CB: And so you were already there, on the picket line, when the police arrived—
Johnny: Police arrived? It were an army!
CB: OK, so the army arrives, but you were there already—
Johnny: They ’ad us penned in a field. We couldn’t get out! They were a world round me, just herded us into here, and we couldn’t get out, and I mean, summat lunged out, and I didn’t see, and I went in the old out-and-bottom, some-un of us jumped out and ran, and there were dogs after ’em,’orses, and, you know, arrested, and—I were OK, I were in the middle o’ it, there were a big lad runnin’, Teddy—
Harry: Carl.
Johnny: Carl. Carl, not Teddy. And I mean this copper, you know’e were a big lad, and [smacks fist]—like that. ’E went straight down, everybody cheered! But you know, they just got ’im and arrest ’im. You know, there weren’t many, they had it all sewn up—
Harry: They had a plan.
Brian: It was a trap, wasn’t it. Orgreave was a trap.
CB: When did you realize it was a trap? Did you think so at the time?
Johnny: No, after. You know, we thought it wouldn’t last, you know, a week. I mean, ’72 were five week, ’74 were seven week, and maybe, nothing as long as that, twelve, or eleven, or—but not twelve months.
CB: At what point in the big strike did you realize something different was happening, when did you start to realize this was really part of history—
Johnny: Never. We just carried on, you know, ’til it were finished. And it kept going.
CB: What happened to you after the strike?
Johnny: Well, I took redundancy, yeah. I handed in my papers, and I didn’t want nought to do with it. And I wanted everybody to do the same.
Harry: That were after the pit closed.
Johnny: Ay?
Harry: That were after the pit closed.
Johnny: No, the pit were open.
Harry: Ay.
Johnny: You know when we went back, I handed on my papers. I said, this is no job! Handed ’em in I’d a got sacked, because they said “I want you to go and drive this machine.” Says I, I’ve lost my confidence, I don’t want to drive anymore, I wanted everyone to do that—
Harry: That’s so right.
Johnny: You know, this other guy said, they said, go put that Airedale up—
CB: Go put that what up?
Johnny, Harry: Air door. Ventilation.
Johnny: You know, he says, “Put that air door up,” and I says, “I’m a miner, not a joiner.” You know. He says, “If you don’t put it up, you got to go home,” so I says, so I went home. I’d had enough. That were it for me. But there was only me doing it. One day, I came off the face, they says, they’re sending [unintelligible] on, do you remember that, little kid—daft as a bush, ’e were!
Harry: That one were out of it, weren’t he!
[They fall about laughing; I’m lost.]
Johnny: What were the manager, then? That little bloke—
Harry: Not the bloody one that came from college—a Geordie—
Johnny: No, that weren’t him. Belford.
CB: What made Scargill so popular? Why did people follow Scargill?
Johnny: He were a good speaker, weren’t ’e?
Harry: He were a good speaker.
Johnny: I mean, ’e told ’em what they wanted to ’ear, but . . . C
B: When you saw him speak, was there something in particular he said that really moved and impressed you?
Johnny: Everything ’e said. ’E was my ’ero.
CB: Pardon?
Johnny: Were my ’ero.
CB: Was he?
Johnny: Yep.
CB: Is he still your hero?
Johnny: I think so.
CB: You don’t feel like he let you down?
Johnny: No. I think a lot of people did.
Harry: A lot of people did.
Johnny: But I don’t think he did. I mean, they blackened ’is name that much, didn’t they, blackened ’is name that much—you know, everybody, the press did it, the media did it. Crikey . . . You want a beer? [goes to fridge, passes beer around, sound of flip-tabs opening]
Brian: No more, honestly, I’m alright.
Johnny: You all havin’ one?
CB: Thank you.
Harry: Cheers.
CB: Cheers.
Johnny to Brian: Are you sure?
Brian: Yes, yes, thank you.
Johnny: You don’t like beer?
CB: When you say Scargill was your hero, did you ever think about his being a Marxist—
Johnny: No.
CB: Did that—were you a Marxist as well? Or was it just not that important?
Johnny: Well I vote BNP now.188
CB: You vote BNP now? Why do you vote for them?
Johnny: Eh?
CB: Why do you vote for them?
Johnny: ’Cause I don’t like Tony Blair. ’E’s give this country away, hasn’t he? Don’t you think so? ’E’s give this country away. Give it away to Muslims.
[Finds a BNP leaflet, passes it around]
Johnny: Everything it says in there, I believe in it.
Harry: Yeah?
Johnny: Yep.
CB: But the BNP is—
Johnny: He’s gonna sell this bloody country away. What a man. Worst man since Hitler then.
Brian: Tony Blair?
Johnny: Yeah. ’Orrible.
Brian: Worse than Thatcher?
Johnny: Eh?
Brian: So where do you see Thatcher, then?
Johnny: Well, she knackered us up.
CB: Do you think she was good for the country overall?
Johnny: Hmmm. I got me own house now through her. Only a pit house, that, but I own it. And I never’d owned if she hadn’t got in. I don’t think anybody else woulda done it, uh. Maybe they would have. I mean, if I had had a chance, I’d a shot her.
Brian: Every miner would’ve shot her.
Harry: I’ll get drunk when she leaves. [Gestures at vegetable patch] I mean, this is what we got left now.
[Rooster crows]
Harry: After the strike, after the pit closed, they went from pit to pit, it were. The life we had, weren’t it, you know—
Johnny: Yeah.
Brian: Your wife went to Russia, toured about with Scargill to Russia, didn’t she—
Johnny: Yeah, she toured around—
CB: With Scargill? To Russia?
Johnny: Yeah, but Mrs. Scargill went.
CB: Mrs. Scargill went with your wife?
Johnny: Well, there were about two or three ’undred of ’em. [loud belch]
CB: And when was this?
Johnny: All of ’em worked in kitchens, were kitchen women.
CB: Who paid for that?
Johnny: Miners. Russian miners.
Harry, Brian: Miners. Russian miners.
CB: Well, how did the Russian miners pay for it?
Johnny: Hmmmm.
Brian: Well, union, union fees!
Johnny: Or whatever. I don’t know.
Harry: Generous people.
Brian: It would be union fees. I don’t think it would be the government.
Harry: No, it weren’t the government.
Brian: The union fees—
CB: You seriously think the Russian miners just gave up money, out of their salaries, to—
Harry: Yes, of course.
Johnny: Yeah.
Brian: Of course. No problem. I don’t—honestly, Claire.
Harry: We’d a done the same for ’em.
Brian: Miners is miners.
Harry: I mean, miners is not just a national thing, it’s an international thing.
Johnny: I mean, the unions paid for it. Playin’ fair. You know . . . C
B: OK, look. How, out of Russian rubles, Soviet rubles at the time, which were not convertible—
Johnny: They were sendin’ food parcels over.
Harry: Sending food parcels, there’s a lot o’ bloody food there�
�
CB: And you really think this was from the Russian miners and not the Soviet government?
All: It was!
Johnny: It wasn’t from the government.
Brian: Don’t concentrate on Russia. You’re concentrating on Russia. Australia did it—
Johnny: Yep.
Brian: You got, anywhere which had got coal mines would be sending union—
Harry: If they could afford it, they’d be sending it—food parcels, or some donation, towards—
Brian: Yes. French miners, Belgian miners—
Harry: German miners—
[Rooster crows]
CB: Why did the unions agree to go along with the pit closures before Thatcher? I mean, there were a lot of them under Labour, too.
Harry: There weren’t a lot of pit closures under Labour.
CB: Do you think Thatcher wanted to destroy the coal industry?
Brian: I don’t think she could bloody understand it.
Harry: She wanted to destroy the unions.
CB: She wanted to destroy the unions so much that she was willing to sacrifice the coal industry—
All: Yes, yes—
Brian: It was the unions [all talking, unintelligible]—
Johnny: And at the top of the unions was miners, so once you got miners, you got it—
CB: Why do you think she hated the unions so much?
Johnny: Because o’ Ted ’Eath.
CB: You don’t think it was because of ’79, because of the Winter of Discontent?
All: No.
Johnny: That were a Labour government, weren’t it?
CB: Yeah, but that’s why she was elected. She was elected because people were fed up with the unions.
Brian: There’s something to that. But that isn’t the major one. I mean, my problem is, I think she’s not very bright, as I’ve pointed out, but I think she’s single-minded, and I think that she saw, as John said, she thought, Kill the miners’ union—kill everything. And that’s what she did.
CB: Do you think Britain’s better off because of her?
Harry: That’s the problem, isn’t it? You can’t really know.
Johnny: Not in my opinion. I think this country’s knackered now. I think this man that we got in now has give the country away. In ten years, he’s give a thousand years’ advantage away. ’Orrible man. It’s useless. No workers. What do we produce in this country? Nothin’.
CB: But London is the world’s financial capital.
Johnny: London is crap. London is just full o’ people that do nothing.
CB: They make a lot of money.
John: What for?
Harry: Doin’ nothing.
Johnny: For fuck-all.
[All speak, unintelligible]
Johnny: There’s six million people in this country that shouldn’t be here!
Brian: And who are they?
Johnny: Who are they! Crikey, there’s thousands of ’em, isn’t there?! They’re comin’ in droves, they’re comin’ in bloody droves, they shouldn’t be ’ere! We don’t need ’em. Make’em work! They made me work! Make their bloody kids work! Fetch conscription back! I don’t want to see ’em ’ere, little shits! Bloody kids around ’ere . . .
[Rooster crows]
Johnny: Want some raspberries from the garden?
Harry: Ay.
Johnny: Take a raspberry or two.
9
The Triumvirate
I stand before you tonight in my Red Star chiffon evening gown, my face softly made up and my fair hair gently waved, the Iron Lady of the Western world. A Cold War warrior, an Amazon philistine, even a Peking plotter. Am I any of these things? Well, yes, if that’s how they wish to interpret my defense of values and freedoms fundamental to our way of life . . .
—THATCHER ADDRESSING FINCHLEY CONSERVATIVES IN 1976189
On August 31, 1983, Korean Airlines Flight 007 lumbered aloft from Kennedy airport, refueled in Anchorage, and continued its journey westward toward Seoul. Most of the 269 passengers, I imagine, fell asleep as the plane chugged through the sky; perhaps a few insomniacs listened to show tunes or traditional Korean folk music on the audio system. Among them were twenty-three children and sixty-three American citizens, including an American congressman. They were unaware that their pilot had made a navigational error and strayed into Soviet airspace.
Kornukov: Gerasimenko, cut the horseplay at the command post, what is that noise there? I repeat the combat task: Fire the missiles, fire on target 60–65. Destroy target 60–65.
Gerasimenko: Task received. Destroy target 60–65 with missile fire, accept control of fighter from Smyrnykh.
Kornukov: Carry out the task, destroy! . . . Shit, how long does it take him to get into attack position, he is already getting out into neutral waters! Engage afterburner immediately. Bring in the MiG–23 as well . . . While you are wasting time it will fly right out.
Titovnin: 805, try to destroy the target with cannons.
Osipovich: I am dropping back. Now I will try a rocket.
Titovnin: Roger.
Osipovich: Roger, I am in lock-on.
Titovnin: 805, are you closing on the target?
Osipovich: I am closing on the target, am in lock-on. Distance to target is eight kilometers.
Titovnin: AFTERBURNER, 805!
Osipovich: I have already switched it on.
Titovnin: Launch!
Osipovich: Yolki Palki! The target is destroyed.190
The voices of the pilots who sent the civilian airliner plunging into the Tatar Strait were picked up by a National Security Agency listening station. Yolki Palki is a euphemistic rendition of the Russian curse yob tvoyu mat, meaning “Your mother has been fucked.” The black box from KAL 007 was recovered. Suffice to say that the passengers’ deaths did not come immediately.
Grey-faced, grim, and unyielding, the Kremlin’s apparatchiks refused to admit error. They insisted first that the plane had crashed of its own accord, then admitted that their air force had shot it down, yes, but with ample justification, they said, for it had been a spy plane, dispatched by the United States as a deliberate provocation and a test of their air defenses.
Six days later, Ronald Reagan delivered one of the angriest speeches of the Cold War. Although his “Evil Empire” speech is better known, the text of this speech was in fact more belligerent, and given the context, far more minatory.
. . . Massacre . . . crime against humanity . . . violating every concept of human rights . . . an explosion of condemnation by people everywhere . . . savagery . . . the Soviets still refuse to tell the truth . . . [It’s] the Soviet Union against the world . . . barbarism . . . a society which wantonly disregards individual rights and the value of human life . . . seeks constantly to expand and dominate other nations . . . yes, shooting down a plane—even one with hundreds of innocent men, women, children, and babies—is a part of their normal procedure! . . . inhuman brutality . . . Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland, the gassing of villages in Afghanistan . . . unspeakable act . . . a righteous and terrible anger . . . monstrous wrong . . . we will remember [this] for the rest of our lives . . . 191
Thatcher made no effort to encourage Reagan to temper his rhetoric. Quite the contrary. “My views on the barbarity of this act,” she immediately wrote to him, are completely at one with yours . . . This incident has vividly illustrated the true nature of the Soviet regime. Its rigidity and ruthlessness, its neuroses about spying and security, its mendacity, and its apparent inability to understand, let alone apply, the normal rules of civilized conduct between nations, have been an object lesson to those who believe that goodwill and reason alone will be sufficient to ensure our security and world peace . . . 192
Reagan’s speech, responded the Kremlin, was a compilation of “obscenities alternating with hypocritical preaching.”
I remember these events well. I was fifteen years old. I remember our very serious discussions at school. Was this the beginning of the end? Would there be a nucl
ear war? Would we be more likely to survive if we left the city? Would we want to survive? The Soviets were clearly insane: They had just shot a civilian plane out of the air. But Reagan was insane, too: There was no way he would let this rest—just listen to him! Maybe we could go up to Canada? No good, we concluded; we would nonetheless perish in the nuclear winter. Besides, none of us had our driver’s licenses yet.
Do you realize how close we really came to nuclear war that autumn? Most people don’t. I didn’t, until recently. Not long after the downing of KAL 007, NATO conducted a military exercise called Able Archer, simulating a nuclear launch. Reagan’s response to the downing of flight 007 had so spooked the Kremlin that Soviet leader Yuri Andropov and his top aides believed Able Archer to be the preliminary to a genuine first strike. The KGB sent out a molinya—a flash message—to its operatives in the West, warning them to prepare for nuclear war. Frantic, the Soviets readied their nuclear forces and their air units in Eastern Europe. Soviet fighter-bombers sat laden with nuclear weapons on the runways, on red alert, their engines roaring.
On September 26, Lieutenant Colonel Stanislav Yevgrafovich Petrov sat watch in the Serpukhov-15 bunker on a cold Moscow night. Shortly after midnight, red lights lit up the bunker: According to satellite data, a nuclear missile had been launched from the United States. Petrov stared at his computer screen in incredulity. It made no sense. Just one missile? Why? Against his standing orders, he decided not to press the button that would send this information up the chain of command and precipitate the launching of a massive nuclear counterstrike.
Then the satellite spotted a second missile.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
Then a fifth.
Everyone in the bunker began screaming. Sweat poured off Petrov’s face. According to the computer, they would all be vaporized within minutes.
By the grace of God, Petrov decided this simply couldn’t be happening. He didn’t know what was going on, but it just couldn’t be what it seemed to be. It just could not be. He broke his orders outright and refused to press the button. The sirens wailed as the minutes ticked past. The bombs didn’t fall.
Petrov was right, of course: It wasn’t happening. The signals had been caused by a freak sunlight alignment. A lone Soviet lieutenant colonel prevented the Apocalypse. The Kremlin rewarded Petrov for breaking his orders by demoting him and sending him into exile, where he suffered a nervous breakdown.193
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