1984: Made in Yorkshire, #7

By James Farner

Richard Warren has turned thirty. Twenty years on from the beginnings of a strange and wonderful tale and he finds himself with a family in Yorkshire again. Far away from the dark depravity of life in London, Richard is only now beginning to retake the reins of a normal life.

But as the miner’s strike rears its head, enemies from the past return to haunt Richard one last time. His brother Peter launches himself into the action for the ultimate showdown between the traditional working classes and the establishment. Whilst Richard does his best to stick to his novel writing and cultivating a relationship with his son Jack, the gruelling stalemate gradually drags him back into a world he thought he’d escaped.

With a family under threat from all sides, Richard must put aside his desires for a quiet life in Yorkshire. But if he is to triumph this time, he might have to give up one of the most precious things he has left.

Part of the Made in Yorkshire saga:

1964 (Made in Yorkshire Book 1)
1969 (Made in Yorkshire Book 2)
1972 (Made in Yorkshire Book 3)
1973 (Made in Yorkshire Book 4)
1976 (Made in Yorkshire Book 5)
1981 (Made in Yorkshire Book 6)
1984 (Made in Yorkshire Book 7)

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Farner
• Release date: May 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513038940

Book preview

Warning

This book will contain large numbers of colloquialisms, phrases, and sayings that apparently make no sense at all. I assure you, I’m not utterly insane. That’s really how some of us speak in Yorkshire.

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Find out what happens to Richard Warren as soon as you can in James Farner’s Made in Yorkshire series.

Prologue

Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis Robert Hardy shuffled the papers on his desk. His window looked out over London from the very highest floor of New Scotland Yard. At one time, he’d cowered in the chair on the opposite side of his desk. He used to fear these halls. Only on a single occasion when former commissioner Robert Marks made him Chief Constable of the Tyneside region did he get anything that wasn’t a reprimand. He wouldn’t have to worry about that ever again.

The polished maple desk had two chairs upholstered in red leather sitting in front of him. There was normally only one. Today, he had two guests. Northern England was about to challenge his police officers. Any threat to the police was a threat to his position. Commissioners had lost their jobs before for failing to deal with strikes and riots.

He marched across the well-worn carpet and stared into a mirror he kept on top of a filing cabinet. Taking a dull, metal comb from inside his suit pocket, he combed his heavily greying hair back across his head. His hairline had started to recede and his face had lost its usual tightness. He never liked to admit that the years of hard work were catching up to him. It was all worth it, he thought to himself.

Someone knocked on the door. It was insistent, yet low. It was his secretary’s knock. He knew it by heart.

Come in, Amanda, said Commissioner Hardy.

Amanda appeared at the door with a smile. She was wearing that skirt again, with the extra inch cut off and spiked heels. He knew she only did that in case he decided to sack her for someone younger. Middle-age wasn’t treating her well.

Lord Camberwell to see you, sir, said Amanda.

Good, good, bring him in. And, Amanda, be quick about it.

Yes, sir.

Amanda disappeared for a moment and returned with Lord Rufus Camberwell in tow.

Good afternoon, Rufus, please come in, said Commissioner Hardy. Amanda, you will have to wait for lunch today. I’m expecting an extremely important guest.

A slight hint of a frown crept up to her mouth, but she managed to save it at the last second with a smile. Commissioner Hardy saw everything. He knew she hated him. But that was the only reason he kept her around. He enjoyed making her jump.

Rufus waited for the door to close behind him before approaching. Commissioner Hardy hadn’t remembered Rufus being this tall. He was a half-head taller than him. Maybe it was him who had shrunk with age? Someone once told him people got smaller as they got older.

Unbelievable, Robert. I had to travel through London on a weekday just to get here. Do you know where this is?

Broadway, Rufus. We’re on Victoria Street, and you should know that after all I’ve done for you these past years.

I was merely making the point that I would prefer it if you were the one to visit me. At least you can make the traffic stop.

Nevertheless, I feel I’m somewhat entitled to bring you here. You do realise that the only reason you remain in your current position is because of what I’ve done for you.

Rufus’s jaw tightened. Yes, and a damn shame it is, too. Not that I begrudge our business relationship, but I do not appreciate having to seek aid from the lower classes.

Commissioner Hardy turned away and walked to the panoramic view behind his desk. Tell me, Rufus, where did you get that horrible suit of yours? Those oversized shoulder pads look like something from Dynasty. Aren’t all the women wearing those these days?

He waited for the sharp intake of breath that always came from Rufus when something angered him. Commissioner Hardy knew full well he wouldn’t speak out. Lord Camberwell was nothing but a pawn these days. Too much involvement with cocaine and lobbying had eroded his family’s powerbase and good name over the years.

Well, Rufus, take a seat. We do have much to discuss, don’t we?

Rufus eased himself into the seat with his arms tensed. Commissioner Hardy stood for a moment, before sitting down opposite.

You have so far failed to tell me why you wanted me here.

The upcoming strikes.

I am well aware of the threat of strikes. What I have yet to understand is why this concerns me.

Big coalfield the South Yorkshire one. If the miners get bored they might look for a nice, stately home to burn down. Commissioner Hardy chuckled at him.

I am glad you find the thought of Camberwell House being burned to the ground hilarious, but I do not. Who are we supposed to be waiting for?

All in good time, Rufus, all in good time.

Amanda knocked again not ten seconds later. She was once again summoned inside. This time, she brought Alistair Goldcrest with her. Commissioner Hardy knew Ian MacGregor, who led the National Coal Board these days, wouldn’t take time out of his day to visit personally. Goldcrest was a glorified messenger boy from the Eton school system and little else, but he still had power.

Good evening, Alistair. So good to see you again. Commissioner Hardy stepped forward to shake his hand with a smile. I did enjoy that little dinner party last month. We should do something similar again soon.

Charmed, indeed, said Alistair. My apologies, but I shan’t have much time to speak today. I do have another engagement this afternoon. Ian keeps me busy.

Lord Rufus Camberwell. Rufus held out his hand.

No introductions necessary. I know exactly who you are. I was sad to hear about that business with the drugs. A damn shame they caught you in the chamber. Do be more careful next time.

Commissioner Hardy saw Rufus’s eyes flash. He didn’t expect a man like Alistair to have the guts to become so bold in the presence of a lord. Goldcrest must have a higher position than originally thought. He would have to reassess how to handle him.

Alistair settled into a chair, and Rufus shuffled his a few inches away from him.

So, Alistair, what do you have for us? said Commissioner Hardy.

It’s quite simple. In the next two weeks we are going to abolish the agreement signed after the miner’s strike in 1974.

Sorry? said Commissioner Hardy.

The agreement signed with the miners in 1974. It’s now obsolete.

My God, you can’t be serious. What does Ian expect to accomplish with this?

Rufus snickered. It looks like your position may come under some threat in the very near future, then. I do hope you have a plan in place.

Commissioner Hardy licked his lips and sent a glare at Rufus. Yes, I will have a plan. And don’t think that excludes you. I brought you here to help me. A new strike is little surprise to me. Carry on, Alistair.

Alistair cleared his throat. Yes, gentlemen, we believe we are in a strong enough position to destroy the power of the National Union of Miners. The NUM have been a problem for British industry for too long. Ian managed to solve the problems British Steel had, and it’s time to repeat the strategy –

Ah, I think I remember British Steel, said Rufus. Did he not sack half the workforce to make it more efficient?

He did indeed. And we believe we can replicate this strategy. The NUM have held the country to ransom for years, and now it’s time to take a stand. We will not only announce the removal of the 1974 agreement, we will also close twenty mines in Scotland, Wales, and the North of England. The unprofitable ones, of course.

Commissioner Hardy arched his fingers in front of his face. He had never expected MacGregor to make a stand like this. He had expected him to announce job losses and little else, but this was on a completely different scale. He was setting himself up for a final showdown with the leader of the NUM, Arthur Scargill.

What do you think of this? said Alistair.

Dangerous, said Commissioner Hardy. You do know this could become the closest thing to a complete national strike in decades, don’t you?

Like the one that broke Edward Heath’s government in 1974? said Rufus.

Exactly that. This is what Ian wants to do. He feels as if both Margaret Thatcher’s government and himself are powerful enough to force the NUM to back down. It’s inevitable, anyway. Scargill has talked for years about a supposed secret plan to dismantle the British mining industry.

Does Margaret know about this?

She does indeed. She’s well aware that if we win, we will be able to reduce government subsidies to the mines on a permanent basis.

No wonder that wretched woman supports this, then, said Rufus.

Both Alistair and Commissioner Hardy turned to Rufus.

I thought you liked Thatcher, said Commissioner Hardy. She’s the most right wing Tory in years.

God, no, she’s not right-wing enough. She backed down in 1981 and she will back down again without proper support. We all know the only reason she has so much publicity surrounding her is because she’s a woman.

Commissioner Hardy waved his hand dismissively at him. He’d never cared for politics. To him, politicians were spineless fools. The real power lay in the civil service. Politicians came and went in a matter of years. People like him and those in the civil service stayed forever.

And how’s this going to work for me? said Commissioner Hardy. A mass strike could go on for years. I need to know that this won’t put an unnecessary amount of pressure on me.

That’s why I came. I wanted to explain the plans to you first. I’ve left a folder with your secretary. It details exactly where we expect most of the problems and how many we expect to go out on strike. I won’t bore you with the details, but you will have to crush the miners in South Yorkshire, Merthyr Tydfil in South Wales, and potentially Durham. You should also beware of the Kentish miners. Nottingham will go out on strike, but as their pits are least threatened with closure, they won’t carry out the strike for long.

Commissioner Hardy nodded. He’d dealt with strikes and civil disobedience before, but nothing on this scale. His heart raced even as he listened to it. If it failed and the NUM won, he would lose everything he’d worked for. On the other hand, victory would mean a permanent position. He’d never have to worry about any home secretary throwing him out again.

I do have one question, said Commissioner Hardy. That list Scargill always talks about. Does such a list actually exist? Are they planning on closing down mines every year?

Alistair smirked. Of course there’s a list. It was a real problem when they managed to catch wind of its existence. The Thatcher government does intend on dismantling the industry. British Coal has become far too bloated. We would be better served financially by importing our stocks from abroad.

Thought so. Scargill wouldn’t bluff on something this volatile.

Rufus cleared his throat loudly. Excuse me, I fail to see why you invited me here. I have no interest in mining. My father sold our family’s interests in the business long ago, and I have no desire to become involved with it again.

Alistair looked at his watch. I’m afraid you will have to discuss these issues between yourselves. I have somewhere else to be. Good day to you both, and I trust you will keep the contents of our conversation confidential.

He moved from his chair and left the room without so much as a goodbye. Commissioner Hardy still watched the door for a few seconds. Goldcrest had changed his plans entirely. He wasn’t safe yet.

Excuse me! Rufus roused him from his thoughts.

What, Rufus?

Me, why did you bring me here? I have much to do and little time to do it in.

Commissioner Hardy frowned at the impertinent lord. I don’t care what you have to do. Alistair’s news has changed things. I knew about a strike soon, but never on this scale. Now I need your help more than before. I need some of your inside influence.

And why should I help you?

Because I will feed you to the journalists about your tax affairs if you don’t.

Rufus went bright red. How...how did you know about that?

I know everything about you. It seems you’ve been up to your old tricks again, haven’t you? Commissioner Hardy got to his feet and began to pace around the table. You’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you? You can’t keep your hands out of the till. Yes, I know that you’ve avoided thousands in tax in the last five years. And I have enough evidence to prove it. I can have you put down if you disobey me. He put his hands on the back of his chair. Rufus shivered at the slight touch on the back of his jacket. If you fall again, you know there’s no coming back. You narrowly avoided prison last time. This time, the fine will be so large that you’ll be in the poorhouse by the end of it. And I wouldn’t even have to consider breaking the rules to do it. It would all be above board.

Yes, fine. Well, I will see what I can do. Rufus tugged at his collar.

Good, now please stop interrupting me. As I was saying, I need your influence within the House of Lords and I need your influence within the civil service. And I need it at no cost–

No cost, I –

You will do nothing and you will say nothing. I’ll have what I want at no cost or you will find yourself sitting in front of a judge within the next week. Do you understand?

Commissioner Hardy watched Rufus’s Adam’s apple bob up and down with a gulp. His silence heralded his triumph.

Good. Commissioner Hardy pressed back on Rufus’s chair. That’s what I thought. Now I want you to make sure that we have political support to run as we please. I don’t want investigations into the Met and I want the ability to transfer my forces around the country without being questioned at every turn. Don’t think for one second the regional forces will have the numbers to cope with what’s coming. Will that be a problem?

No, said Rufus. No problems at all.

Good. Now get out. I’m finished with you for today.

Rufus scurried away with his head down without a pause. The door slammed shut behind him.

Commissioner Hardy watched the door for a few moments in case he decided to return again. Rufus sometimes let his temper get the better of him, and he wanted to ready himself in case he attempted to rebel. The clock in the corner ticked by and the door handle didn’t budge.

He moved around the table and sat back in his chair. His plans were in motion. Any uproar from the lower classes anywhere in the country would break against the assembled riot shields and horses of his police force. Life was good.

Chapter One

Richard Warren sat in his study, writing. It hadn’t always been a study. The room once served as a tiny guestroom, but when he realised that he hadn’t had any guests over for the night since moving in two years ago, it became his study. A small table with a reading chair and lamp in the far corner replaced the furniture. It was the one part of the house that was truly his.

Writing was all he did these days. It always started out as an ambition, but life intervened and writing fell away. Yet it always came back in one form or another. It started with fiction, then it went to non-fiction, then fiction again, and non-fiction for a second time. Finally, he’d closed the circle and fiction returned again. He’d given up on doing anything else in life.

This morning he’d gone back to writing by hand. The ZX Spectrum computer that he’d received as a present from his wife Jessica stood lifeless. It had a word processor programme called Tasword, but Richard had never managed to learn how it worked. The fat manual for it had long found its way onto a bookshelf, never to be browsed again. He was so much faster by hand.

Richard dipped his tongue into the two holes that had once held teeth as he stopped to procrastinate. He hated them. They had made him stop smiling in case anyone asked about them. He didn’t want anyone to know he’d once lived on the streets.

Richard, he heard the familiar call of Jessica from downstairs. Breakfast’s ready.

In a minute, he called back.

He’d wanted to keep writing. Why was it that whenever he started to gather some momentum something would ruin it? Whenever he had the time he couldn’t think of anything to write about, and so he’d waste hours sitting in his chair, staring out of the study window. Not that there was anything to stare at. They lived in the suburbs of Leeds where they had nothing but the view of someone else’s identical house.

Still, it was better than Whickham, where they’d lived just outside Newcastle. It was too isolated and the views weren’t much better. Besides, the decline of heavy industry had ruined that part of the world. At least Leeds had attempted to modernise somewhat. Richard wasn’t particularly sorry to leave Newcastle behind. Yorkshire was the place for him.

I’m not going to tell you again, said Jessica. Get down here now.

Richard sighed to himself. This wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t going to leave him alone. The last thing he needed was for her to come upstairs and start pulling at him. When she’d done that the year before, she’d spilled a glass of water all over his work, by accident of course.

Shoving the sheets of paper into a drawer, he scratched the scar behind his ear and started to bang down the stairs. He knew where all the creaks in the floorboards were and purposely stepped on them because he knew it irritated Jessica.

On his way to the kitchen, he looked into the living room. Jack Warren sat glued to the TV whilst the sounds of the morning’s BBC News rang. Some nameless face spoke about the Winter Olympics and droned on about last month’s hurricanes. Richard always wondered what was wrong with his son. A ten-year-old shouldn’t enjoy watching the news every morning.

Jack, your breakfast’s ready, said Richard.

I know. Jack didn’t look away from the TV screen.

Why are you still in your pyjamas at this time? Aren’t you meant to be at school in an hour?

Yeah.

Then why aren’t you getting ready?

Jack shrugged and put his ear closer to the TV.

Richard sighed and stepped in front of the TV with his finger raised. Jack didn’t move as he placed his finger over the button and the newsreader disappeared into blackness.

Richard, said Jack.

No, enough. Go and get ready now. And I keep telling you to call me Dad. I’m not Richard to you.

Jack shrugged and sat back on the floor again. He stared at the blank screen like the programme was still there.

I want you ready for school. Now go on, and go get your breakfast.

Richard turned and left the room. He knew full well Jack would sit there until Jessica stepped in. They went through this same ritual practically every morning. Sometimes he thought he did it on purpose.

He’s gone off on one again, said Richard to Jessica.

Jessica finished polishing off a slice of toast and licked her jam-covered fingers. You’re too soft with him. He thinks you don’t mean anything.

What am I supposed to do to him? I can’t belt him these days. We’ve passed that, apparently. Anyway, I wouldn’t do that to him. Leathering someone like that doesn’t do anything.

Jessica adjusted her hair in a small mirror she always carried with her. Her red perm looked like it was about to fall off her head if she tipped her head too far. Didn’t you get the belt from your parents?

Aye, but it didn’t do anything, did it? Same with Pete. We both got the belt a few times and look how we turned out. Wouldn’t want him to turn out like me.

You don’t have to smack someone to make them listen. He listens to me when I shout at him.

"He laughs at me when I shout at him. Then he keeps doing