113. Saturday November 3rd, 1984.

Even the bloody weather was against us today, with pouring rain spoiling the firework display we had organised for the kids outside the kitchen.It didn’t dampen our spirits though and it was a great success. Bob Delbridge and some other students at Newcastle Poly had made two brilliant effigies of Thatcher and MacGregor which sat on top of the bonfire, with a full outline of the Houses of Parliament placed in front. When the black paper burned away it revealed the slogan, ‘Victory to the Miners’, complete with SWP fist, and the crowd cheered. There were a few hundred people present to watch the spectacle, braving the rain, and applauding loudly when Thatcher and MacGregor burned. It’s just a pity we didn’t have the real thing!

We provided hot food and drinks in the kitchen and were rushed off our feet keeping up with demand. The children had a great time, which was the whole point, and they loved the bonfire and fireworks. It’s a shame we couldn’t have gotten hold of the recently departed Mrs Gandhi, then we could have burned three bastards instead of two!

90. Sunday September 9th, 1984.

I had intended staying at home today with Kath but we had a blazing row so I went to Doncaster for an SWP miners meeting instead. I’m glad I did because it gave us the opportunity to discuss how the strike is going in our respective areas. There was general agreement that the strike is now firmly on the defensive, with all of us mainly concerned with stopping scabs breaking the strike. To ensure this we need to get more men out onto the picket lines, and as Ian Mitchell from Silverwood told us from his own experience, the way to do that is to ‘go on the knocker’ and visit every striking miner we can to argue why they should be active. At the very least it could prevent men from scabbing, which will be important if we are to go on the offensive in the winter.

There was also agreement that there is a big danger of the new talks between MacGregor and Scargill leading to a sell out, and further demoralisation if they break down,which seems inevitable because the NUM has nothing to bargain with. We haven’t got the bastards by the balls, nowhere near it.

The importance of us selling Socialist Worker was stressed again because that is how pickets can be kept informed of exactly what is happening in the strike. We must always try to sell the paper on picket lines, inminers welfares and strike centrex because it’s vital we are identified with the paper. That’s how we get our ideas across and we can have important arguments at the same time. At Westoe, Gary, Ian, John, Keith and myself have built a good reputation as active militanys and we need to continue being identified with the SWP and put forward constructive suggestions at union meetings. The first one is to get a list of addresses and use all the men banned from picketing to go out and visit men who are not active and try to persuade them to join us.

When I got home I had a phonecall asking me to meet the journalist at the bus stop near our house and I set off in the dark, expecting to meet some hippie type with long hair and flares because I used to read the NME regularly up until a few years ago and that’s how I imagined he would look. I was shocked when a tall skinhead with a red Harrington jacket, jeans and red boxing boots loomed out of the darkness. He introduced himself as Chris Moore and we walked back to my house. I was relieved to hear he’s an SWP member and not in the National Front, as I’d always irrationally thought about skinheads.

We sat up talking about the strike and about music. He’s in a band himself called ‘The Redskins’, whom I’ve never heard of, but he’s brought me a record and a tape of their stuff which I’ll listen to tomorrow.

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.

57. Thursday June 14th, 1984.

This morning’s picket at Woodside was quiet as usual but the pickets themselves were triumphant about what happened yesterday and kept congratulating me. I had to tell them that I had done nothing and it was them who did the hard work. I managed to sell 27 copies of Socialist Worker and pointed out Scargill’s call to picket Orgreave. If we can force the Lodge to reverse decisions then we can also force them to send us to Orgreave.

Paul Foot has caused a real stir in the Daily Mirror by revealing documents which prove that Thatcher told British Rail bosses to make whatever concessions necessary to rail workers to stop a second front opening.I’ve been proudly telling pickets that Paul is a member of the SWP.

56. Wednesday June 13th, 1984.

What a difference a day makes! I can hardly believe what has happened today and it has restored my faith in the strike and my fellow pickets. My phone  hardly stopped ringing this afternoon with my friends calling to tell me what happened, even though the Lodge Chairman had asked them not to because he wanted to ring me himself. He finally rang me at 5.15pm and I really enjoyed his discomfort as he informed me of the decision that had been made.

What happened was that Gary Marshall spoke to all the pickets in the new soup kitchen at Harton Miners Welfare when they returned from the morning picket. He told them that the food they were eating, and had been eating for weeks, had been paid for in part by money he and I had been collecting. He asked if anyone could cite a single case of dishonesty against me, and then went on to detail my personal committment to the strike. He told them about what the Lodge Committee had done to me and finished by urging everyone to get down to the union meeting in the Armstrong Hall to speak in my defence. He said I was being witch hunted for being a member of the SWP.

The pickets all got into their cars and left in convoy, stopping traffic, honking their horns and generally making a noise as they drove down Stanhope Road. They stormed into the Armstrong Hall and shocked the officials on the platform. When they found that the minutes had already been read they demanded they be read again. A vote was taken, won, and the minutes were re – read. When the minute concerning me was read out Gary jumped up and proposed that all charges against me be dropped and this was quickly seconded, but before a vote could be taken a heated debate developed with the end result being that the proposal to say that I wouldn’t have to appear in front of the Durham Executive but that I was still banned from collecting funds and given a warning as to my future conduct. This was passed almost unanimously and caused visible displeasure to the platform. The bastards were seething! They were even more mad when a proposal was passed to give £3,000 to the Women’s Support Group. The platform protested strongly but were easily defeated by the wishes of the majority. This was a great victory for the pickets because for the first time they could see that THEY made the decisions, the rank and file and not the so – called leaders on the platform.

I felt so elated about what had happened that I went along to our newly formed South Tyneside SWP held in the North Eastern pub in South Shields. We have split from Newcastle because that branch was becoming too big and and people were able to hide from being actively involved. We are very optimistic about the future, especially Phil Turner, who only a few months ago was the only member in town. Now there are five more members, all Westoe miners and hopefully more will join us in the future. The meeting was excellent because everyone was buzzing from the events of today, especially Gary, and we all feel a lot more confident that the ideas of the SWP really do work in practice.

Kath is pissed off again because I think she was hoping to see more of me.However, she is also relieved the charges against me have been dropped. A good day!

55. Tuesday June 12th, 1984.

Today has been the most humiliating experience of my life! I had been summonsed to appear in front of the whole Lodge Committee to explain my ‘forgery’ of the Lodge Secretary’s signature. I was forced to wait outside the committee room for twenty minutes with my stomach churning and my nerves on edge wondering what was going to happen. When I was eventually called in I had to face them all whilst the Secretary again explained the seriousness of my action and how it couldn’t be allowed to go unpunished. It was like a kangaroo court and in my opinion they had decided I was guilty before I went in. I explained exactly what I’d done and why I did it, pointing out that nowhere on the letter was either my name or address so there was no way I could possibly profit from it. I had only been trying to raise funds for the union.

My explanation fell on deaf ears and I was totally shocked when Tommy Wilson launched a personal attack of such a vicious nature I felt quite scared. He accused me of trying to overthrow the Lodge Committee and subvert the minds of the membership with my ‘lunatic propaganda’. He attacked the SWP and said I was their puppet, their ‘agent of destruction’. It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so serious. I was ordered to wait outside whilst they made their decision. The bastards made me wait another twenty minutes as I wondered what they were going to do. It was terrible!

I was called back in and had to stand in front of them whilst the sentence was pronounced. I am to appear in front of the whole Durham Executive on a charge of ‘Fraudulent Conversion’ which could result in my expulsion from the NUM! If Tommy Wilson has his way that is exactly what will happen.In addition I had to hand back my letter of authorisation to collect funds for the union and have been banned from ever collecting funds for the union again. I was, and still am, stunned! Before I left I gave them a cheque for £120 I had received from Colin Barker in Manchester, and made out to the Lodge, and added sarcastically that perhaps they didn’t want any money I had collected. Tommy Wilson snarled that I should ‘stuff it up my arse’, but Slater was more diplomatic and thanked me, adding that it was a shame I’d spoilt myself.

I’ve made my decision to stuff the lot of them, union and SWP! Why should I stick my neck out? I’m going to stay at home and spend more time with Kath and the girls. I’ve done my bit and the reward has not been worth the fuckin’ effort! I feel totally isolated and betrayed and it’s not going to happen again. A couple of comrades have phoned and urged me to attend the union meeting tomorrow but it’s not going to happen. I can’t face giving those bastards the satisfaction of seeing my face as their decision is read out. To be honest I feel too ashamed!

48. Wednesday May 23rd, 1984.

I am absolutely shattered, depressed and disillusioned, though not as much as I was after this morning’s union meeting, thanks to comrades rallying around me at our SWP branch meeting this evening.

I had arrived at the Armstrong Hall full of confidence after doing the early morning picket at Woodside Drift Mine. I was determined that the men were going to show their disgust at the way our officials are running the strike. The hall was full and I sat in the middle with Gary and Keith, preparing myself for a blistering attack against the platform.

The minutes of the previous meeting were read out and passed then Walter Slater, the Lodge Secretary, stood up to read the correspondence. The first thing he said was how disgusted he was about a letter he’d received from Parsons which revealed they’d had a letter from him appealing for funds. He said he’d never written a letter to Parsons yet this letter was written by him so it was obviously a forgery! The letter went on to complain about the behaviour of Norman Strike who had insulted the union Secretary at Parsons and taken an unofficial collection. Slater said he had always trusted me and asked if I was in the meeting. The bastard knew I was because he was looking right at me. I stood up and my legs were shaking and everyone turned to stare at me. He stuck the knife firmly in by saying that in all his years of union activity he had never been so shocked and disgusted by one of his members doing such a wicked thing! He asked me if I had committed the forgery or was it someone else?

I tried to defend myself against the implication that I had tried to get money for myself but I wasn’t allowed to say anything other than admit I had written his name on the letter. Tommy Wilson then stood up and launched a personal attack against my character, calling the SWP a bunch of ‘tin pot communists’ and openly accused me of forging the letter to raise funds for them. I was shocked and stunned as more people stood up to join in the attack, calling for me to be punished harshly to deter anyone else who might ‘wish to profit from the strike’. I was given the chance to defend myself but I was so upset and shocked I couldn’t express myself clearly, and even my mates didn’t look convinced. John Chapman, the Chairman, then asked that the Lodge committee be allowed to deal with me as they saw fit and this was agreed by a unanimous show of hands.

I felt awful and just wanted the floor to open up and swallow me as men looked at me with utter contempt! Gary and Keith tried to console me but even they didn’t sound convinced so I left the hall to hisses and went home on my own, thoroughly depressed.

At home my shame turned to anger and I vowed to pack it all in and just stay at home. Ungrateful bastards! Every penny I’ve collected has always been witnessed and accounted for, and the supposed ‘forgery’ wasn’t even an attempt at forgery because it bore no resemblance to Slater’s real signature, and the letter itself was the one I had gotten from Wearmouth which I’d photocopied with our Lodge heading instead of Wearmouth’s, and I’d put Slater’s name at the bottom instead of Dave Hopper’s. The only address was the Lodge’s, not mine, so how could I possibly profit from it? I have other questions now. Why has it taken over 5 weeks for the ‘forgery’ to come to light? How long has Slater had the letter from Parsons? Why wait until now if what I’m alleged to have done is so serious? I will have to ask these questions when I appear in front of the committee, whenever that is. My only crime has been stupidity, nothing else.

I had a lot of phonecalls from comrades urging me to attend tonights meeting so I went. I’m pleased I did because it put everything into perspective. Comrades convinced me that staying at home would be a bad idea because it would only serve to prove my ‘guilt’ in the eyes of the pickets. They’re right. They also think this was a deliberate ploy by the officials because I am a thorn in their sides and they want to get rid of me. It makes sense to me so I’ve decided to continue, albeit with a very bitter taste in my mouth.

Kath has been excellent and is also very angry at what’s been done to me. She has also urged me to continue, which is brilliant!

The NUM met McGregor today but talks broke down after just an hour. What a surprise!

 

41. Wednesday May 9th, 1984.

What a stinking bastard day! No, that’s not quite accurate because the day was OK, it’s the evening that was a bastard but I’ll get to that later.

We had a nice lie in and breakfast before heading for Manchester Free Trade Hall where NUT teachers were discussing their pay claim. They were meeting to discuss what action to take in support of their pay claim which has been rejected by the Tories. I stood outside selling Socialist Worker with a comrade called Irene Davis as the delegates went in. Irene told me we were standing on the site of the ‘Peterloo Massacre’ and although the name sounded familiar I didn’t know what it was. She enlightened me by explaining that thousands of workers had attended a meeting there in 1819 and that army troops had slaughtered dozens of innocent people with no provocation. Irene asked me if I would be prepared to address the meeting being held inside though the delegates would have to pass a motion first to allow mw to speak. I nervously agreed though the thought of addressing a big meeting was a bit scary.

I was taken into the meeting by Ann Robertson, the comrade who put John and Keith up last night and who is also a teacher. The hall was packed and there must’ve been at least a thousand people inside which made my knees wobble a bit. We made our way down to the front and sat down as the speakers on the platform began urging such ‘radical’ actions as one day strikes and going to arbitration, and these were supposed to be the ‘educated elite’! No one was calling for all out strike action which seemed to me, an ignorant miner, the obvious course of action because with us already out the Tories wouldn’t relish a fight against two powerful unions.

A motion was proposed to allow a striking miner to address the meeting, and after being seconded a vote was taken. To my disappointment, and a bit of relief, the motion didn’t get the two thirds majority needed but it was close apparently and that was encouraging. I momentarily considered storming the stage and speaking anyway but I didn’t have the confidence. When a young man took the microphone and introduced himself as a Christian teacher, then began quoting passages from the bible that proved that strikes were ‘evil’, I decided there was no point in me staying so I walked out.

Back outside I stood collecting with a bucket and was really pleased by the response I got as teachers left the hall, with some of them stopping to say they wished I had been given a chance to speak. Irene told them that a meeting was being held in a nearby pub at 12.30 and that I would be speaking there, everyone welcome. We set off for the pub with me carrying the bucket which was gratifyingly full and arm achingly heavy.

Inside the pub I met up with Gary who had also been denied the chance to speak at his meeting though he has been invited back tomorrow when he’s been assured he will be allowed to speak. There were about thirty people present and both Gary and myself spoke briefly before being asked the usual questions such as, ‘Why hasn’t there been a national ballot?’ and, ‘Why should miners be exempt from job losses?’ My response to the first question was that we had all been allowed a democratic vote in our own areas and everyone was allowed to voice their views. The result is that the majority of NUM members are out on strike, and because we are the majority the areas that are scabbing should join us because majorities should rule. As for job losses miners have always suffered from jobs being lost. In Durham alone 80,000 jobs have gone since Nationalisation in 1947 when the industry was supposedly given to the people. We got a good round of applause and received another £20, which when added to the bucket collection made a total of £74.82p. Gary is really impressed with both the organisational abilities of the SWP, and their politics, and has agreed to speak at a meeting this evening to be held in the same pub.

After the meeting Gary and me went with a comrade called Dick to a picket of Johnson’s Paints where the workers have been out on strike for 2 weeks in pursuance of a pay claim. It was interesting talking to the 5 pickets and swapping experiences but I got the impression that they weren’t too interested in what we had to say. We left after a while, mainly because it was bloody freezing but also because we had to collect our stuff from Hilary’s because her mother had arrived. Dick drove us and he was a mine of information about Manchester’s history, especially Peterloo. We thanked him for his trouble and the history lesson.

We met up with John and Keith who told us this morning’s picket at Agecroft had been boring and we had missed nothing. I asked them if they wanted to come along to an SWP meeting and at first they didn’t seem keen but when I told them the meeting was held in a pub they agreed. Keith was going to Central Branch with Gary, and John was coming with me to Salford. We would all meet up at our new lodgings later. We packed our bags for the move, and I put all coins into the bottom of my holdall which made it very heavy. Ann picked us up at 7.15 and we drove the short distance to the pub and parked outside. Hilary drove Keith and Gary to Central Branch then returned to join us in Salford because this is her branch.

The meeting was excellent with a full room to hear Roger Cox, a comrade from London, address the meeting. He was very sharp and knowlegeable, and we had an excellent debate on the strike. My contribution was well received and I tried to encourage John to speak but he was too shy. He seemed to enjoy the debate, though he was a bit put out by criticisms of Scargill. In the break I tried to explain to John that no one was above criticism, even if they are vastly superior to your average trade union leader. John remained unconvinced. The rest of the meeting went well and I was given a lot of envelopes by comrades containing money they had collected. I thanked them for their solidarity.

I felt elated about the money we had collected for the Womens Support Group but it was short lived because when we got to Ann’s car we found the back windows had been smashed and our bags were gone! I’d lost all my clothes, my bloody glasses, and all the coins we’d collected today! Fortunately the notes were safely in my pocket. John hadn’t been daft enough to leave money in his bag but he has lost all his clothes, and more importantly to him he’s lost the diary he’d been keeping for his kids when they grow up. I felt really sorry for him with one and was guiltily relieved that I always keep mine in my coat pocket. We cursed our stupidity at leaving our stuff in full view on the back seat. We should have left them in the boot, or bloody taken them with us! Still, no point crying over spilt milk. We did a quick scout around the area in the vain hope our bags would’ve been dumped with at least our clothes in them but no luck. I asked some kids if they’d seen anything but just got blank stares in response, little bastards!

Back at the car Ann was upset about the damage to her car and wondered what she should do. We went back into the pub and they had a whip round for us which raised £20. I offered John half but he refused and said he still had £30 in his pocket, which was kind of him. Anne was advised to report the theft and damage to the police, even though we knew they wouldn’t do anything. The main reason was so Ann could claim from her insurance. We drove the short distance to the local cop shop to make our report. A bored pig went through his routine and only perked up a bit when we gave our names and addresses and he asked what we were doing in Manchester. We naturally lied and said we were visiting friends but he gave us a shock by saying he was sure he’d seen us somewhere before. Bastard was just testing but Agecroft isn’t too far away and he could have seen us on the picket. We said we’d just arrived in Manchester tonight. He said it was highly unlikely they’d catch anyone. Surprise. Too bloody busy beating up miners!

Ann drove us slowly to Geoff Browns’s house in Prestwich and I apologised to her because I feel it was our fault for leaving temptation. She was very gracious and told me to forget it and put it down to experience.

We were given a warm welcome by our new hosts, Geoff and Julie Brown. They were very sympathetic when they heard about the theft and gave us tea and homemade cake. John was miserable as sin, and as soon as his mate arrived back they went to their room. Gary and me chatted about our meetings and I wasn’t too surprised when he told me that a committee man from Easington had spoken like an idiot, extolling the great virtues of Scargill and how we all had to do what he said, as if he is some kind of god, and he took all the money collected for union funds. To be fair I know a lot of lads from Easington and they are excellent so perhaps this lad was having an off night, and I know the money will be well used. Gary did manage to speak and was pleased about the reception he got. His confidence is growing, which is nice to see.

Our room is great and we both have a comfortable bed to sleep in. As usual Gary is snoring loudly and I’m about to join him. The only clothes I have left are on the floor, a pair of jeans, a shirt, a pair of socks and boots, a jacket and a coat.

40. Tuesday May 8th, 1984.

Gary said he had a job waking me up this morning. We left the house as quietly as we could so as not to wake our hosts. We didn’t even make a cup of coffee. I was still half asleep but the cold air outside soon woke me up and we walked briskly back to the club without getting lost.

The scene that greeted us at the club made us realise how fortunate we’d been. There were men lying asleep on every available seat, the floor was covered in fag ends and the few tables were full of empty beer glasses. Two lads were playing pool, the pockets stuffed with paper to save money whilst another lad was making tea in a small kitchen.He told us they’d been drinking until well after two and the lads awake hadn’t slept at all.

Our union official came bursting into the room wearing a cowboy hat and firing a plastic gun which he used to wake the sleeping men! They told him where to stick his stupid gun, but got up anyway. He ordered us all outside and we shivered as we waited. The coach driver finally showed up at 5.15am and swore that was the time he’d been told to arrive. Our union man was given loads of abuse for robbing us of valuable sleeping time, but he kept insisting it was the drivers fault. I believed the driver!

The coach smelled foul with stale beer and farts and I was relieved when we arrived at Agecroft. Fresh air never smelled so good! We had to walk a few hundred yards to the pit and were surprised to find a power station next door which is bloody handy for the scabs. As we approached the pit we broke into a run chanting ‘Zulu’ in the hope it would scare the pigs. It didn’t.

We were expecting to join a mass picket but were disappointed to find there were only about a hundred of us present, facing twice as many pigs lining the road in front of the entrance. We joined the picket and I asked a picket where the hell everyone else was. He said they’d gone to a pit called Parkside which was also scabbing.One of our lads, Peter Farrish, provided us with some humour by walking up and down the police lines squeaking a toy pig he’d brought along, much to the visible annoyance of the real pigs. I couldn’t see him getting away with it for long, and sure enough when a push began at the arrival of the first scabs the pigs jumped on him and he was hauled away, as was another lad. All we’d achieved was two arrests but at least the push had warmed us up, and everyone had got stuck in, which made a nice change.

As soon as we’d lost one nutter, another made his presence known. He is a local striker called Stan and he made Peter seem like an intellectual! He had odd socks on, one yellow the other green into which his trousers were tucked, and he had a weird wooly hat sticking up on his head. He kept blowing on a mouth organ and shouted out obscure statements such as,’Agecroft you are doomed’, and ‘Who invented steam engine Agecroft?’ At least he added a bit of colour and humour to an otherwise depressing morning as the scabs streamed into the pit, not even stopping to talk to the six ‘official’ pickets allowed to stand by the gate by the pigs. Some of the scabs were taken into the pit by what looked like public transport buses. If they were public transport it is outrageous because the drivers must be in the TGWU and they had agreed not to cross our picket lines. I told our union official he should investigate when we returned to Manchester.

Stan, in one of his more lucid moments, pointed to some men across the road who we could see were drying dishes in the kitchen of the pit canteen. He told us they were the union officials at Agecroft and that the canteen was full of pigs kept in reserve in case of trouble. If what Stan says is true then it really pisses me off and is the worst case of backstabbing from NUM officials I have ever seen. Those bastards are feeding the thugs who beat us!

At 9.30 our coach returned and took us to Manchester Poly where we were given a breakfast of rolls and coffee. We really appreciate the solidarity they are showing us. I got a shock when I heard my name being announced over the tannoy system asking me to go to the nearest phone. I was worried, thinking something must have happened at home. I was genuinely relieved to find it was only Phil Ramsall wanting to talk. He came up to the dining area and I introduced him to Gary. We talked about the morning picket before he asked us if we would like to speak at some meetings and visit some workplaces. We agreed, providing he can arrange transport. I also said that we felt that Mick’s family could do without us as they were preparing for exams, and a quick call fixed us up with a new place to stay. He drove us to Salford and chatted all the way about what he hoped we could achieve during our stay. He’s very enthusiastic and I like that.

In Salford he introduced us to Hilary Burke who has a spare room in her house. She also made us feel very welcome and made us coffee while we told her how things were going in Durham. She’d put up some lads from Easington the previous week and they’d told her the strike was unlikely to last in the Durham area because the majority of men are moderate. I told her about the passivity of our pickets but also said I thought the strike will stay solid now we’re out.

She took us to a small factory where we did a paper sale and sis a bucket collection. Gary really seemed to enjoy the paper sale and grew in confidence as we stood there. We only sold a few papers and collected a few quid but at least we felt we were doing something useful. Hilary then drove us back to the club so we could tell our union official where we were. She also said she had room for another couple of lads and would prefer it if they were at least a bit political. I think she meant potential SWP members, or at least supporters. Gary and I discussed it and decided to ask two lads from Wearmouth, John and Keith, who we’d got on with quite well. We found them and asked what they thought. They were delighted after having spent a really uncomfortable night in the club so they jumped at the chance. They went off to tell their union man and we agreed to meet when we returned from collecting our stuff from Mick’s place. Again our union man got stroppy and accused us of being ‘snobby’, daft bastard. I asked if the coach could pick us from Salford and he said no. I asked if we were going to be at Agecroft all week and he said he didn’t know. I couldn’t be arsed to argue with him so just gave him Hilary’s phone number in case he needed to reach us and told him we’d make our own way to Agecroft.

Gary and me went round to Mick’s and explained why we were moving. Mick was great and said if he could last 26 weeks then so could we. We said we hoped we’d win long before that, and after a brief meeting with his young daughter, who’d never met miners before and was disappointed we were leaving, we headed back to the club with our gear.

As we waited outside for Hilary some of our lads confronted us and yet again we were accused of being ‘snobby bastards’. They asked why we hadn’t invited Westoe lads to come with us. I told them the truth and tried to explain about the SWP but they were unconvinced and told us to ‘fuck off’. Fair enough but I did feel guilty all the same.

Hilary picked us all up and drove us back to her place. She introduced us to a friend of hers, Bobby, who was visiting from Southampton and has been in the SWP since she was 22. We decided to go out for a walk to explore the area and also decided to have a Chinese take away to save Hilary the trouble of cooking for us.

When we got back to her place we discovered she’d made a huge pan of curry! None of us mentioned our meal and had big plates of food, giggling like mad when the women left the room. No chance of us starving just yet!

Gary and the lads went out for a pint but I decided to stay behind so I could write. Of course they thought I was interested in the two lasses, judging by the winks and nudges, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. Hilary was busy so I chatted with Bobbie. She was very enthusiastic about a writer called Victor Serge who I shall have to read when I find a chance.

John and Keith have been given a room up the road with a woman called Anne Robertson, and Gary and me are in the spare room. He claimed the only mattress, giving a bad back as an excuse. I’m in a sleeping bag on the floor. We can have a lie in tomorrow because Hilary has some meetings planned in Manchester, so we’ll miss the picket. Two less won’t make a difference.200 extra just might!

39. Monday May 7th, 1984.

Since I, and quite a few others are now banned from picketing at Tow Law, we were asked if we wanted to go away on flying picket duty. I got a phonecall from the Lodge Secretary asking if I wanted to go. I said yes straightaway, grateful for the chance to stay active. We were going to Lancashire where there are pits still working. As soon as I put the phone down I rang Kath to break the news. She took it surprisingly well and wished me good luck. I told her we would probably be back before the weekend. I felt a lot easier in my mind with her backing. We had to be at the Armstrong Hall for 3pm.

After packing my holdall I received a call from Mike Simons of the SWP asking for news. When I told him we were heading for Lancashire he gave me some phone numbers of comrades in Manchester who I can call if we need accomodation. We both agreed that our most likely target would be Agecroft Colliery because that’s where local union officials have told their members to ignore picket lines. Bloody disgusting! I promised to keep Mike informed of any newsworthy events because he is one of the people who write Socialist Worker.

At the Armstrong Hall the 15 of us going were given £32 subsistence allowance from the Durham NUM which is to make sure we can eat. The Secretary told us to be careful and not to forget to keep in touch with our families because he didn’t want worried wives and girlfriends ringing him to find out what was happening.

There were about 60 pickets at the hall and there was a lot of bad feeling about only 15 of us being allowed to go, with the majority view being that as many men as wanted to go should be allowed to go. I agreed, but the Secretary explained that he had no say in the matter because the decision had been taken by the Area Executive. He added that all the Lodges have been split into four groups, with each group consisting of four pits who would work together as picketing teams. Westoe has been teamed with Sacriston, Wearmouth, and Herrington, and these pits will work together on all future flying pickets.

The coach finally arrived with 10 pickets from Sacriston on board and we loaded our bags into the boot. The coach then headed to Wearmouth where we picked up 20 men, then finally down to Herrington where the final 10 men boarded. Fully loaded we set off for Lancashire with only the few union officials on board knowing exactly where we were going, and they refused to tell us, though god knows why because it wasn’t as if we could tell anyone!

The journey took about three hours and I passed the time chatting to a lad from Westoe I’d sold a few copies of Socialist Worker to, Gary Marshall. We got on really well and have a lot in common. He told me he is growing increasingly disillusioned with the Labour Party, of which he’s been a member for 13 years. He hates Kinnock, more now because of his almost total lack of support for us miners, and he said he agrees with a lot of the stuff he reads in Socialist Worker. I think he’s got real potential as a party member so we agreed to try and stick together on this picket.

We arrived at Bold Miners Welfare to find it full to capacity with Durham miners. I recognised loads of faces and was pleased to see Arthur Oxley, who bought me a pint but before we could settle in the order came to get back onto the coach because we were heading to Manchester where accomodation had been arranged at a social club in Eccles.

We arrived at the Greenbank Labour Club around 9pm and a lot of the lads were whingeing about not being able to stay in Bold. I discovered that a lot of them had been in Bold last week and had managed to fix themselves up with comfortable lodgings, and so were pissed off because they were too far away to take advantage.

The club was full of people celebrating the Bank Holiday and watching the Steve Davis, Jimmy White snooker final on a big screen TV. We struggled through the crowd with our luggage and sleeping bags and followed a woman upstairs who showed us the room we would be sleeping in. She welcomed us and said we could stay for the week, and that alternative accomodation would be fixed in people’s homes in the morning, though probably not for all of us. I told Gary I would ring some contacts in Manchester to try and get us somewhere to stay.

I phoned a comrade called Irene Davis and she told me to ring a guy called Phil Ramsall, which I did. He gave me the address of a guy  called Mick Brightman who only lives five minutes away. Phil asked me to ring him again in the morning after picket duty. I told our union man where we were going but he wasn’t pleased and said we should all stick together. I insisted we were going and he’s told us to report back to the club at 4.15am!

After a few wrong turnings and some directions from a local pub we finally found the address we were looking for. We were nervous about knocking on a strangers door but it was bloody freezing so I knocked gingerly. The door was opened by a smiling face who welcomed us into a lovely warm room whilst he went off to the kitchen. He soon returned with hot coffee and egg sandwiches, and whilst we ate he asked a stream of questions about how the strike was going in Durham. He told us that him and his wife Jane were students but that he had once been involved in a strike at a place called Gardners that had lasted 26 weeks!! We said ours wouldn’t last that long and that we couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for him. He introduced us to Jane and she told us they were both studying hard for exams. We took the hint and said we’d like to sleep if it was possible because we had to be up at 4am to return to the club. he told us to make ourselves at home. He showed us into a front room which was full of books and had a bed settee. I was amazed by all the books, being an avid reader myself but Gary reminded me we needed to sleep so we settled down, top to toe on the settee and within minutes Gary was knocking out zeds! I will soon join him.