Carol flushed. ‘Stop behaving like a bairn,’ she hissed at him in the corridor. But to her annoyance he said nothing more and closed the door to Laura’s room. Carol swallowed her frustration and went downstairs to make tea. Eddy gave her an inquiring glance as she re-entered but she ignored his look. She turned to Pete.
‘Well, what else do you want to know about the Group?’ she asked briskly.
‘Look’s like you’re on duty,’ Eddy grinned.
Pete smiled and pulled a tape recorder from his bag, placing it on the coffee table. He handed round his cigarettes and they all lit up.
‘Well,’ he said, balancing his cigarette on the ashtray, ‘why don’t I start with you?’
It was after one o’clock when they finally stopped talking and Eddy left for Septimus Street. Carol lay awake beside Laura for a further hour, thinking about their discussion. She had talked and talked as she had not done for years, about growing up in Brassbank and her schooldays, life at Granville House and her time away in London, then marrying into the Todds and having Laura and how things had changed so dramatically for them all since the start of the strike. Pete had listened and smoked and nodded and led her in different directions with his soft questioning.
Eddy had listened too as if he had heard none of it before and now Carol went hot in the dark to think she might have said too much, given too much of herself away. Why had she spoken of her past like that and to a virtual stranger? It was as if all these thoughts had been piling up over the years like the waste on a spoil heap, unspoken until the man full of questions had arrived and caused a verbal landslide.
‘It’s like I was living inside the wrong skin,’ she heard her words echo again in her head, ‘like I never really knew who this Carol Shannon was. It wasn’t until I broke free and went off to London that I began to realise who I wanted to be, where I wanted to be. I had a chance to step back and look at all the time I’d wasted battering against my parents. It wasn’t Brassbank that I hated, it was being forced to be the sort of daughter that I could never be. So I came back. And then I met Mick and everything began to slot into place at last. I’d never been so happy. And we had Laura. I had her right there on the settee where you’re sitting!’ Carol.blushed again to think that she had even told him that. ‘So this strike,’ she had concluded, ‘it’s not just about saving jobs for the future, it’s about saving everything we stand for, everything that makes life in Brassbank worth living - our families and homes and friends, our traditions. It’s all under attack. And we women are prepared to fight for that to the bitter end.’
She had sat back and for a long while the men had been silent. Pete had watched her closely, the tape recorder finally switched off, and Eddy had reached over and squeezed her hand but said nothing. Carol had seen the tears in his eyes before he hurried into the kitchen with his tea cup.
After that no one seemed to feel like talking any more and they had said their goodnights. Now Carol lay, beset by doubts about the wisdom of having talked so frankly. She had said too much, embarrassed Eddy and given Pete Fletcher too much ammunition to fire off at whatever targets he chose, just as Mick had feared.
Oh, Mick! Carol thought of her husband lying in the single bed on the other side of the wall. She wanted him here beside her to snuggle against, to feel his heavy arms round her and hear his breathing. But if she moved now she might wake Laura and then everyone would be woken. And what if Mick should reject her? Since the strike had started their time alone together in bed had been disrupted by early morning picketing and Laura’s nightly visits and their lovemaking had been sporadic. She would have to be firmer with Laura about sleeping in her own bed. Smothering her loneliness, she buried down under the covers and fell into an exhausted sleep.
The next day was bright and blustery and Carol’s spirits were lifted by the optimism among the marchers heading for Quarryhill. The women had stayed up late all week, making a proper banner with material donated from Val Bowman and curtain tie-backs joined together for the cords. It was austere but stunning in its simplicity - black and red lettering on a white background with motifs of a pick, miner’s lamp and red heart.
Laura woke as soon as it was light and raced around excitedly shouting about being five years old. They gave her a special breakfast of her favourite cereal and allowed her to eat sweets as there were few presents to open. But Mick had managed to fix up a second-hand bicycle which he had painted purple and Laura was ecstatic. She dragged him outside and Mick spent the next hour pushing her up and down the back lane.
‘It doesn’t have any stabilisers,’ Carol explained to Pete. She felt embarrassed that he had witnessed their meagre attempts and knew that Mick resented him being there on Laura’s birthday. But he seemed not to notice.
‘Better not to have them,’ Pete said, ‘she’ll learn to ride all the quicker.’
Eventually Carol called them in to get ready for the march to Quarryhill.
Pete came along as an observer with Charlie’s permission and on the understanding that he did not make a nuisance of himself. There were delegations from pits around the county and some had travelled from Northumberland to support their leader.
Just before they left Brassbank, the local lodge surprised the women. Charlie Todd stood forward.
‘In appreciation of the hard work of the Women’s Group,’ he told the crowd, ‘we’d like to have a dedication of their new banner. They’ve never stopped for a minute. The kitchen’s feeding two hundred men a day every dinnertime and scores of food parcels go out every Friday. Today they’re laying on a party for the bairns and a fund-raising social for us after. Now we want to show our support to them for supporting us.’
Charlie smiled at Lotty and the young vicar Stephen Copeland stepped forward. He blessed their new banner and prayed for them all. Carol looked on in quiet gratitude for this gesture by the men and she slipped her hand into Mick’s, while heads were bowed, and squeezed it. She felt an answering grasp from him, which made up for his bad mood of the past week.
The miners of County Durham and their families marched proudly through Quarryhill, behind ‘Coal Not Dole’ posters, their children riding high on shoulders, and ended up in the municipal park near the old bandstand. There were few police around and the mood was buoyant, with rousing singing and chants of, ‘Arthur Scargill, Arthur Scargill, we’ll support you evermore!’
‘There’s Auntie Kate!’ Laura cried, waving at Simon’s wife who was on duty and standing by the park gates. Kate waved back and Carol wondered where her brother was. She knew the police were on constant duty, working massive overtime, and wondered if he saw anything of Kate these days. If she ever found time she would call round . . .
The NUM president stood relaxed on the bandstand, sharing jokes with those around him and then spoke passionately to the crowd. Carol was exultant to be standing so close to the leader they usually saw only on TV. He spoke with far more humour and compassion than the brief clips on television ever showed. Scargill praised the women for their superb support and talked of asking for a levy of fifty pence from other trade unions to the hardship fund. Then he promised that there would be a national demon-stration soon, probably in Nottinghamshire. At the mention of the county, Carol felt a chill go down the back of her neck. Her mind flashed back to the hostility of the crowd and the ruthlessness of the policing there.
‘Why aren’t the media reporting that there are twelve thousand miners in Nottinghamshire on strike? Why don’t they show the police going berserk against our members? Well, we will show them at this national demonstration that we support the strikers. If the paramilitary police attempt to stop us going in, we shall walk in! If it means getting arrested, we shall all be arrested!’
The crowd cheered and clapped their approval and Carol chided herself for her cowardice. The men around her were willing to go to any lengths to support each other and she should show the same fortitude. Something made her look across at Mick and for a moment she saw grim determination i
n his face. Carol was awed by it. She knew then that her husband would risk everything for their cause. And if ordinary, peaceable men like Mick were prepared to fight, then they all would, in their thousands. The enormity and scale of their protest hit Carol like a wave for the first time. They were on a road of no return. They had to succeed: defeat was now unthinkable. Defeat could mean the annihilation of the whole mining industry and their way of life. The thought was apocalyptic.
Carol stared at Mick and knew that he felt the same weight of destiny; that he would have to do something, however small, to make a difference. Perhaps he had been feeling guilty that it was Sid who had been arrested outside the power station instead of him and that was why he had been so short with her recently. She felt suddenly anxious and wanted to go over to him and stand close, hold his hand and let him know that she understood his burden. But she was standing with the other women, holding on to one of the cords, and she could not move from her position.
The moment passed and soon they were all making their way down the road to Brassbank, chatting about arrangements for the evening.
Laura came bounding up with her friends Mark and Louise. ‘Can I change for the party now, Mam? Can Louise come with us? She wants to wear my purple disco skirt with the black bow. Can she, Mam?’
Carol grinned at her daughter, thankful for her bursting enthusiasm.
‘Course she can,’ she agreed, hugging Laura to her side. But the girl broke away impatiently and skipped ahead with Louise, chased by Mark. To her this was just another march and the real excitement was the party to come. May, Louise’s mother, laughed.
‘That’s the way to be,’ she nodded at the children. ‘No thought beyond where the next ice cream’s coming from.’
‘Aye,’ Carol smiled. But she wondered how long they would be able to go on like that: innocents with the storm brewing about them.
Chapter Eighteen
In the last week of May, Carol found Val in tears at the shop.
‘I’m sorry, Carol, but I’m going to have to lay you off.’
Carol had never seen her so upset before and she went and put her arms round her. ‘I understand,’ she said, trying to comfort her, though she felt sick at the thought of her meagre wages coming to an end. They had been a lifeline these past twelve weeks, helping her put enough food on the table for anyone who came.
There had been a steady stream of visitors at different times of the day; Grandda Bowman after the morning picket, Uncle Eddy dropping in to share a cigarette, May and June and Joanne for a chat or a moan on their way to and from the Welfare, Sid following Mick around like a forlorn shadow, not knowing what to do with his empty hours, and even the taciturn Denise would be found squatting in front of the TV, leafing through Carol’s out-of-date magazines.
After school the house would be invaded by children from Laura’s class, demanding biscuits and jam sandwiches and to be taken to the park. And there had been Pete Fletcher. He turned up from time to time with his camera and tape recorder, stalking around the village like an anthropologist observing them all. She knew that he got on Mick’s nerves, but she still believed he was on their side and was going to give them sympathetic coverage. No national paper had yet taken any of his pieces, but he said it was just a matter of time and gathering more in-depth information. Besides, Carol liked his company - his easy conversation and broad range of interests - and she was not going to turn him away.
‘It means I can spend more time with the Women’s Group, any road,’ Carol assured the distressed Val, but she seemed not to hear.
‘Business has never been so bad,’ she fretted, ‘not in all the years I’ve had the shop. Perhaps I should never have expanded into wedding hire.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ Carol sighed. ‘And maybe it’ll all be over in a few weeks.’
But they both knew how unlikely that was. The latest round of negotiations had just broken down and MacGregor had withdrawn from the talks. Carol went home full of gloom and when Laura was out playing, she told Mick her bad news. He tried to console her, but she was overwhelmed by sudden fear and doubt for the future.
The news that evening reported arrests at the coking depot at Orgreave where non-union drivers were being brought in under heavy police guard.
‘Where is Orgreave?’ Carol asked, feeling tearful and depressed at the lack of good news.
‘Near Sheffield,’ Mick replied, his face brooding, and then abruptly he switched off the television. ‘Let’s got for a walk along the beach,’ he suggested, ‘with the bairn.’
Chivvied by Mick, Carol roused herself and they fetched Laura from down the street where Denise was teaching her hopscotch.
‘Can I have an ice cream?’ Laura asked in excitement.
Carol glanced at Mick, feeling guilty and suddenly angry that they had to deny their daughter such a simple pleasure.
Mick took hold of Laura’s hand. ‘I’ve got summat for you in me pocket,’ he said mysteriously.
‘What is it?’ the girl demanded, hopping on one foot.
‘You’ll find out when we get to the beach,’ Mick grinned.
Laura squealed. Tell him to show us now, Mam!’
She kept up such a noise of protest that Mick gave in before they had reached the end of the lane and fished out a small, bright red lollipop. Laura grabbed it. ‘Ooh, my favourite colour!’
Mick took off the wrapper and soon their daughter was sucking happily and skipping along between them, all thoughts of ice cream forgotten.
Carol smiled at her husband, realising how he must have planned the surprise in anticipation of Laura demanding something more expensive.
‘That was thoughtful of you,’ she murmured and slipped her arm through his.
He smiled back. ‘No point in worrying over money, pet. We’ll manage without your wages. I’ll gan to the Welfare for me dinner if you like.’
Carol knew how difficult it was for Mick to say that. He had held out from attending the soup kitchen, saying it was meant for men who were worse off then he was and he would not take food away from the needy. Now he was swallowing his pride and admitting that they themselves needed the help they had been giving to others.
Carol squeezed his arm, thankful that he was there to support her and lift her spirits. It felt good being close to him again, touching him. For the past month they had hardly been alone together and even at nights he had been off early on picketing duty or slipping off to Laura’s bedroom when their daughter monopolised their bed. Carol had been unable to deny Laura the comfort of snuggling up to her in bed, for the child had nightmares about a bus leaving her behind and being chased by an angry man and Carol knew the rally still haunted her. It haunted them both. The picture of the miner being beaten on the ground kept plaguing her mind.
But tonight, Carol determined she and Mick would make love again and make up for the distance of the past month. As they cut through the allotments and down the steep cliff path to the sea, she felt Mick relax, chattering with Laura and talking confidently to her about how everything was going to work out in their favour.
She no longer felt disheartened. The evening sun shone warm on her back and she breathed in the salty sea air. For a moment she stood and watched Mick chasing after Laura along the beach, his blond hair shining, his face and arms faintly tanned from being above ground every day. Then she was running after them to catch up.
‘Hey,’ she shouted. ‘I love you!’
They turned and looked at her in surprise.
‘I love you both; I love you both to bits!’ Carol yelled, grinning, and caught up with them, pushing Mick over on the sand and grabbing Laura in a hug. They fell in a giggling heap on top of him.
‘They’ll lock you up one of these days,’ Mick laughed.
‘As long as they lock you in with me, I don’t care,’ Carol answered and kissed him.
‘Kiss me! Kiss me!’ Laura squealed and planted wet kisses on both their cheeks.
‘You’re soft, the pair of
you,’ Mick smiled, but hugged them fiercely to him.
‘Dad, mind me lolly,’ Laura protested and pulled it off his T-shirt.
They spent the evening throwing stones into the sea and filling their pockets with shells. Wandering home via the allotments, they found Charlie reading on an ancient deck chair, taking a rare evening off. He gave them rhubarb and a cabbage and pressed ten pence into Laura’s hand to buy sweets. They chatted about the garden and the family, but only later did Carol realise there had been no mention of the latest strike news or plans for the next day, as if the men had already discussed them.
They strolled home in the twilight with a sleepy Laura in Mick’s arms, and Carol felt content and revitalised and ready to face another day.
That night, Laura slept soundly in her own bed. Mick took Carol in his arms and they made love before falling into a deep dreamless sleep, drugged by tiredness and sea air.
Something woke Carol shortly before dawn. The space in the bed next to her was empty and chill. Mick was gone. Then she noticed the note scrawled on her bedside table.
‘See you soon. Don’t worry. I love you. Mick.’
Carol went cold inside. She had a gut feeling that Mick was in danger, like women had about their men going underground. The day stretched ahead of her, long and anxious. Her question of the previous evening rang in her head, ‘Where’s Orgreave?’ Mick had said near Sheffield but had not wanted to talk about it. Had he known, as he turned off the ugly pictures of confrontation on the television, that soon it would be him on the front line?
At breakfast time, Charlie appeared at the kitchen door, looking tired. Laura rushed up to him for a hug and began making a fuss over his terrier, Dougal, who was jumping around her legs. It pained Carol that she no longer asked where her father was, having grown used to him not being there in the morning.
‘I just came to tell you, Carol, that Mick’s away to South Yorkshire. There’s a few of the lads gone, Eddy included. Local families are going to put them up, they’ll be well looked after.’
Durham Trilogy 03. Never Stand Alone Page 21
