Born Under Punches Read Online Free Page A

don’t sleep with someone as soon as I meet them. Plus, I’ve already got a boyfriend.’
    Tony’s head dropped. ‘Oh.’
    â€˜That’s not to say I don’t want to see you again. Because I do.’
    â€˜What about your boyfriend?’
    The smile on her face teased and promised. ‘Let’s be friends first and take it from there, shall we?’
    Tony felt confused. Louise wasn’t following the script. This wasn’t the way it usually ended, but he felt quite excited by that fact. There was something different about her, something special. They could write a new script as they went along.
    â€˜OK,’ he said.
    â€˜Good.’ She reached into her bag, scribbled a note, passed it over. ‘This is my number. Call me.’
    â€˜I will.’
    â€˜We’ll see.’
    They made their way to the exit, queued at the rank. Louise was about to get into her cab when Tony put a hand on her arm.
    â€˜Wait,’ he said. ‘I don’t even know your surname.’
    â€˜It’s Larkin. Louise Larkin.’ She got into the cab. ‘Call me.’
    And with that she was off, leaving Tony there alone, a gormless grin on his face.
    â€˜I will,’ he said and sighed. ‘What a day,’ he said out loud and began walking towards his car.
    For the first time that day, he didn’t need the cameras or crowds to be with him.

2. Now
    The Modern Age: A Prologue
    The modern age, as we know it, began on Monday 28 May 1984. This is not a date plucked at random for its Orwellian connotations, nor is it an officially recognized one. Yet it was on this day that our country changed for ever, the time bomb was primed, the countdown began. And where did this singular event occur? Orgreave coke works outside Rotherham, South Yorkshire.
    Margaret Thatcher’s Conservative government had been returned to power for a second term by an apathetic landslide. People had voted for her because there was no credible alternative. Prior to the election, there had been discontented rumblings over Tory leadership: a distracting opportunity presented itself in the shape of a small conflict in the South Atlantic over the Falkland Islands, a jingoistic adventure which helped assure her a second term. Emboldened by this, she cast around for a suitable domestic target: she found the miners.
    The NUM, under the leadership of Arthur Scargill, brought the workforce out on strike in protest at the closure of profitable pits. The majority of the general public were behind this action.
    The government, for all their tough talking, were wavering. They were signalling negotiation, reconciliation. Then came Orgreave.
    A scab labour force was in operation there; the NUM sent nearly three thousand pickets to stop it. The police, taken by surprise at the sheer number of men, did nothing. The protest was peaceful and productive. By and large, the picket line wasn’t crossed. The miners were jubilant. By demonstrating solidarity they scented a real chance of victory.
    The government, however, felt they had lost face. They wanted something done. They instructed the police to retaliate.
    The following day, the NUM area representatives handed out the picketing orders: Orgreave had only a couple of hundred men assigned to it. The majority were sent to other collieries. It was a middle-management political decision. There was nothing Scargill at the top or the striking miners at the bottom could do about it.
    Positions were reversed. Miners in their hundreds, police five thousand strong.
    They waited until the TV cameras had moved away then charged.
    Mounted police. Police dogs. Attacking indiscriminately. Anyone connected with the strike – male or female, young or old – was considered a legitimate target. Riot sticks were reintroduced for the first time in ten years. Their previous use had led to the death of an anti-Nazi demonstrator. People were truncheoned, trampled, bitten.
    The miners