A Scab is no Son of Mine

About the Book

The writing of this book came as many friends and acquaintances told me that I should write a book on my experiences of the miners’ strike in 1984-85 and how it changed my life forever.. I never gave this idea much thought until early in 2013 when a BBC TV journalist suggested that it would make good reading. I realised that the 30th Anniversary was very soon to be upon us, and felt that this would be the end for me with regard to TV interviews about the family break up caused by the Miner’s strike. The thirty year mark seemed a good a point in time as any to round it off as it were. Having said that I could find myself doing interviews at the Fortieth anniversary. I could not believe even now just how raw this industrial dispute would feel even after all this time. When one looks at other industrial disputes you could be forgiven for not remembering one Two years ago let alone Thirty. The reason I think that the miners’ strike lasted so long in people’s hearts and minds was that it wasn’t just a job, it was a way of life, a heritage, an industry that was so vital to the economic wellbeing of Great Britain. Whatever your views on the miner’s strike this book is to give you an insight into the experiences of a normal unassuming coal miner and how his world was turned upside down and thrown into the public eye through the normal act of going to work but with a twist doing a non-normal act in a very unordinary climate. Crossing a picket line of over 800 angry miner’s is not an easy thing to do. The dilemma I found myself in was quite simple, I did not believe that a strike would solve anything, I felt that holding the country to ransom was immoral. The casing point that made the decision once and for all was Arthur Scargill’s refusal to give us, his member’s, the fundamental right of a national ballot. Although I was against the strike from the outset had we been given a national ballot and had that ballot resulted in a majority in favour of strike action then I like all the other miners that crossed the picket lines in 1984 would be out on strike without question. That after all is democracy. Men and Women in English history have died fighting for the right of a democratic vote, in a lesser way that is what I and others like me did, we fought for democracy. My closing remark on that, is that the only way to have kept the pits open albeit lesser in numbers was to work them, not abandon them for a whole year.

About the Author

I was born in December 1962, to an unassuming mining family, I lived there with my Mother, Father, older Brother and a dog and a cat. A typical ordinary working class family. We were no different to any other mining family, we were all poor but happy in a funny sort of way. The old adage that says you don’t miss what you didn’t have is very true. We never knew the things that wealthier families had such as a colour TV, telephone, etc. We made our own entertainment and as kids in the school holidays we would be outside playing with all the other kids from dawn until dusk, in fact my Mother could not get us in the house at evening even after dark. There were no worries then of child abductions, rapists Paedophiles and the like, just good honest folk. From my recollections and from talking g to my older Brother Robert we regarded our childhood as happy days by and large, we had nothing and we wanted for nothing in a way. We took very different paths even from School, Rob went to Markland School in Creswell and I went to Boughton Lane in Clowne. Rob never went to the pit and never showed signs of wanting to. I went to the pit and always wanted to. We were close as brothers go, he was there for me then and has been there for me ever since. I could rely on him to help me today should I need it and vice versa. My life was very unnoticeable up until going down the coal mine and with the start of the miner’s strike in 1984 my life would change dramatically and very much in the public eye.