The Coal Miner & The Conservative

Introduction & Disclaimer

YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND, 1984

Can opposites really attract?

In the red corner representing the North and the Left is Gary Miller. Gary is employed at a colliery, and the young man knows what it means to struggle in life in the Yorkshire coal mining city where he was born and raised. This is especially true at the moment during a bitter, long-running strike by British coalminers that has dragged on for months and shows no sign of ending.

In the blue corner representing the South and the Right is Felicity Thornton-Browne. Felicity has enjoyed a privileged life growing up in a posh suburb of London, attending an expensive, exclusive girls' school and now studying law at a prestigious university. A member of the Young Conservatives, Felicity is a staunch supporter of British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and the economic policies of her government.

When Gary and Felicity meet at a wedding, sparks are certain to fly. But will they be sparks of attraction, or will the very different young man and young woman simply despise each other? Find out by reading 'The Coal Miner & The Conservative', a satirical comedy set during the 1984-85 Miner's Strike, one of the most tumultuous times in Thatcher's Britain that is full of cultural references to the time for readers to enjoy.

All characters and events are fictional, and similarity to real persons living or dead coincidental and unintentional. Only characters aged 18 or over are involved in sexual activity. For North American readers, the expression 'fanny' used by some characters means vagina.

*****

THE early morning summer sunshine filtered through the curtains as 20-year-old Gary Miller blinked awake. The handsome young man with his thick dark hair and blue eyes stretched and got out of bed, his tall muscular frame wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. Reaching out, he opened the curtains and looked outside.

There was hardly a spectacular view; just the concrete of the street and one identical semi-detached red brick house after another but the weather was beautiful; the sun shining, the sky perfect blue with not a single cloud. Normally, Gary would have seen very little of the magnificent June Yorkshire day. Like many men in the town, his employer was the local colliery, and he would spend many hours underground. However, Gary was not going to work today. For one it was a Saturday, but even if it was a weekday, Gary would still not be going to work.

Since March, he had been on strike like thousands of coal miners across the country from the south of England to the north of Scotland, west to Wales and east to Kent. Gary did not want to be on strike, but he had no choice. Unless the miners took action against the planned closure of hundreds of coal mines across the country, it would mean the dole for thousands and the devastation of many towns like the one Gary called home that relied on the coal industry for survival. The striking miners and their union were not backing down in their opposition to the plans of the Coal Board; unfortunately neither was the Margaret Thatcher-led government in Whitehall. The acrimonious strike had dragged on three months now. Gary hoped things would be resolved in favour of the miners very soon and he would be back at work. But he knew the prospects of this were not so much slim as anorexic.

This Saturday would be a busy day for Gary, something he was glad of since it might take his mind off the strike and the subsequent financial problems it was causing him and many others in his position. After shaving and brushing his hair, Gary put on a tee-shirt, jeans and sneakers and headed downstairs to the kitchen to start the day, where his landlords and their two adult kids were already at the table.

Gary rented a room from a middle-aged couple, Gordon and Mary Carter. Their 20-year-old son Paul had been Gary's best friend since early childhood. Paul was dressed similarly to Gary and had the same style of hair, although Paul was blonde. Paul's 19-year-old sister Julie, a slim and attractive girl, sat next to him, dressed in a bright pink tee-shirt and very tight jeans, her wavy blonde hair teased up with hairspray, a product she had no problem accessing as she was employed as a hairdresser.

At the head of the table sat Gordon Carter, a balding man with light brown hair and a moustache. He was starting to become a bit stout with the passing years, and wore a humorless expression as he awaited his breakfast. Mary Carter, a slim woman with light brown hair, finished at the stove and lifted off a large saucepan of porridge, placing it on the table.

"Thanks Mum," said Paul and Julie in unison, as they scooped porridge into their bowls and covered it in milk.

"Yeah, thanks Mrs. Carter," said Gary, as he did likewise. He was not a huge fan of porridge and had been eating it for months on end. The important thing was that it was cheap, and oats could be stretched far. Mr. Carter and Paul were also employed at the coal mine, and therefore also on strike. The three men in the house received only limited financial assistance from the union, and with so many members on strike across the country, this put a severe strain on the union's finances. Mrs. Carter worked part time as a school cleaner and there was Julie's income from her hairdressing job, but the wages for both women were not great.

"You're welcome," said Mrs. Carter, scooping some porridge into a bowl for her husband which she set before him, before getting some porridge for herself.

Gordon Carter began eating his porridge. "Let's see what's in paper today," he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm and picked up the morning newspaper. "Lord Lucan located in Australia, sharing house with Harold Holt. Shergar found alive and well grazing in field in Lancashire. Soviet Union, East Germany and other Eastern-Bloc countries change their mind about Olympic boycott, and will be going to L.A. after all. South Africa end apartheid, and release Nelson Mandela from prison. IRA declare ceasefire. Scientists find cure for AIDS. Pigs seen flying along Cornwall coast. Oh and government has changed its coal policies with no pit closures. In fact, extra mines are to get opened, and everyone's back to work on Monday with pay rise."

Mr. Carter frowned as he looked at the real headlines. "Strike, strike, strike and more bloody strike. I'm on bloody strike all bloody week, I could do without reading about bloody strike in bloody newspaper."

Gary, Paul and Julie exchanged glances. The head of the household was clearly in one of his grumpy moods, and keen to complain. Mr. Carter took a drink of tea and then continued. "I'd like to bring our Prime Minister and her bloody cabinet up here, see what this is doing ordinary bloody families like us. Whole bloody country will be on dole by 1990 if this keeps up."

"Yes Gordon," said Mrs. Carter, in an attempt to placate her husband.

Mr. Carter swallowed a mouthful of porridge. "Mind you Mary, I'd rather spend tonight with Mrs. Thatcher than your bloody sister and her bloody husband and their two bloody kids. Why the bloody hell do they have to come here? They're bloody snobs, should stay in bloody London where they belong, all they do when they come here is walk around with their bloody noses stuck in the bloody air, bloody complaining about everything and acting like they're so much bloody better than us."

"Come now Gordon, Hilda is my sister," said Mrs. Carter. "She's just different from the rest of us."

"Different? That's the biggest bloody understatement of the year, Mary," said her husband. "It was that bloody posh school she got that scholarship to that did it. It filled her head with all those bloody silly ideas. What's the matter with normal bloody school in town? I went there, my brother and two sisters went there; you and your other sisters went there, all our kids went there and Gary went there and there's nothing bloody wrong with any of us."

"Now, please try and be agreeable today Gordon," said Mrs. Carter. "It's Becky's wedding day; I don't want our niece's wedding ruined because you can't get along with my sister and her family."

"I'll say nothing if they keep out of my bloody way," said Mr. Carter. "And I don't want your bloody brother-in-law going on about his bloody job and how much bloody money he makes. What the bloody hell is a merchant banker anyway? Mind you, what can you expect from a man who wears a bloody tie when he's doing his bloody garden?"

"Perhaps you and Richard could talk about gardening, Gordon?" suggested his wife. "It's something you both like."

"That's a bloody daft idea," scowled Mr. Carter. "I should talk to him about what he owes me for fixing his bloody car that time they were up here. I paid for bloody spark-plugs and changed the bloody things, and he gave me not so much as five bloody pence for it."

"Oh Gordon, that was five years ago now," said Mrs. Carter.

"As long as your bloody family don't cost me brass this time, I'll be perfectly bloody happy," said Mr. Carter. He turned to Paul and Julie. "So, what are you kids up to this morning?"

"I'm going over to do Granny's hair for the wedding," said Julie.

"I'm going to help Pete and Dave work on their car," said Paul.

"Bloody car is a write-off, I don't know why you're bloody bothering," said Mr. Carter. He turned to his daughter. "I wonder who your Granny will think you are today? Princess Diana perhaps?"

"Granny's just getting a bit forgetful in her old age, Dad," said Julie.

"A bit forgetful?" asked her father. "When I went there last week, she thought I was bloody TV detector man. And before that, she thought your Uncle Tom were an air-raid warden. She's really gone around the bloody bend lately." Mr. Carter turned his attention to his lodger. "So, what are you doing this morning, Gary?"

"I'm going to see Angie and Emma, then take Emma over to see Mum," said Gary. He looked at his watch. "Actually, I'd better be making a move." He stood up to clear his dish and glass.

"With that brother of yours be there when you see your Mum?" asked Mr. Carter.

"Um, I don't know where Kenny will be today," said Gary.

"Remember what I said yesterday, I don't want him and those yobbos and losers he's friends with coming to picket lines anymore," said Mr. Carter. "All they are is trouble-makers. I told them yesterday to piss off, and I want to make sure he got the message to stay away."

"I remember," said Gary. He would speak to Kenny if he saw his brother, but doubted Kenny would be there. Most Saturdays, Kenny would go to a football match with his stupid mates; not so much to watch the game but to cause trouble and engage in hooliganism, both in the ground and outside it. As it was summer there was no football, but no doubt Kenny and company would find trouble in some other place.

"Your brother is a grade-A, bloody no-hoper if there ever was one," said Mr. Carter. "Him and those Neo-Nazi lads he's mates with are all no bloody good. I like people supporting us at picket lines, but not Kenny and those bloody idiots. What bloody good did they think would come of throwing garbage at police, and shouting 'piss off pigs' and 'f-off filth'? But your bloody brother hasn't got the bloody sense he was born with. He'll be on dole his whole bloody life and I'll be bloody paying for it, that's if I don't end up on dole too."

"I promise, I'll tell Kenny to stay away from the picket lines," Gary said.

"Good," said Mr. Carter. He stood up and said, "Well, I'll go down allotment for few hours, keep busy."

"Don't forget Gordon, Hilda and Richard and the kids will be coming at one so be home by then," his wife reminded him.

"Like I can bloody forget," grumbled Mr. Carter. "I might wear tie this morning when I'm gardening, be like your brother-in-law. Maybe I'll make some bloody money like him." Mr. Carter made for the front door and exited the house, Gary helping Mrs. Carter, Julie and Paul clear the rest of the breakfast dishes before he made his way out of the house and to his morning errands.

*

Gordon Carter might have seemed to a person who did not know him a grouchy man who complained incessantly and did not care for anybody or anything. Gary knew him better and knew that underneath his tough exterior he was a good man. He was a stern and gruff man who called a spade a spade and did not suffer fools gladly, but while he was strict he was fair and genuinely cared for his wife and family and his co-workers at the mine. When Gary was growing up, Mr. Carter had been more of a father to him than the two men who should have fulfilled this role; Gary's actual father and later his step-father.

Mr. Carter was the reason Gary along with Paul had undertaken a mechanical apprenticeship, with Paul and Gary working on the team at the mine that maintained the vehicles, plant and machinery. It was hard and dirty work most of the time; hours of working deep underground, covered in dirt, grease, grime and coal-dust but Gary and Paul never complained, knowing from young ages that their futures lay in the colliery. Mr. Carter was the foreman of the maintenance team and their union representative. While a staunch trade union man and life-long Labour voter, he had little time for the far left-wing, socialist elements of the union, sentiments that Gary and Paul agreed with.

At the picket lines and demonstrations that had been common-place recently, Mr. Carter sternly reminded other men that the police were to be respected, as they were men with families to support who were just doing their jobs and they were not the ones advocating pit-closures and mass job losses. During one demonstration the previous week, Mr. Carter found two foolhardy miners had armed themselves with wrenches and had immediately taken action before real harm could be done, confiscating the potential weapons and taking the belligerent young men behind a wall, bashing both their heads together to knock some sense into them.

Walking down the street, Gary took his wallet from his pocket and counted out the meagre child-support he could afford to pay this week and sighed. Gary had not intended to become a father at such a young age. Nor did his then-girlfriend Angie plan to be a mother so early in life. However one cool, wet evening after both had recently turned 18 getting into a warm bed and experiencing the delights that Angie's bra and knickers covered; her firm breasts, her triangle of dark pubic hair, her shapely bum and of course her pretty pink vagina seemed a far more appealing prospect to Gary than going out in the rain to purchase condoms. Then a few weeks later, Angie had delivered Gary the news 'I'm late', and nine months after their liaison Gary and Angie, both still aged 18, were parents to a baby girl.

For some time, Gary and Angie had tried to make it work as parents to their daughter, whom they had named Emma, but it simply did not work. Gary and Angie were great as friends and still were, but not as a couple as they were not in love, and neither wanted Emma to grow up in an unhappy home. So an amicable arrangement was worked out where Angie would maintain custody of their daughter, and Gary would pay maintenance and spend time with her.

Despite the fact that Emma's arrival was not planned, his daughter was the greatest thing in Gary's life and he wanted to be the best Dad he could, certainly much better than his own father and step-father, although Gary had to concede the bar was not set very high there.

Gary and Kenny's dad Joe was a miner who every pay day would go to the pub to piss his wages up against the wall, invest most of what was leftover at the racetrack and give the meagre amount that remained after this - usually coins - to Gary's mother Barbara to put food on the table and pay bills. The worst thing Joe Miller had done - abandoning his wife and two sons and leaving town for Durham - was paradoxically the best thing he had done, as he was a nasty piece of work with not a single redeeming feature. Gary had no time for his father, and swore that if he happened to see him, he would punch him in the mouth considering what he had put his mother through. But this meeting seemed unlikely. Since his departure, Joe had not been seen or heard from by his family nor paid so much as a pound of maintenance for either of his sons.

Gary's mother had since remarried a North Sea oil rig worker named Phil, and while he treated her well unlike her first husband, he made it clear that two kids were not what he wanted as part of the deal, and was not the slightest bit interested in either Gary or Kenny. This was despite the fact that Barbara, Gary and even Kenny were nothing but nice to Phil's two daughters from his first marriage.

Turning the corner, Gary continued up the street towards the council flats where Angie and Emma lived with Angie's new boyfriend Colin. Gary was happy for Angie that she had gotten together with Colin, who had been a classmate for both at school and now worked as a lorry driver for a local supply company. Colin was a nice guy, treated Angie well and was brilliant with Emma. Gary's stepfather Phil could certainly have taken some tips on step-parenting from the young man.

Gary himself had not been so lucky at finding 'the one' since he and Angie called it quits, although finding a girlfriend was the least of his worries at the moment. However, as a 20-year-old young man girls were obviously on his mind much of the time and he had found himself noticing Julie more and more. Sometimes when Julie was in the bath or having a shower, Gary would fantasize about what the pretty blonde looked like naked under the water behind the closed, locked bathroom door.

On more than several occasions on washing day Gary had been guilty of stealing glances at the line where Julie's bras and knickers were hanging out to dry, all the while mentally reprimanding himself for his voyeurism. He often admired Julie's shapely breasts if she wore a tight tee-shirt or a blouse that displayed her ample cleavage. Just as good were the views of Julie's long legs and shapely bum in the tight jeans, leggings or the short skirts she wore. Julie bending over in her leggings, the oval shape of her vagina and her panty-lines visible through the tight fabric were wonderful sights to behold, and Gary would find himself pondering what Julie's actual vagina looked like, and whether her pubic hair would be blonde like the hair on her head. If Gary could be turned into an inanimate object for just 24 hours, a pair of Julie's knickers would be his first choice.

Just the other night, Julie had been walking by his bedroom, and Gary was able to see her reach under her short skirt and adjust her pretty white knickers with pink flowers. Gary's temperature - and another part of his body - started rising sharply. Unfortunately, it was just at that moment that Mrs. Carter called everyone down for tea and Gary was unable to stand for a full ten minutes before his erection subsided and he came downstairs to a cold dinner and Mr. Carter asking, "What the bloody hell took you so long?"

Still, nothing was ever going to happen with Julie. She was his best friend's younger sister, and the daughter of his landlord, who also happened to be his boss at work. Anyway, he had grown up with Julie, and she was a good friend and too close to consider asking out.

Gary could feel himself sweating; it sure was a warm summer's day. They could have done with a day like this on Thursday at the picket-line, which had started off nicely only for the weather to turn drastically during the early afternoon and the miners and the police got drenched in the driving rain, tempers on both sides fraying significantly. Yesterday at the same picket line the weather had been much more pleasant and the atmosphere between the striking miners and the police far better, until Kenny and his stupid hooligan friends turned up and started causing trouble.