Black Chalk

‘OK then, Chad.’ Emilia suddenly had a severe look to her but there was nothing she could do that didn’t spur the pounding of Chad’s chest. ‘Well, first of all,’ she said, ‘you need to understand that in this country the mining industry was nationalised. And it was subsidised as well, it wasn’t profitable. So plenty of people would argue something had to be done about it and maybe that’s even true. But what makes me angry is how they went about it, how Thatcher and her Tories wanted blood. Because they had this plan of theirs, to crush the unions, right from the very start. They engineered the whole thing.

‘The miners’ strike began in 1984. But ten years earlier, 1974, another miners’ strike had taken down the Tory government. So they cooked up a report right away, how they’d defeat them next time round, get their revenge. It’s all out there, meant to be secret but the whole thing got leaked, their plan of attack. You take a look and you’ll find they stuck to it pretty well.

‘First step, they secretly built up their coal reserves at the power stations so any strike would be ineffective. Next they announce they’re closing down twenty pits, with twenty thousand job losses, and they know the unions have got to respond, no choice. So it starts out like most strikes. Only this one was different for the Tories, this was how they were going to stamp out the unions, make their mark on the country. And they weren’t going to fight fair. So they used MI5, our own secret services, against us, they knew every move the unions would make. And then Thatcher gave a speech comparing the miners to Argentine soldiers in the Falklands War, the Argentines were the enemy without, she said, and now she was telling the country the miners were the enemy within. Because that’s what she wanted, another war.

‘Half the working men in my village were miners. And the next village and the one after that. Unemployment was sky-high and they were all lucky to have jobs as it was. How do you do that, take away their livelihoods, the livelihoods of their sons, their daughters’ husbands, and expect them to do nothing? So the miners went on strike, formed pickets, and the government brought in police from other parts of the country because they were worried a local police force wouldn’t have the stomach to attack its own. Because that’s what they had planned, an attack, a fight. Police horses and baton charges, kicking picketers to the ground, beating men in the back of the head with truncheons as they ran away.

‘It was winter and they made sure no one could get any benefits, not the strikers, not even their families. Two brothers, teenage boys in a village near mine, died scavenging coal from a waste heap. The embankment collapsed and buried them alive. Those boys died trying to keep their family warm when their dad had no money to pay the bills.

‘Our own government, Chad. Spied on us, vilified us, attacked us and finally starved us until we had to surrender. Just as they planned it all along, ten years in the making, their revenge. Thatcher won, Chad, she gave us a bloody good kicking and she enjoyed every minute.’

‘Jeez, Emilia, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise,’ said Chad. ‘If I’d known all that, I don’t think I would have . . .’ And there it was, in his pause, Chad’s gift to Emilia.

‘Wouldn’t have what, Chad?’ Already Emilia was becoming agitated, sensing the enormity in the words left unsaid.

‘Emilia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . I didn’t mean to . . .’ Each of his pauses a gift to her. Gold, frankincense, myrrh.

XLVI(iv)‘Whose idea was it?’ Emilia was fifty yards from them, striding, screaming, her silk scarf fluttering discordantly. ‘Was it you, Jack? I bet it was. Bastard.’

Jolyon, Jack and Dee were motionless on the picnic blanket, Jack not even raising his palms. They held the pose, their shock, as Emilia continued to advance. ‘Come on then, who was it? Which one of you?’

‘Emilia, what’s wrong?’ said Jolyon.

Chad was scampering behind the marching Emilia, hands locked behind his head. ‘Guys, I’m sorry, it just slipped out. She was talking to me all about her dad. I swear I didn’t tell her. She saw my face and kinda guessed and then I had to say something.’

Emilia was at the border of the picnic blanket now. She stood there, hands on hips. ‘Oh, but won’t that be a funny one, that’ll make a good consequence,’ she shouted down at the others. ‘Just imagine Emilia standing up in front of a crowd giving a speech about how Thatcher’s defeat of the miners was the most important single step in Britain’s economic recovery. A personal heroine. Just imagine. Funny as fook. Well, I hope this is a bloody good joke for you all. I hope you all laugh yourselves to sleep tonight. Come on then, one of you do the decent thing and tell me whose stupid idea it was. Jack?’

‘Why do I get the blame for everything? It wasn’t my idea,’ Jack yelped insistently. ‘It wasn’t me, OK?’