The Storytellers (28 page)

Jack had hesitated. The temptation to take credit for such a magnificent act was almost overwhelming.

“Sadly not,” he had said eventually. “But I hope the bitch copped it.”

“Charming!” Mona had admonished, but the organizer wasn't listening.

They drove straight to the NUM offices and Jack hadn't even thought to drop her back at their rented flat, which the union was paying for. People trickled in to headquarters throughout the morning and she struggled to keep her eyes open as the mood turned from euphoria to resignation.

When the Prime Minister's conference speech concluded and it was reported that she had left the Conference Hall to visit the wounded in the Royal Sussex County Hospital, Mona heard someone remark, with what she thought was a hint of admiration, ‘That woman has the devil's luck, I'll give her that. First it was the bloody Argentines and
now this. She probably planted the damn thing herself!'

The executive committee agreed to meet later that evening for a strategy meeting, but everyone was beginning to realize the same thing: they were running out of options.

“It's now down to NACODS,” Jack told her as he drove them back for some much-needed sleep. Mona had heard about the power of the National Association of Colliery Overmen, Deputies and Shopfitters to close all the pits, but apart from something to do with safety, what they actually did was a mystery. Later, when Jack was nursing his misplaced hopes, she would excuse herself and call Stacy.

C
HAPTER

T
HE UNION was like a church around Wakefield. Little escaped its influence. There were fifteen pits operating in the area and the rhythm of coal played into everyone's life to some degree. The National Coal Board had already closed six pits it deemed uneconomic since 1979 and anxiety was widespread. People were determined to hold onto their livelihoods and communities.

After the start of the strike, Mabel and Stanley Preston had been coming to the town to offer what support they could. With him now retired and the beneficiary of a generous redundancy payment from his old employer, British Leyland, he felt it was the least he could do. Mabel had picked Wakefield because she liked its history and liked what she had read about West Yorkshire.

They had taken to staying with Alfie and Evie Chappel, a young couple who had purchased their council house at the start of the year under the government's Right to Buy scheme. Originally proposed by a Labour Government back in 1959, the idea had been embraced by Mrs Thatcher as a way of freeing people from their councils and forcing those councils to pay down some of their excessive debt. With Alfie earning good money from the colliery and Evie earning a
reasonable wage as a beautician, their year had begun well.

The newlyweds had hoped their second bedroom would soon do for a bairn, and were pleased to earn something extra from the Prestons in the meantime. Besides, they enjoyed having an older couple in the house from time to time. Since the start of the strike, however, what had begun as a luxury was now a necessity. With Alfie earning nothing and in receipt of no state benefits because the strike had been ruled illegal, their finances were in a mess. In September, their hopes that the union and Coal Board would reach a settlement had been dashed. The Coal Board had blamed the union and their president had blamed the government. No end seemed in sight.

* * *

“Come on in, Prestons,” Evie greeted. “How was thy trip?”

“Mabel here wanted to go via Peak District,” Stanley told her, “so we started early an' took our time.”

“That must have been grand,” Evie said as she helped to get their case inside.

“Yes, you an' Archie should go sometime,” Mabel enthused. “It's lovely.”

“Perhaps when all this is over,” Evie agreed. “Things are tight now. Car's gone.”

“I am sorry to hear that, dear,” Mabel commiserated.

“Yes, and that's not the half o' it,” Evie replied as she manoeuvred the Prestons' case up into the spare room. “But enough o' our problems. There's folk around here in worse shape. Come down when thou're ready and we'll have us a grand pot o' tea.”

“Where's Alfie?” Stanley asked.

“He's down at Institute,” Evie told him. “And if he's not there, he'll be on t' picket line. There's nowt much else for the men to do these days.”

Stanley sat on the chair while Mabel unpacked. Both thought back to when they had started out on their own married journey. A war might have been raging but there seemed to be prospects then and they'd never gone short, at least not
short
short. True they had probably expected less and it had been a good while before a car had come their way, but by the standards of the day, neither felt the Chappels had been extravagant. And besides, miners were well paid, compared to some; at least they were when they were working.

Stanley respected union solidarity. It had served him and Mabel well. A man couldn't support his union one minute and disregard it the next. That wasn't how the system worked. Certainly you had to trust your union leaders to look after your best interests, but how could it be otherwise? No group of men could function without discipline. He and his John had had some fierce arguments about that, for sure. What if you were being led the wrong way? That seemed to be his point. But John was back in the union fold now.

He didn't really know what to make of his other boys. Neither had followed his path. There was the runaway Billy. The invisible Billy. The Billy with a strange accent. The Billy who appeared to have money. The Billy who was always about to come home but never did. The Billy he no longer knew. And then there was Joseph…

“Penny for them, dear?” Mabel asked.

He wasn't sure his thoughts were worth a penny. The world was changing and he wasn't. That was about the sum of it.

“I think I'll go an' find Alfie,” Stanley said, getting up.

“You do that, dear,” Mabel agreed. “Evie an' I can have a laugh and a chat. The skint love looks as though she's carrying all the world's problems on her pretty shoulders.”

Mabel carefully folded the clothes that needed folding and hung those that needed to be hung. The room was spotless. Pulling aside the net curtain, she looked across at the matching council houses on the opposite side of the street and wondered how many of them had
been bought by other young couples anxious to ‘get on'.

As she came down the stairs, she heard sobs coming from the kitchen and found Evie sat at the table, tears pouring down her cheeks and a stack of papers in front of her. The young woman looked up and her wide eyes signalled only desperation.

“I can't make 'em balance out, Mabel. I just can't!”

Mabel walked across, sat next to Evie and placed an arm around her shoulder.

“Why don't I brew us both some tea?”

Evie Chappel just sobbed and so Mabel set to work. She'd been dying for a cup since Sheffield.

With the tea made, she settled down next to Evie and began looking over the papers, which, in reality, were all bills. Very quickly it became clear that the biggest drain came from the mortgage, followed by the gas and then the rates the council were demanding.

“I just don't know where to start,” Evie said, her sobs subsiding. “With Alfie bringing in nowt it's down to us 'n I'm barely making fifty pound a week an' that's down from eighty. Who around here has brass to waste on they looks these days? We'll have to fettle for free soon, it's that bad.”

“How much of everything's on tick?” Mabel asked, looking around.

Suddenly Evie brightened up.

“All bought 'n paid for,” she answered with obvious pride. “Alfie had saved up afore we wed so we could make the deposit 'n furnish the house. It were the car that caught we.”

“Well done you, then,” applauded Mabel. “That's a mighty sound start.”

“But look at what's left,” Evie moaned, looking depressed again.

“Well the gas is easy peasy,” chortled Mabel. “You tell them they can have their meter.”

“But there's cooking, 'n we are coming into winter.”

“Not everything has to be cooked an' you can get a hot meal at The Centre.”

“And the parky?” Evie asked.

“You've got a bonny fire an' you must be able to get coal around here, for heaven's sake!”

“You would have thought. But a group o' lads was arrested for trespass searching through t' slag near we pit,” she told Mabel. “It's dang'rous and all. Two bairns were killed doing it somewhere, I read.”

Mabel thought the ‘parky' would just have to take care of itself. At least there were no young children involved. She'd bring along some of her and Stanley's old jumpers next time they came up.

“So let's think about the council an' the mortgage,” Mabel advised. “I see mortgage is with the Halifax Building Society. Have you an' Alfie spoken to them?”

“No.”

“Well you should. An' the council?'

“They are being right buggers, if you'll excuse us language. I don't think they liked t' fact we purchased we house.”

“You can't be the only ones and they can't pick on just you, whatever they say. They will have to wait until this strike's over.”

“An' t' Halifax?”

“You an' Alfie arrange a meeting,” Mabel repeated. “But I can't see them wanting to repossess your home. What good would that do them? No one would buy it.”

Mabel patted Evie on the shoulder and told her it might not be as bad as it looked. But Evie just dissolved into tears again.

“Dear girl. You're never pregnant, are you?”

“Three months. It wor a mistake.”

“Well that's a most wonderful mistake, Evie,” Mabel cooed. “Now let's get ourselves up to The Centre. I have a car chock full o' provisions.”

* * *

What had now become known simply as The Centre, a Methodist hall made available for the duration, was a hive of activity. The striking men's womenfolk had decided they had a role to play. They were the ones who had to get food on the table, clothe the children, juggle the bills, deal with the bailiffs, placate the council and pep up their husbands, sons and brothers when they were down. They had even endured their share of police harassment on the picket lines and in the town. But in The Centre they had found their calling as had other Women's Action Groups, from Gateside in Scotland to the Rhondda Valley in South Wales and Chislet in Kent.

Mabel was warmly greeted when she and Evie carried in boxes of provisions from the car.

“Come on, darlin'. Bring us thy bounty!” called out Helen who appeared to be the group's unofficial leader.

“Children's clothes here 'n food yonder,” directed Marge, one of her several assistants.

“Evie love,” summoned Helen, who knew full well how hard it was for the younger couples, “when thee are done helping Mabel come 'n help us wi' t' soup.”

In no time, Evie Chappel's tears had been forgotten and Mabel Preston was doing what she enjoyed most: helping out.

* * *

Stanley caught up with Alfie Chappel playing a game of pool with his friend Randolph, who was still earning, at the Institute. The two men were hatching a plan to take Randolph's two whippets to Kirkthorpe where some hares had been spotted. And if they couldn't get a hare, there were always rabbits. But even these were becoming scarce and Randolph was struggling to catch the six-or-so a week he needed for his dogs, let alone a few extra for the pot. He wasn't the
only one scouring the countryside for food. Pheasants were thought fair game, but sheep were frowned upon: farmers had a living to make like everyone else.

“Stan, it's grand to see thee,” Alfie called out as he saw Stanley Preston at the far end of his pool table. “Mabel well?”

“Mabel's sound Alf. She's with Evie. They were going to The Centre with some provisions we brought up.”

“You are both stars, Stan,” Alfie told him. “Now I don't think you know Randolph here. We were about to gi' 'is whippets a run. Are you game for it?”

Stanley had never seen whippets work before and said he was game, so they all bundled into Randolph's beat-up van, with Alfie squeezed in the back next to the caged animals, both in a state of excitement, and Stanley in front next to Randolph, on account of him being their guest.

“Randolph 'ere's management, although thee wouldn't have thought it,” Alfie shouted to make himself heard above the clatter of the van. “'Ee gets to nip on down t' pits to make sure they will still be operational when strike ends.”

“An engineer?” Stanley asked.

“Trainee,” Randolph told him. “We get passes so pickets let us through without fuss most of the time. But it turned foul a fortnight back. One lad tried to return to fettle 'n were given a right going over. The police got involved 'n for a few days after we needed an escort. Tempers was running high. Some said lad had been bribed by management, but it could have been pressure from his family. But no one likes scabs roun' 'ere.”

The van eventually cleared the town and Randolph started to drive slowly, looking at the fields as they passed. The angry grey clouds chasing each other across the countryside looked as though they might crash land, so low and heavy they were.

“There's one in the middle o' 'at field,' Randolph announced,
bringing the van to a halt.

Stanley looked across but could see nothing.

“'ares lie flat when they sense danger so you can't see 'em,” Randolph explained. “Now we need to be right quiet. We walk towards it 'n get as close as we can afore it runs 'n I let dogs loose. The dogs are faster but if they don't cop the 'are afore the end o' t' field we lose it.”

The three climbed out of the van and the whippets started whining and pulling against the quick-release straps Randolph had attached to them. Only then did Stanley realize how cold it was.

“Here, Stan, put this on,” Randolph whispered, handing him his old coat. “I'm used to it, really. Now take it.”

The three passed though a gate into the stubble field whose crop of wheat must have been harvested only two months before. The grass the farmer had under-sown to feed stock over the winter was just visible but had been feeding the hare instead.

Randolph lined them up about 20 yards apart. He and Alfie each took a dog at one end, placing Stanley between them. The three then walked stealthily forward towards the centre of the field. Stanley pulled the borrowed coat tightly around him and looked forlornly down at his polished shoes. Then, from nowhere, snow flurries started dancing through the air like confetti. For several moments the centre of the field became invisible and they could barely see one another. But they kept their line and they continued walking.