Original subtitles

it still works we usually go straight down.

that they've blocked all that off to make us come over here.

So we go on there.

Yeah, we've got one there. Go on, mate. The motorway. No, turn right here.

He was asking or stated, the police officers stated,

I don't know what he was just picking outside these gates for because he's

will never win this dispute. And

one of the pickets replied,

oh, we'll win this dispute, okay?

And we'll also get rid of your government at the same time.

He says, well, if you do get rid

of our government, he says, we will be the next government.

The police will be next government, and I think, you know, that statement,

and the way that statement was made, has frightened implications

for the world class in this country.

Turned your back on Northern Ireland,

wishing it would disappear

Said the Irish can't stop fighting, but it'll never happen here

You've starved your conscience, so you turned your face away

And let Belfast 1970 become nothing ham today

and live in memory as there ever being a time

when the paper set a strike was anything other than a crime

but the only pat the heads of those who run the sign

so at least when they're attacking us, we're all getting it right

so let's sing their praises and glorify their deeds

for they're fighting for the future and they're giving us leads

There's no point in complaining things are moving to the right

And then attacking goes, yours will appear to make a fight

We look at our colliery where there's 1,100 men employed

Once that collierie closes, there's all communities die

There's two trains coming from the railway, British Rail, every day

So they've lost their jobs straight away

do we? With the steel industry with 300 tons of steel.

of steel goes into our colliery every day to be used. We've also got the ancillary

work such as engineering works in his own vicinity which will lose out. They'll not

have work. So when we attack a mining community we attack

a lot more people besides and I believe it's time people did realise this.

Mr McGregor

is not just going to close our colliers, he's going to

close out a lot of work down in this country.

a pit village like Cottonwood is, which is only a mile and a half from where I live.

I think people in Yorkshire would have been through Cottonwood.

They know that pit starts

at one end and schools at other end, it is

just a street actually through Cottonward.

We've heard that school is closing as well,

and same as the gentlemen have said, what

good are their homes, what they've bought?

Who wants to buy an home in a mining community

where there's just no work and there seems to be no prospect of getting work?

Why should we not do then, you? I've been in the industry of gypsies, haven't I?

I don't want to move. No? I was born and bred there.

Why should I have to uproot myself? That man is 72 years of age. Well, yes, he's 40.

He hopes to work at 65. And that man's not going to tell him

he's got to finish at 40. We've got young boys down with us, 25, 26,

and this is their fifth pit for them to work in because they've shut them on.

But trouble is, as I say, it's the last pit in the round, they're gone,

nowhere else to go. I mean, at 25,26, you can't shut them on the scrappy.

They have closed the wind of western, and the

wounds of man bleed in terraced houses,

weary with redundancies, births and deaths.

Unhistory turning in on itself, and all that that in itself speaks only of slaggy

tons searching for flames in lumps of coal.

And on the village, kind of sleep.

Does cold flames die behind the closed doors of eyes that cannot weep?

Cheers to our redundant.

And I can't remember in the time that I've been in the coal mines,

when the NUM has fought against the closure of a pit through exhaustion.

This never happened. A miner working under a conditions knows exactly what's coming.

Knows exactly the future of this pit,

limited because they've extracted the coal resources that are there.

And the decision has got to be made.

Do you take with undecided or do you take transfer money and do you move?

or in a position where a pit isn't exhausted, they stand and fight.

Fight for your community, your family, etc.

And that's the decision that the miners have taken at this time.

We are standing and we are fighting for pits that still have going.

Who am I to ask them why this pit must live, that pit must die?

The saboteurs' economics that is juggling by financial comics.

What maximum has the NCB, the miners' lot, or LSD?

Pitryside means to murder a pit for economic reasons.

and there was many a pit and there was many of pit village murdered in

the county of Durham for economic reasons and here was one of them.

Every bold man of caution the day is drawing near.

You'll have to change your language, lads.

You'll ha' have to ch' watch here.

But leave your pics behind you.

You'll ne'er need them again.

And off you go to Nottingham.

Join Robyn's merry men.

He pray, bold men, of course.

Thank you.

Black, eerie, cold and empty. That's how she'll always be.

Cold, bleak and neglected, miles beneath the sea.

The silent, still cold faces, machines no longer in use.

The timbers bending with weight, the girders working loose.

may be the ghosts of men lost in the bowels of the earth.

through trying to make a future, but now what is it worth?

all for the sake of money. It

has gone unclosed for good.

leaving behind the misery, just

like their new it would.

But who feels the pain?

certainly knocked those at the top.

It's the ordinary honest miner whose

lives will have to stop.

So where is all the money?

Has it gone to a foreign land?

to help to preserve a pyramid from sinking into the sand.

or maybe they fancy another bomb to

protect us from a war.

They won't need to watch the Russians, for

it's here we have the call.

a bubbling little time bomb.

these men want it much more.

Burst a gentle ripple.

and then a full scale war.

So all you hire up nobodies,

take heed of what we say, the miners will be united and

they will soon see their day.

I think we saw that they want the trade union, they want

the people in this country just to be capping on and turn up for a deer.

Oh, well you can work cause your face fits. That's all I wanted back.

I want this capping hand.

on the mouse.

and they intended to see that the girls that way,

but they're not very close because we're all solid.

I think a amount of money that we've been getting and a amount children have gotten

out has been a very hard struggle.

and people that should realise this, they've got a family now,

so you know what a struggle it can be. When you get your family allowance,

there's no way that you can go out and buy a joint for children.

you don't have your proper nourishing meals and things like that.

You cope with chips and beans and perhaps on a Sunday you might get a bit of stew

instead of your normal roast.

And you look

round and kids want things and that's a hurting point when your

children want and you just haven't got it.

On our idol is food markets and I've been money from the electorate.

I'm not bothered about paying anybody.

You can't have what I haven't got.

I've had a bit to hassle, as you know.

And...

They give me two months to pay or if they fetch me furniture,

they can fetch my furniture.

I've still got a roof over my head. I've got my kids and I still feed them.

And that's all there is to it.

They understand, I mean they're not babies, I'm mean eldest is 13

and they understand that the dad's doing it for them.

I mean I've got three boys and hopefully I'm open when my kids leave school.

They've got a job.

Bye!

On our way to the kitchen Gagnar locked in the car, a recurve dress

The sands and food, we can All of us in Sunday there Ready to give you dinner

God be clubbed!

We're back to work in the kitchen.

We are open, each kitchen's open differently,

but Tergays until we're open five days a week.

and we provide around 450-500 meals a day.

Apart from during the six-week school holidays when we provided 900 a day

For the first month, two months, it was hard. It's still hard.

But we're on a plateau now. We can exist. We can live.

And the lads are talking about it.

If it goes on well next year, we'll fight well next.

And this starving mind is back to work.

Thanks to his brothers in the Treasury movement, we can survive.

Mummy, I need new clothes. How I'm going to get them, heaven knows.

26 weeks without any pay and now we're living day to day.

The freezer alas is now quite empty and in my purse only £1.20.

Out of the window has gone my pride, maternal instincts say's provide.

Face with trousers with holes in the leg, I guess I have to learn how to beg.

Mummy, are you going to give in? Know my darling, not till we win.

I know your faith lies in my hand, and perhaps one day you'll understand

why the hardships we have to endure to make your future more secure.

There's no dignity in a dull cue. That's not the life I want for you.

We are the nameless ones,

bargain basements, tebots, bikers, painters and whore in the

shoe hikers.

We are down and outs, scroungers and layabouts.

often talked about.

Lines on Social Security graphs, percentages, numbers and points.

means test applicants, redundancies, McGregorized boys.

We are statistics, the unemployed.

Beggars, Obermann, Misfits.

rejects and lazy buggers.

suicides, death crimes, yopps.

Volunteers for social schemes, psychological

oddities, benefit books, production outcasts.

political pregnancies, supplements, question mark.

Off-undie jacquillations,

fourth world candidates,

and millions of pound notes paid weekly.

But once

century ago it now seems.

We were known as people.

I cannot write this at a time when I was unemployed

and it angered me to see people selling jobs

as I'm taking voluntary redundancy.

You never thought for fellow man or sons and daughters future plans.

You took your master's poultry sum instead of fighting.

What happens when the time will come, the forums you're writing?

Ask your master years from now when things are better. Tell him how.

Your sons and daughters need to work. A favour to you.

city you had a job you sell

it to me

So look around to years gone past, your feathers

fought for work to last, so tell the master

ways deal to go to hell.

tell them that you really feel it's no use to sell.

we'll be able to bike back again when I want a job, Dad.

£10,000 in exchange

for one miners job forever.

Remember.

redundancy money is only wages paid in advance. When that's

gone, what's left for you and

your children?

Dad.

Dad!

How much do you sell me a job for?

So get off your knees and stand up and fight like our fathers did before.

So get up your knees, and stand and fight, like our father did before

Now our wives say stand beside us, there beside us all the way.

And we never hear them moaning, though they're struggling without pain.

That is why we're gonna win this fight. Every darkness, heavy day.

So get off your knees and stand up and fight, let the world just have their say.

Get off your knees and stand up and fight like the world has happened

Standing on our picket lines, which has always been our right

Trying to reason with you, come right, just trying to make you be the light

Are you proud to walk on to us, knowing what to reply?

Then pick up your mind

Very good.

Your Walk and Pasta Picket Lines.

Find a wall of blue who laugh and jeer at your fellow men all because of you.

hiding behind lame excuses when money's your

only aim, leaving others to fight your battle.

But the benefits will be the same.

Knowing of Tory deception, on thatcher's side you stay, calling

your leaders and brothers never thought we'd see the day.

McGregor, your donor service, just wait till your usefulness ends.

The butcher won't want to know you. Don't think you'll reap to the dens.

But if you should come among us, don't

tell us who you are.

because the wound that you've inflicted leaves another lasting scar.

Oh.

Silver Birch.

Gabs and coppers. Spot the difference.

I'm getting paid £350 a week to break this strike. I'm gettin' paid £ 350 a week

to break the strike. I read the Daily Mail. I read The Daily Mail!

I hate trade unions. I hate Trade Unions. I'll still be working in four years' time.

Put out the fire, close the furnace door, no longer the need for smelting ore.

Cut back on ships and make him steel. Tell the workers there's no appeal.

out the lights on the factory floor.

We don't need factories anymore.

Still the power that

works the mills.

Import all socks and suits and frills.

Close down the mines. Settle an

old score.

We have no need for them no more.

Sell to those who have the wealth.

Privateize

the national health. We do not need women or working men.

Put them on the dole and then cut to the bone the monies we pay.

They have no flaw to make their say. The union's strength slowly neutralise.

we'll stipulate the wages rise. And when they raise their heads to roar,

make them toll the Tebbath Law.

Don't worry about the TUC. All deciding votes will favor me.

An honest list is by far the way to change where loyalty's at.

And

before realisation of their faith, we'll achieve an authoritarian state.

Not Big Brother watching them, but the Iron Masters from number 10.

And this one's from Bill Sears. He wouldn't get off his knees.

to be honest with the steel workers, as in Kent as a small area sent the steel

workers £15,000. Well there's not many men in Kent, there's only about 2,400

of us. Now we when I stood with the Steel Workers at Shear Ness, a private steel

workers,

works where we got kicked to pieces, we got arrested there and we stood with the

steel workers. We also in Kent refused to handle any steel so I think it's to get

it on right on record the steelman should stand up and and say right now we

will back you the same way as you

back to us.

I remember during the Steele Strike a meeting

of Union members generally throughout South

Wales called in support of the steelman. Bill Sures, the leader, was on

that platform.

Tears were rolling down at man's cheeks.

They bloody crocodile tears.

He was in tears then,

all well as he said, at the support he received from the miners

and the other sections of the community in south Wales.

And he had the cheek to take a miners' lamp off our president. Yes.

What I wonder will your memories be and the effect of the strike on you three?

When you look back at your grassroots, will you remember your marching boots,

the miles that you walked come rain or shine to

fight for the future that was yours and mine?

Will you remember the songs and the cheers or will you

remember the tension and tears?

Will you rember how you played your part and how with pride you filled my heart?

Will you remember how I stood on a picket

line, and how you had so little of my time?

Will you remeber how I felt so bad, because I couldn't give you what others had?

Will you ree remember as you grow older, how you cried upon my shoulder?

Or will you remmeber how we managed to laugh,

while the Bobbys and Tories thought as daft?

Will you rmeber, how YOU made me smile, and made my strut up over more worth while?

But will you remember the principles and

traditions I've taught, or in vain have I fought?

The miners were marching, we were all set to go,

with banners being held, some were high, some

were low.

We walked every step to the beat of the band

and buckets were held in some supporters'

hands. We marched and we marched for quite a long way and came to a field where they

asked us to stay.

Men were on platforms, all ready to shout, telling the people what it

was about.

We were talking at closure as in shortage of

coal and how all the people want work and

authority. Then we went in the club to have something to eat.

There were biscuits and crisps and sandwiches, meat.

On sliding on roundabout swings with a jerk, maybe tomorrow our fathers will work.

I'm a striking minus-wife.

And I'm the mother of two striking sons.

I'll tell you something that's unproud of a lot of them.

If anybody had told me last year.

And I would be going around the country, marching,

going to conferences, speaking in front of

people like this. I would have thought there was star, grave and mad.

Good.

The strike in 1984.

more than mean more to be

it.

We knew what the male or the male was doing was right.

And so the women rose, and I saw Carol briefly

as she came on the stage, and more power to

your elbow, Carol, because women have risen

up into and formed ourselves and organized

ourselves and will never, ever be the same again.

Not ever when this is one will never be the same again, because will it will win.

Because we're not, we won't let the main laws.

The muddy dachas and iron ladys, what a bloody pity.

The s'iron ladys in the northeast of England.

and I can't

take the credit for writing these poems. I'm going to read them to you.

But the lady down here, Mrs Pat Davison,

will you stand up, Pat, from the Whittle Miner's Wives

of all through his written work.

door straight past waves, I've had a hull of a time.

Now here's a tale for all to hear of the wives of the strike hit miner.

Search the country far and wide, but you will meet none finer.

Not for them, the morbid life, staying home and crying,

or sitting back while others fight, they are part in this battle denying.

As living gets tougher, we tighten our belts and despair of the work to be done.

We remember your courage, our sisters and nuts, and you give us the will to go on.

No mercy has shown you, no peace ever given,

Your lives must be one living hail,

But always remember, though distance may part us,

Our thoughts are with you, hearts as well.

When years of rule are by, we'll sit and

remember this struggle, our jobs to protect.

We'll tell them with pride how the Nottingham

Wives wholeheartedly earned our respect.

Husbands and children, hold up your head,

Walk tall, look all straight in the eye,

For the tale of your courage through these bitter times

Will live on and shall never die.

You're running.

It's inspected of earlier.

people realize through a very hard period of time that the police is not neutral.

That's very important.

The police have been shown to the British people that it's not

neutral when the working class decided to fight for their rights.

Eason was invaded by police all weekend, even on the night time.

The patrols all up the street. The pit was guarded 24 hours a day.

On Tuesday, on the morning, Eason, the colony,

was sailed off completely from the city.

Easton Village was sailed off, everybody was stopped.

You weren't allowed to come in if you worked at the shop, so anything you got.

You had to walk in. Horton was blocked off, you couldn't get in that way.

There was even people ordered off public transport. Were made to get off the buses.

I've never seen anything like it in my life. I was absolutely terrified.

I came down on the morning with two children in the car. And it was just...

I mean, the streets were absolutely lined with police vans,

landrovers, and they were full of police. Then the pavements were lined with Police.

Then the day after,

I was trying to get up the main street in my car and the police

just came from nowhere that the whole street was full of police.

Now, as I've just said, I was terrified.

I shook in the car.

I couldn't believe this was happening in Asenton.

If I'd been away for the day, I would never have believed it could happen here.

I just stood there as well.

I wouldn't get a rest if it cost like I was an official picket.

And when I say the late run for us, I tried to get over the wall.

And I couldn't get over in the late druggins,

late pullers, we were down from the wall."

Some of you come here late, they'll try to pull us back.

They'll go to all of us, start hitting us on top of the wall. They'll back me in.

They'll throw us down the side of the Wall.

All the pickets are getting over the other side, and I was there with the place.

They just bred all over us. One of the picket on the other end of the walls

had a fire extinguisher. He says if he didn't set it off, they would've killed you.

these trebullines of blue.

that scored the scabs through the gates. Where the pickets can't pick it.

They can't talk to them. They can to get to them, they can't get anywhere near.

The law enforcement officers of those we should be proud,

were told they're keeping peace for us. Just watch them in a crowd.

Poor pickets maimed for trying to talk. Just see the truncheons fly.

Brutality, oh no, not us, the uniform thugs cry.

Those fine police, they stand there, like vultures ready to pounce,

waiting to caution, kick and trotter each eager for his bloody ounce.

Brave constables, dealing how justice, remembering heavy-pay pockets.

Mixing among us caused plenty of rest. Wearing their NCB jackets.

So this is the kind of things you want to be filming. It's the police state this.

You saw yourselves as men just standing on a car park.

And the police came in, in sighting, pushing men about.

If that's not police in sightment, I don't know what is.

If there's anyone there has a moment to spare and can give undivided attention.

I'd be grateful if you'd give a minute or two

and consider some points I would mention.

That a slanderous tongue's always ready to wrong and murder the fine reputation

Of the light with big feet to bypassing the

beat of protecting the peace of the nation.

There are short-sighted folks who insist that

these blokes are just uniformed masters of

buckery.

There can be no dispute if they didn't put the boot in the country would all go to

buckery, so try and keep calm when they're

twisting your arm or planting a fist in your

gob.

When they're giving you hell in a cold prison

cell they're only just doing their job.

When Hitler and Co were running the show, assisted by Germany's coppers.

If a nose was too big or a mind was too active, its owner was sure of the chopper.

Socialist, communist, Jews and trade unionists landed up dead or in quad.

And the police were in bed, of course, doing their share.

Oh, but they were just doing their job.

If you're black or just brown, if you're jobless and down, if

you speak for a world which is sane up, if

you stand up and fight for what's yours by

right, if your an anti-nuclear campaigner,

remember the chap in the comic will have his one of humanity's crosses.

Wherever there's trouble, whatever the struggle, he'll be on the side of the bosses.

Thank you. Thank you!

I don't think... You can tell anybody they've got to see it for themselves.

It's an experience I wouldn't have missed.

I would have terrified. I wouldn' have missed it. It was a peaceful demonstration.

And the police brutality I just couldn't understand.

I've wrote a poem, it's My Feelings, or What I Felt,

after coming off that picket line, My First Picket. I shall never forget.

I was the first to get my first night as a picket. The place was Silver Hill Pit.

I watched as the miners went into the pickets. The sight of it all made me sick.

One poor-knots miner's wife, crying with shame,

that's my next door neighbour, she cried.

A comforting arm from one Yorkshire lass, as the anger and tears welled inside.

One miner's why she was holding a banner, was brutally knocked to the ground.

the policeman laid into that lass.

She was the fox and the police were the hounds.

The

police they say were doing their duty.

To me they went far beyond call.

When all we women

are trying to do is keep husbands and sons off the door.

There was shoving and pushing,

shouting and screaming, with the police doing their little bit.

Four manors' wives were

arrested that morning from the pickets at Silver Hill Pit.

on the day in question when the scabs were brought in.

They were rushed in on the police escort in

a bus, a coach with the meshed up windows.

At no stage were our official pickets allowed to pick it.

They were not allowed to communicate with their own members.

And of course that's what sparked all the trouble off.

I would say there must have been. 1500 to 2000. Right, boys.

And immediately they piled out of the vans.

They immediately went for the pickies, full riot gear, chased the pickys.

Many of them went in alms, nearby alms. But this didn't stop the police.

They actually went into the houses.

Those who refused to open the doors had their doors broken open.

Winders were smashed. The riot police smashed winders to make entrance.

Someone shut the door, like, because the doors were open.

I shut the doors and I went through to shut the back door.

Well, I wasn't quick enough and there was about four or five police there.

So I said, you're not getting in here. There's nobody in here,

because them lads were in, they were already in.

You know. Anyway, I got my head, like in between the kitchen door and the wall.

So I tried to keep it, you know, so they couldn't get in.

Anyway, I said, you're not getting in.

And instead of pushing the door to get in, my head was in between.

They pulled it towards them. Well, the door hit here.

and my head hit the wall, my glasses went. And that's all I remember.

I just heard the son say, get her a drink of water and pour her for the doctor.

I didn't remember night after that.

a kid coming up who was screaming with blood.

He'd been attacked with four policemen.

I wanted to ask for a first aid kit to stop the bleeding.

I was told, go and ask your sympathizers across the road.

You can see from there, they've got a gash down the back of his head.

He had needed at least eight stitches.

And a gache above his eye that needed at at least four.

The only way they'd let me treat him was through a window of a trantic.

and it's nearly impossible. I've got no first aid kit, no nothing.

They've got first aid kits on board, but they wouldn't let me use it.

Is that the British officer there?

It was perceived as a thing. You can see how defensive they are.

Only draw your truncheons in self-defense. That's a baseball bat, not a truncheon.

You couldn't even put it in his pocket. They came into the village with them.

So obviously it was preconceived before they even got in the village.

Because there's no way he's drawn Nazis who's come in the villages

unless they went down his trousers. That's on the usual side as well.

If you look on his shoulders, he's got numbers.

The majority of them, who are not policemen, we believe, have not looked numbers.

They're supposed to by law apparently wear numbers

on the uniform so you can identify them. There's no numbers there.

That's right, is it, you know?

My mate got arrested that day, Wednesday.

And the game was a bit of an amour in light before the Premier Van.

The handcuffed him with his hand back, twisted

handcuffs, so they dug into his wrist.

They come back half an hour later, about five or six of them,

opened the van doors and says, Has anybody seriously hurt him like a silly chubb?

I said, No. So they whacked him in the stomach and said, Yeah, now.

Only a serer's in demand, but the miner there don't want to pay.

Yet a miner dies of no more cornioses in Britain every single day.

The die that's the price of coal.

to die, that's the price of gold.

Markham and Corrie, one morning the cage went down like a storm.

Women and children were left at home, father loved ones, now they're born.

And then that's the price of gold

Dead, that's the price of coal.

Love does call me the water burst through on a cold fierce underground

Miners ran like hell for their lives Seven of them were never found

but then that's the price of gold.

That's the price of coal

The papers rant and the tories rave, well listen, they are so brave,

but they don't go down that stinking hole.

Please tell me who digs the coal.

Is it Thatcher or the reporters? Is it I or is it you?

Or perhaps it's the Reverend Xavier So, please tell me who digs the call.

Women are waiting tonight on the pit bank. Peel at the heart with dread.

watching the digital wheels that loom in the murky sky.

Till the wheels begin to revolve and the men who they loved so well,

the strong, kind, loving men, are brought up in canvas sheets

to be identified by a watch or a button, or perhaps only a wish.

and the king will send his sympathy, and the member of parliament will be there

who voted in the military be used when last these miners came in strike

to win a living wage. And the press that has spilled oceans of ink,

poisoning the public against the destroyers of industry, will tell the sad tale.

and the public will see whose side.

But a week today, all will be forgotten.

and the member of parliament,

the person

press and the public.

will keep storing up their venom in their hatred for the next big minor strike.

The comments are waiting tonight at the Pip Bank.

But even God does not see the hypocrisy and the shame of it all.

I've seen farls of stones and broken bones and limbs made doctor can repair

and I've got a friend who has to spend the rest of his life in a chair

Now that's the price of cool

That's the price of coal

witness to a scene in Sheffield police station. There was a large sitting just a

few feet away from me on a bench. and the police were asking them questions.

And one of the policemen took his fist and punched him off the seat like that

and kicked him repeatedly down there.

They were telling him to get up off there from the floor.

You know, that's what they were saying to him like.

The lad couldn't speak because he was that winded

and he was crying and just picked him up and tossed him in the corner.

Well, I'd never thought I would ever have witnessed anything like that.

You know? If anybody had said to me last year

or you'll be in that sort of situation,

I wouldn't have believed it. I didn't think that would have happened.

I know our police have been at every hand at their times,

but the violence I've witnessed is serious.

People in the public don't really want to accept that that's going on.

The police ought to be little white angels,

and they know better than black and tans,

because that's what they are.

They're those peered thugs that's brought into the likes of this community.

The policemen say they're doing a job bashing men's head with a club.

When it happens in South Africa, our media cry shame.

In England they say it's a picket to blame.

Thatcher gives order to her Boob Boy Army,

go name the miners while they starve their families.

Policemen and Thatcher the day will come, you'll have to answer when we have won.

How long can they stand idly by and watch their comrades bleed and die?

And every day watch these ugly scenes of their

mates getting battered on an English green.

It could be a friend or it could be an neighbour

whose only crime was withdrawing their labour.

These same young men when down the hole would

be the first to help you dig your coal.

So whatever your differences or petty hates, get

out on the streets and support your mates.

No.

a young poliseman of disposition sweet, and all the children greet him as he patrols

his beat. He's kind to dear old ladies who want to cross the street, but he steps on

evil doers with his green-beaked plates of meat. Now he'd never be a man of

the evidence or take a bribe, thank you, of course.

He's an upright heterosexual, an acrylic to the falls.

He's honest, kind and truthful, fearless, brave and keen,

the finest human being that you have ever seen. And...

He has no racial prejudice, he is totally without sin,

Protecting Pakistanis from the violence of the scheme,

Importual on the picket line, to the striker he's a friend,

He is stainless, faultless, pealous, conscientious to the end.

Huh?

Thank you.

and action to win the pocket

about Samer Rofol.

I told him a few choice words that he shouldn't be doing it.

Another policeman ran up and told me I was nicked.

I said, I don't give a damn about who and who and what is.

So he arrested me, took me towards the police line.

As the news went, I thought I'd make a little protest

and I put my arm up in the gesture and shouted away.

With that, he hit me right on the end with a trenching.

I didn't make no effort to do no harm to him or any other policeman.

I came back into the mining industry. I did three years in Ireland.

And I'm ashamed of what happened out there when I was there.

And believe me, it's bloody coming, because I can tell how the police are trained.

They're trained by army. The dogs what they have aren't always police dogs.

and you can tell by the way they're trained. They're not trained to...

if they go off on anybody, capture, down and guard, they're train for to rip apart.

And we've experienced it all, Graves,

where the dogs will let loose and they're war dogs, you know.

seen that day is nothing. You can never call the police police in this country

because they were running into the crowd with horses and batons about a yard

long and thrashing out at anyone and everything and moved regardless what you

done in the past.

If he was only standing still they would have hit you to the ground.

And I was listening on telly and the commentator

was saying the police use the trenches liberally.

Well if he calls that liberally he must have made

the biggest understatement I've ever heard.

and television is really biased towards the miners and I feel really bitter about it

because they are showing whenever a miner does a little bit of aggro

it doesn't show the full effect of the police against the miner

On the floor, spread eagle me, a copper on each arm, one on each leg,

and they started to hit me arms and legs with a truncheon.

methodically until I had no power or grip left in my arms.

Then they just proceeded to twist them straight up my back.

I think you want to take it home for a souvenir.

Now why did a place go in with such venom?

They seemed to enjoy inflicting pain and suffering on the working man. Why?

Who tells them to go beat a picket's head?

Who tells to inflicting a pain, try to kill him? Because that's what they're doing.

You stand there in the push and all you feel all of a sudden,

a faller at side, you look a lapse in a pile, a lot of flow. What's up with you?

You've just been kneading the groin. I've seen police do it.

I've no skin left on machines, where they run the boots down your shin.

But if you look at him the wrong way, you're nicked.

I want to know who gives them the power to do this.

Who tells them to beat me, a working man, with a stick? Who is it?

I want know.

But whenever we challenge him, and he asks

them on whose authority they are acting, they

always say, my chiefs are, in other words, my

main orders.

Well I will remember the Nuremberg Trials.

The Nazis were on trial.

for gassing six million jewels.

And that was exactly the excuse that they used. We were obeying orders.

Now how far are our police prepared to go in obeying their orders?

Well, what I've seen on the picket lines and what I have seen in our village here,

I believe there's many of those police will go all the way.

Thank you.

Why is daddy crying, Mum? Has he got a poorly head?

Was it done by men in blue when they dragged us out of bed?

No son, he's shedding tears of pride in the medals he has won.

Nay, lad, they're not across his chest. They're out there, everyone.

workers cheering in the streets, supporters filling every hall,

sending food by Lorry Lord, responding to the call.

every worker's contribution, no matter if it's small.

Everyone's a medal lad, responding to the call.

Every tin, a hope expressed, that we will see it through.

Every single coin, a prayer, that scabs will one day rule.

or when the battle's over.

when the Tories are no more.

The world will still

remember 1984.

You know what people tend to forget? We've had five main and killed on Piggalane

and one child trying to get a bit of a call for Hitch.

What is going on?

And we're not going to give in, because no way, a hollow victory is no victory.

It's going to be a 100% victory.

It is going to for them, like put the lanes on the lane and everybody else.

Some gather round you people, you women and you men

Once more out backs up to the wall, we've been attacked again

Which side are you on? Which side you on

Which side I you on Which side i you on

I got your sand McGregor to smash the N-U-M

break the workers unity and I ask you once again

which side are you on? which side you on

which side I you on which side i you on

I bully boys in uniforms, and thugs while riot shields.

Our comrades' blood is being shed, and still they will not yield.

Which side are you on? Which side you on, which side are

you on which side you are.

And the Tories rant, tell her here and shout, democracy.

But the kind the Toreys have in mind is no far you and me.

Which side are you on? Which side aren't you on.

Which side Aren't you one? Which side Are you on!

The choice is there before us There's just one thing to do

Support the minor struggle Our next in mind is you

Which side are you on? Which side how you on

Which side I you on Which side high you on