Page 31 of Things We Never Said
The people we met that day were amazing. I remember getting involved in a big argument with a guy from the NUM who was worried about what he called ‘lassies’ getting involved in the picket line. He and this friend of his, who had the biggest moustache I had ever seen, argued with Theresa and a friend of hers for half an hour about whether we should be there at all. But in the end, he understood that it was important for us to be present, and we understood that, like yourself, he was genuinely scared for our safety. The truncheon-wielding police, he pointed out, weren’t women. They were very heavily armoured, surprisingly angry policemen.
In the end we split up. The lads went off with the pickets and we joined the miners’ wives and their kids to demonstrate on the sidelines.
It was a brilliant experience talking to them. They were so involved, so aware of the way the story was being manipulated by the media. They were so grateful that we were there, that someone who wasn’t a miner or a miner’s wife could actually be bothered enough to fight alongside them. A couple of the women were so moved that they cried all over us. I had never really done anything for anyone before and to feel that gratitude, that bond, was lovely.
About eleven o’clock, the so-called ‘scabs’ arrived for the shift change, and the police began to force their way through the picket line. I was relieved, if truth be told, to be on the sidelines.
We shouted and screamed and waved our banners. I was completely hoarse by the time I got back to the bus.
I think a couple of people got bonked with a truncheon that day, and one guy got tripped up by a policeman and cut his ear open. But that’s about all that happened, as far as I could tell. Things really weren’t that bad.
The real violence happened the following Monday, as I recall. They waited until the weekend was over, knowing that the non-miners would be back at work, that all the stroppy students would be in lessons. You, Theresa and I watched it on television together that night. It was horrific, even to watch, and I think that it was only then, only when I saw the images of police on horseback riding into the crowds and beating people over the head with their batons, men and women alike, that I finally understood what you had been so afraid of.
I cried as we watched it and I cried about it for days afterwards. I cried, too, when the NUM finally caved in, because I knew that all of those lovely people I’d met had no hope left at all.
Despite all of our demonstrations and all of those pamphlets we gave out in the Wulfrun Centre, we failed, I suppose. Thatcher won, the mines closed, exactly as Arthur Scargill had said they would, and nothing was done to help any of the people left behind. Perhaps that’s why no one bothers to demonstrate anymore, because it turned out that no one cared how many people demonstrated. Perhaps that’s the day we were all beaten.
Still, it was a life-changing experience for me, like I say. I felt part of the strike and part, even though I wasn’t, of the students’ union. I felt part of Theresa’s so-called sisterhood, too.
Oh, here’s a juicy story you’ve never been told. I just this second remembered.
So, on the way back, I fell asleep with my head on Theresa’s shoulder. When I woke up she was caressing my hair and do you know what she asked me? She wanted to know if I had ever made love with a woman. When I said that I hadn’t, she asked me if I’d like to try. Can you imagine how embarrassed I was? This was in the middle of a crowded bus, after all. I had only just turned twenty.
I said no, of course. I was way too prudish to ever discuss such a thing, and I can honestly say that I have never been tempted since.
But I was quite in love with Theresa that day, and in that moment, though I said no, it wasn’t the whole truth. In that specific instant, I would actually quite have liked to say yes. Just to try it, so to speak. I bet you’re shocked now, aren’t you?
Anyway, when we got back to Wolverhampton, you and April were there, waiting for me, and I was so tired and so happy to see you both that I cried.
As far as any lesbian tendencies were concerned – that, as they say, was the end of that.
On Monday, Sean chooses his holiday dates. He books three weeks in January and two in March. He has no idea exactly why he chooses the dates he does, other than the fact that it means he doesn’t have to think about holidays for the longest possible time. ‘You’re sure you don’t want Christmas week?’ the secretary asks. ‘Because I think you’ll be the only one here.’
‘Yes,’ Sean says, trying to block even the thought of what a week’s holiday, alone, at Christmas, might feel like. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’
On Thursday evening, April phones him.
‘Hi Dad,’ she says. ‘Ronan and I were thinking of coming up for the weekend. The weather’s going to be fabulous, apparently. What do you reckon?’
‘Sure,’ Sean says. ‘Why not? I was going to go and visit Mum, but there’s no reason that can’t wait. I’ll just tell Perry.’
‘We can postpone it for a week if you want,’ April says. ‘But there’s a massive anti-Brexit demo happening in central London, so it’s going to be a nightmare around here. We thought we might as well.’
‘Can’t you hang out at Ronan’s place?’
‘Nah, it’s rented. You know he rents it on Airbnb sometimes? Well, it’s booked for that weekend. And round here is going to be madness. The demo’s starting in Hyde Park, I think.’
‘Oh,’ Sean says, thinking back to Catherine’s last tape. ‘And you don’t want to go to that?’
‘The demo? Me?’ April says, sounding shocked. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘When did you ever see me at a demo, Dad?’
‘You spend enough time complaining about Brexit,’ Sean says.
‘Well, of course. It’s stupid. But there’s no stopping it now. You know that.’
