poles for our lodge banner had gone missing, and when they were finally found and fitted, we were almost last in the procession.

There were banners from every coalfield, including Scotland and Wales, and it was a really colourful spectacle. We lined up behind the Cortonwood banner and there were ‘Victory to the Miners’ and ‘Unite to Fight’ placards everywhere. Some people had even turned them into rain hats. The brass bands were playing and we set off to march through the city, down towards the racecourse by the river where the rally was to be held. Jennifer and Sasha’s faces were glowing with pride as crowds of people lined the streets and cheered us on, and I was proud as well, proud to be fighting back against Thatcher and the Tories.

Scargill gave his usual defiant speech, full of passion and anger at those unions not supporting us. Dennis Skinner was excellent, equally full of passion and fire, and one of the few true Socialists in the Labour Party. A low point for me was Betty Heathfield, wife of Peter, General Secretary of the NUM, who was appealing for Women’s Support Groups to come down to London so they could hand a petition to that champion of the working classes, the Queen! I hope no one turns up!

The real moment of magic came when Kneel Kinnock stepped up to the microphone and made most of the crowd disappear, but not before they’d booed him loudly for his traitorous lack of support for miners and their families. The bastard is more concerned about getting Labour elected than he is about his core supporters, and he even had the nerve to criticise violence on the picket lines. I was glad to see people turn their backs on him and walk away, especially as this was the same man who only a year ago had got a standing ovation. Miners at least now see him for the soft reformist he is.

Anyway, despite the rain it was a good day out and the girls enjoyed playing with other kids whose dads were also on strike. I’m glad I took them.