ALL IN THIS TOGETHER

ALL IN THIS TOGETHER

TOM KILCOURSE

Towards the end of January 2011 Tom Kilcourse sent me a short story and asked for my comments. I thought the subsequent exchange and suggestions were worth sticking in the Workshop. The full text of the original and Tom’s revised version follow my critique.

KC's Comments on All In This Together

I did see some of this before. I got the impression it was the beginning of a novel but I see now that this version is a short story with some great, pertinent themes (especially now that Manchester council are threatening to get rid of 2000 jobs). You nail several typical players – the greedy Union rep, the ratty shop-floor agitators, the weary impoverished victims, the not unsympathetic factory boss who nevertheless manipulates his opponents and accepts the inevitability of events. This gets more personal with the relationship of Fred and Tony and how their different outcomes subtlety degrades it.

Yes it is long at nearly 7000 words but I don’t see that being a problem – could run it in two or three episodes. The conversations are excellent and the characterisation always spot-on and entirely credible. Good jokes too. What I am struck by and would like to go into is the pace and mechanics of the action. Most writers start by transcribing imagined scenes but to do this comprehensively can slow things down. People don’t have to walk down stairs, pull up a chair, open a door, put down a tea tray. Nor do psychological cruxes need to be spelled out with explanations. The verbal interchange alone is often enough. I think we should write for an alert, intelligent reader who can fill these gaps. Indeed it is just such participation which produces reader involvement. Yes, you may lose the odd meathead who misses a point – but so what? I suspect this mannerism – extensive, comprehensive and sometimes repeated exegesis is an academic reflex. I see it in Bob Wild’s stuff (yes I have told him – it makes no difference). I guess the urge is to make sure the student fully understands the text. Admirable in the classroom – but hey! this isn’t an exam – we’re here to be entertained.

Another pitfall is the adverb. You’re not often guilty of this error but it’s common to have utterances redundantly described “Wow!” he exclaimed loudly…”I’m pissed off!” she said dejectedly…etc. Another redundant feature is the physical description. I believe readers form an image almost immediately and unless the protagonist is deformed or spectacularly ugly there’s no point in telling the reader he’s over six feet tall with hazel eyes. The creative mechanism is exposed by such tropes – the author is indeed imagining his hero going down the stairs and opening a door and maybe getting in a car – but most of this is just mechanical and of no importance. Even Kingsley Amis in his early novel Lucky Jim has Dixon getting on a bus and going into town. Who needs this? Just plonk the bugger down in town.

The killer is that these fillers drag down the narrative to no good effect. I hope we can have a discussion on this and wouldn’t be surprised if you came back with “But Ken! That’s how I write! I don’t want to write like you! You’re advocating a literary skeleton devoid of rich comment and illustration” Well yes, it may be a personal preference of no aesthetic importance and I do not want whizzbang all-action thriller writing (I’ve had enough of that tackling Sean Parker’s Junkyard Dog) and would not go through, say, Proust with a red pencil jazzing it up. But I simply ask do you think the trimmed versions of some of your paragraphs (below) are improvements or not. If not, then ask Rita. If both you and Rita say these adjusted texts are barren, vestigial, skeletal and worse then I’ll take that on board. I will, of course, be glad to continue publishing your stuff and consider myself privileged to do so, sure that the tone of the Oik will be raised considerably as a result.

Exercises in Style

I could expand further on just why I’ve made these changes but I await your reaction first. The only additional words are in italics.

Original

Reaching the pavement, he stood for a moment at the kerb edge and stared down the road. The Nissan was nowhere to be seen. He turned to face the grey slab of the tower block, casting hazel eyes up to the third floor window from which she always waved. This morning, there was no wave, no movement of any kind. She stared back impassively so that their eyes met in unleavened sadness, man and wife still infected by the foreboding evident at the breakfast table. The rattle of the approaching Nissan caused him to turn back to the road as the battered white car pulled into the kerb. Fred leaned across from the driving seat to push the passenger door open then watched in silence as Tony cleared a space amid the debris for his six-foot frame. (137 words)

Trimmed by KC

Reaching the pavement, he stood for a moment and stared down the road. The Nissan was nowhere to be seen. He turned to face the tower block, looking up to the third floor window. This morning, there was no wave, no movement of any kind. She stared back. Their eyes met in unleavened sadness, man and wife still infected by the foreboding at the breakfast table. The rattle of the Nissan caused him to turn back as the battered car pulled up. Fred leaned across to push the passenger door open. Tony cleared a space amid the debris. (98 words)

Tom’s Revision

Reaching the pavement, he stood for a moment at the kerb edge and stared down the road. The Nissan was nowhere to be seen. He turned to face the grey slab of the tower block, casting hazel eyes up to the third floor window from which she always waved. This morning, there was no wave, no movement of any kind. She stared back impassively. Their eyes met in unleavened sadness, man and wife still infected by the foreboding evident at breakfast. The rattle of the approaching Nissan caused him to turn back to the road as the battered white car pulled into the kerb. Fred leaned across from the driving seat to push the passenger door open then watched in silence as Tony cleared a space amid the debris. (129 words)

Original

Dean appeared about to respond, but he eased back silently into his comfortable seat as Bridge’s secretary entered the office bearing a tray. She placed this on the table and, when thanked by her boss, spun on her heels and left the office. Bridge watched her go, his tired eyes fixed on the motion of her rear end. The next couple of minutes or so were devoted to pouring the coffee, with Bridge ‘playing mum’. He also passed round the biscuits that had come with the coffee. Taylor declined politely, but Dean took two. With such essentials out of the way, conversation was resumed. Leaning forward in his chair, Dean spoke around a mouthful of chocolate digestive.

Trimmed by KC

Dean eased back into his seat as Bridge’s secretary entered with a tray. When thanked by her boss, she spun on her heels and left. Bridge watched her go, his eyes fixed on her rear end. The next couple of minutes were devoted to pouring the coffee, with Bridge ‘playing mum’. He passed round the biscuits. Taylor declined, but Dean took two. With such essentials out of the way, conversation was resumed. Leaning forward, Dean spoke around a mouthful of chocolate digestive. (82 words)

Tom’s Revision

Dean appeared about to respond, but eased back silently into his seat as Bridge’s secretary entered, bearing a tray. She placed this on the table and, when thanked by her boss, spun on her heels and left the office. Bridge watched her go, his tired eyes fixed on the motion of her rear end. The next couple of minutes were devoted to pouring the coffee, with Bridge ‘playing mum’. He also passed round the biscuits that had come with the coffee. Taylor declined, but Dean took two. (87 words)

Original

The journey continued in heavy silence until a relieved Tony saw the factory gates ahead. Fred turned into the yard and parked close to the canteen. Other workers were already making their way there. Entering the canteen, the pair found all the tables stacked against the walls, while the chairs had been arranged in rows. About sixty of these were already occupied and Tony looked around, seeking his son-in-law, Kevin, or one of his closer workmates to sit with. He spotted Kevin sitting with Arnie Coucher at the back of the room and made his way over to join him. Fred followed. Arnie looked up as they approached, his bulging eyes even sadder than usual, though his thin, pale lips stretched in imitation of a smile. Kevin nodded but did not speak as Tony took the seat next to him. (140 words)

Trimmed by KC

The journey continued in silence. Fred turned into the yard. Others were already there. In the canteen the tables were stacked against the walls while the chairs had been arranged in rows. Sixty of these were occupied. Tony looked around for his son-in-law, Kevin, or one of his closer workmates. He spotted Kevin sitting with Arnie Coucher at the back of the room and made his way over. Fred followed. Arnie looked up, his bulging eyes even sadder than usual, though his thin, pale lips stretched in imitation of a smile. Kevin nodded as Tony sat next to him. (99 words)

Tom’s Revision

The journey continued in heavy silence until Fred turned into the factory gates and parked near the canteen. Entering the building, the pair found all the tables stacked against the walls, while the chairs had been arranged in rows. About sixty seats were already occupied and Tony looked around, seeking his son-in-law, Kevin, or one of his closer workmates to sit with. He spotted Kevin sitting with Arnie Coucher and made his way over to join him. Fred followed. Arnie looked up as they approached, his eyes even sadder than usual, though his thin lips stretched in imitation of a smile. Kevin nodded but did not speak as Tony sat next to him. (113 words)

Original

Offering profuse thanks, the woman left the office and Taylor followed her to begin his tour, telling Janet of his decision as he passed her desk. Stepping out into the yard, he crossed to the assembly shop. There, he found employees working as on any normal day, completing the last production run. Many nodded to him as he passed, and he was struck by a total absence of displayed antipathy. It was the same in the engineering shop, the packing department and the warehouse. Whenever he paused to speak to someone the response was invariably polite, and occasionally affable. Nobody raised the matter of redundancy with the Human Resources Manager, and he made no mention of it to them.

At six, Taylor drove his company BMW through the factory gates and headed for his home in Wilmslow. There, he received an affectionate peck on the cheek from Janice Taylor and the couple went through the house and conservatory to the extensive rear garden. (163 words)

Trimmed by KC

Offering profuse thanks, the woman left and Taylor followed to begin his tour, telling Janet as he passed. He crossed to the assembly shop. They were working as normal, completing the last production run. Many nodded as he passed. He was struck by the absence antipathy. It was the same in the engineering shop, the packing department and the warehouse. Whenever he paused to speak the response was invariably polite, and occasionally affable. Nobody raised redundancy with the Human Resources Manager, and he made no mention of it to them.

At six, Taylor got in his company BMW and headed for his home in Wilmslow. He received an affectionate peck from Janice and the couple went through to the extensive rear garden. (122 words)

Tom’s Revision

Offering profuse thanks, the woman left the office and Taylor followed her, telling Janet of his decision as he passed her desk. Stepping into the yard, he crossed to the assembly shop. There, he found employees working as on any normal day, completing the last production run. Many nodded to him as he passed, and he was struck by the absence of antipathy. It was the same in the engineering shop, the packing department and the warehouse. Whenever he spoke to someone the response was polite, and occasionally affable. Nobody raised the matter of redundancy with him, and he made no mention of it.

At six, Taylor drove his company BMW through the factory gates and headed for his home in Wilmslow. There, he received an affectionate peck from Janice Taylor and the couple went through to the extensive rear garden. (141 words)

Original Complete

All in This Together

Seated at last, Tony glanced at his brother-in-law. ‘It’s about time you treated this car to a good clear out. I’ve seen less cluttered skips, mate.’

Fred shrugged as he slipped into gear, his normally cheerful expression absent. ‘Give over, lad, you’re beginning to sound like your sister.’

Looking back towards the flats, Tony saw that his wife was no longer at the window. He turned his face to the driver. ‘Is that why you’re looking like a wet weekend, ‘cos you and Carol have had another barney?

Fred shook his closely shaven head as he pulled away from the kerb. ‘If I got down in the mouth every time your sister had a go at me, my face would be frozen in a scowl. Our little punch-ups are all part of the in-house entertainment.’ He spoke without a hint of the familiar grin. ‘This car gets washed every time it rains, and that’s a lot of washing round here.’

Tony fell silent for a couple of minutes before deciding to try again to lighten the mood, this time with a topic that never failed to bring a reaction from Fred. ‘Well, it can’t be the City result mate. If you got pissed off every time they got whacked you’d have gone looking for a high building years ago.’

Tony forced a chuckle, but his driver gave no response and they travelled in silence for several minutes, with gloom descending. At last, the older man could bear the mounting tension no longer. ‘For Christ’s sake Fred, what’s your problem?’

Sighing heavily, Fred kept his eyes on the road ahead as he adopted a tone appropriate for speaking to an intellectually challenged ten-year old. ‘I don’t believe this. What the fuck do you think this meeting’s about this morning, the prices in the canteen? Are you telling me that you and Josie aren’t worried?’

Tony sighed audibly too. ‘Of course, we’re worried. We’ve talked about nowt else all weekend, but you can’t go around like a bear with a sore head just because management’s called a meeting. We don’t know for sure what it’s all about.’

Fred’s voice betrayed rising irritation. ‘Give over, you know fucking well what it’s all about. Why do you think they’ve invited the union in? They don’t do that for fun.’

Tony shook his head. ‘All I’m saying is, we don’t know for sure. Everyone thinks there’s redundancy in the air, but even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean you’ll be out. How long have you worked there?’

‘Nearly twenty years.’

‘Well, there you are then. The union will insist on last-in, first-out. So you’ll be safe. I’ve been made redundant twice in that time, and found jobs within a couple of weeks. I’ll probably be one of the first to go, but if you’re not fussy what you do, a job always turns up.’

Fred gave a slight nod. ‘Let’s hope you’re right, but I haven’t been through it before, and I’ve still got a kid at home. Yours have all fled the nest.’

Tony paused, hesitant to speak his thoughts. ‘Well, don’t you think it’s time your Lee went, as well? He’s nineteen now, and a big, strong lad. I don’t believe he can’t get a job, if he tried.’

‘He has tried, for fuck’s sake.’ The tone was angry. ‘Lee’s a good kid. He’s been to college, but gets offered peanuts. He wants a proper job: a career. You can’t blame him for that. His problem is he believes the government’s bullshit. He’s done two courses now, but there’s bugger all at the end of ‘em.’

‘He might need a bit of a shove from you.’

Fred took his eyes from the road briefly to look at his companion. ‘Dump him, you mean, like the politicians do to us? No chance! I could never look in a mirror again.’

The journey continued in heavy silence until a relieved Tony saw the factory gates ahead. Fred turned into the yard and parked close to the canteen. Other workers were already making their way there.

Entering the canteen, the pair found all the tables stacked against the walls, while the chairs had been arranged in rows. About sixty of these were already occupied and Tony looked around, seeking his son-in-law, Kevin, or one of his closer workmates to sit with. He spotted Kevin sitting with Arnie Coucher at the back of the room and made his way over to join him. Fred followed. Arnie looked up as they approached, his bulging eyes even sadder than usual, though his thin, pale lips stretched in imitation of a smile. Kevin nodded but did not speak as Tony took the seat next to him.

Tony tried to affect a cheerful tone when he spoke. ‘Any news, Arnie?’

Arnie sniffed through his long beak of a nose. ‘None that’s any good, mate. Ken Atherton reckons some management have already cleared their desks and pissed off.’

Tony did not reply, but removed his spectacles, took a handkerchief from a trouser pocket and began to wipe the lenses. Holding the glasses up to the light to check for persistent specks, he returned them to their perch on his bulbous nose, and stared through them at Arnie. ‘Aye, well I take anything that Atherton says with a pinch of salt. Him and his mates in the Socialist Workers’ Party will be loving this. He’ll paint the bleakest picture he can, hoping you’ll join his revolution.’

Hearing a heavy sigh to his left, he turned to see Fred shaking his head, his expression that of a man long suffering. ‘You won’t accept it, will you Tony. Ken Atherton might be a Commie shit-stirrer, but it doesn’t mean he’s always wrong. The way some of the bastards in management here behave, I’ve felt like saying come back Lenin, all is forgiven. If managers have hopped it, we can expect this place to close completely. So, we’re not talking about last-in first-out. It’s every bugger out.’

Tony eased back in his seat, running his eyes over the yellow painted ceiling with its lines of neon tubes. ‘If management here’s so bad, mate, why have you stayed for twenty years?’ The question was asked more in the manner of a statement than genuine enquiry.

Fred sounded irritated again. ‘I said some of ‘em, not all.’

A nudge from Kevin caused Tony to lower his gaze from the ceiling and watch the entry of James Bridge, the managing director, his personnel manager, or Human Resources Manager as he was now called, and Arthur Dean, the union’s regional secretary. The three walked to the front and seated themselves behind two, blue topped dining tables placed together, facing the workers. The canteen was now almost full, with around two hundred people. The hum of conversation died as the trio took their seats.

James Bridge studied the assembled workers for a few moments in silence, his face grave beneath the shining dome of his bald head. Rising to his feet, he coughed nervously into his hand. The workforce was now completely silent. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is my sad and unpleasant duty to tell you that our American parent company has decided to move production from Manchester to Asia on commercial grounds. The machinery in this factory will be dismantled and shipped to Asia during the next three months, so we shall require a number of you to remain here until that task is complete. Others will be released in the course of the next two weeks.’ He paused as the hum of voices rose again, resuming only when the noise subsided.

‘Mr. Taylor, the Human Resources Manager will be giving you detailed, personal information on who is required to stay. I know that this news must be a great shock to all of you. In fairness to our American owners, they have been under competitive pressure for some time to make this move, but have stayed with us. I was told two years ago in Baltimore that the company could be forced to follow the example of its competitors and move out. The details of redundancy compensation have been negotiated with Mr. Dean’s union, and the payments will be more generous than those demanded by law. Everyone who has been with the company for at least two years will receive some compensation.’

This comment was met with groans from a handful of newcomers. One man rose from his seat in the fifth row, to speak with a voice full of anger. ‘This is the third time in two years I’ve been made redundant, and the second time I’ve got nowt. If you knew two years ago, why was I taken on three months ago?’

Bridge remained outwardly calm. ‘I understand your disappointment, but I was told two years ago simply that it might have to happen. The decision was made less than a month ago, and we have a responsibility to our customers to maintain supplies.’

The man stayed on his feet. ‘What about responsibility to your workers, mate? They come bottom of the pile, don’t they, after your shareholders and customers. I’ve got three kids, and if I’d known you were going to shut down I wouldn’t have taken the bloody job.’ Some of those around him nodded their agreement with the sentiment.

Bridge cleared his throat. ‘I can only repeat my regret that you have been inconvenienced, but we have all to live with the commercial reality. By continuing to manufacture our fans in Manchester we could not possibly compete on price with other makers. They can import fans into this country to sell at a lower price than we can make them, and still make a profit.’

The man resumed his seat with eyes close to tears. ‘I’ll tell my wife that, she’ll be greatly comforted.’ Kevin muttered to his father-in-law. ‘Eh! Inconvenienced, he says. It’s more than that for me.’

As James Bridge sat down, Arthur Dean climbed to his feet, placing knuckles on the table before him to assist in the task of lifting his bulky figure. The square head swivelled on his thick-set neck as his slightly narrowed eyes swept the gathering. He spoke with a slow, Lancashire accent. ‘I am not here to support your managing director, but I have to say, in all fairness, that he has done his best for you in discussions with the owners, as has your union. I am convinced that we got the best deal possible for you, and many of you will be pleasantly surprised by the details. As Mr. Bridge said, we have to live with the reality, and that reality is a globalised world.’ His fleshy jowls wobbled as he spoke.

A voice rang out from the back row. ‘Aye, and that reality was promoted by your lot. I’ve seen the TUC web-site, singing the praises of globalisation. You’ve sold us down the fucking river, mate, and you know it.’

Dean looked flustered, his face reddening and his voice rising. ‘I resent that remark, brother. I’ve never sold anyone down the river in my thirty years of service to the members.’

Beside the union man, Gordon Taylor stood up and intervened. ‘This is a very sad day for us all, I think. It is a shared experience and we should not allow ourselves to be sidetracked by recriminations and expressions of personal disappointment. There is an envelope for each of you in my office containing details of your personal compensation, and leaving dates. If you will come to us there during the morning, we shall be happy to deal with any errors or problems that you see. Later today, the local employment office will be sending people here to talk about opportunities in the area, and to answer your questions.’ Someone seated at the back gave an ironic laugh. ‘Opportunities, round here? You’re a bloody comedian mate.’

Taylor glanced at James Bridge, who rose to his feet, and the three men left the canteen together, all looking straight ahead.

As the doors closed behind them a crescendo of gabbling voices filled the room until it reached deafening proportions. The noise echoed from the ceiling and the blue-painted walls so that people could barely distinguish the words of those sitting alongside them. There was anger and tears as the serving hatches opened and two canteen ladies, dressed in their green overalls, prepared to serve free cups of tea, as directed by the MD. While some continued to vent their anger, the majority formed an orderly queue to collect their mugs. Watching from the back of the room, Ken Atherton muttered to his nearest neighbour. ‘Look at ‘em Jack, like bloody sheep, saying thank you for their cuppa. If Trotsky had been British he’d have topped himself in fucking frustration.’

* * *

‘Bring in coffee for three please, Sylvia.’

James Bridge replaced the handset on his internal telephone, rose from his high-backed swivel chair and stepped round a wing of his large, modular desk. Taking long, leisurely strides he crossed six yards of the thickly carpeted floor to where a large, glass coffee table was surrounded by four leather upholstered easy-chairs. He took a seat. Two other chairs were occupied already, one bearing the challenging weight of Arthur Dean, a once powerful physique run to fat, and the other by the tall ascetic figure of Gordon Taylor.

Bridge chose the seat facing the large window that afforded a view of the factory yard and gates. He treated Dean to a warm smile. ‘Well Arthur, that didn’t go too badly, did it, apart from the offensive suggestion that you sold your members down the river. A most ludicrous remark, if I might say so.’ His tone was patronising, but if the union man felt offended, he did not show it.

Dean affected an offhand shrug. ‘It was water off a duck’s back James. In this job you have to develop a thick skin. There is always a minority ready to criticise, no matter what efforts you have made on their behalf. You know that in the seven years I have dealt with you, I have always had my members’ interests in mind.’

Bridge smiled again and nodded, as did Gordon Taylor, though the latter remained silent. ‘Quite so, Arthur, and the company’s interest. I have always admired your ability to see that the company’s interest and that of your members are not in conflict, necessarily.’

Leaning forward in his chair, Dean spoke around a mouthful of chocolate digestive. ‘I have been wondering James, whether there is any possibility of offering some people here relocation to the Sheffield plant. I know that several live over that side of Manchester, and travelling would be better than being out of a job.’

Bridge sipped his coffee and took his time placing the cup down before answering. He adopted a serious expression, and spoke slowly, as if choosing his words with care. ‘I had thought of that possibility too, Arthur, and was surprised that you didn’t raise it during our negotiations.’ He took another sip of his coffee as Dean stared across the table.

‘Well, is it on?’

There was a long pause before Bridge replied. ‘I suppose it would be possible Arthur, as I say, I did think of it myself, but didn’t mention it to you because there could possibly be little point.’

Dean stared for some moments, open mouthed, as he considered the implications of Bridge’s reply. ‘Are you telling me that Sheffield is going to close as well?’

Bridge glanced at Taylor before shaking his head slowly. ‘I can’t say that Arthur, no decision has been taken, but I can tell you, in the strictest confidence between old friends, that closure is under consideration.’

Dean scowled. ‘Does Sid Cooper know?’

‘Sid Cooper?’

‘My opposite number in Yorkshire.’

‘Ah! Him, no Arthur, as you know, I always try to be open with the union, but I have not told Mr. Cooper, simply because it would set some hares running in panic. It might not happen, and I would not wish to cause unnecessary anxiety to any of our employees.’

Dean was still scowling. ‘But, then again, it might happen.’

Bridge shrugged slowly and raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘That is undeniable.’

‘What’s your guess?’

‘Now you’re pushing me into a corner Arthur, but then, you always had that ability. I really do hesitate to speculate on such a serious matter, but I trust your discretion. I shall do what I can to influence our American masters, but it seems to me likely, given the economic logic of it. They would argue that it makes no sense for the company to continue manufacturing in Britain. We have to follow our competitors in seeking cheaper resources in order to stay in business.’

Dean threw his hands in the air and exhaled loudly in exasperation. ‘What you mean James, is cheap labour.’

Bridge shook his head vigorously. ‘Not just labour, Arthur, truly, it is also a question of regulations and controls.’

‘Aye, controls on working conditions that the labour movement took a hundred years of struggle to gain. Now, you’re tossing all that down the toilet.’

‘I do wish you wouldn’t personalise it Arthur, I’m as upset as you about the decline in manufacturing, but what choice do we have? We have fared much better here than our American colleagues to date. No fewer than six of our plants have been shut down in the States. I promise you Arthur, that the union will be advised as soon as a decision is made. Meanwhile, I would appreciate your keeping this to yourself, and not alarming your Yorkshire colleague unnecessarily.’

Dean grunted and reached for another biscuit. The trio stayed together for a further half-hour or so, during which Bridge and Dean talked across the silent human resources man, mainly about the general state of the economy. Looking at his watch, Dean rose suddenly from his chair.

‘I must go, gentlemen, I have another meeting on the other side of Manchester.’ Thanking Bridge for his hospitality he was escorted to the office door by the managing director. They shook hands and, when the door closed, Bridge rejoined Taylor.

‘My god Gordon, where does the union find people like him? I wouldn’t give the bugger a job as foreman. Look at that plate: empty. I took one biscuit, you had none, and he scoffed the rest. I think he only left when he did because the plate was empty. ’

Taylor raised a slight smile. ‘Well James, you now know how to handle him when you next negotiate, just stick a packet of chocolate digestives in front of him.’

Bridge laughed. ‘Fortunately for my ticker, I am unlikely to be negotiating again with the oaf. The Sheffield closure will mean dealing with Cooper.’

Taylor raised his barely existent eyebrows. ‘He’s quite a different kettle of fish, James. You have only met him briefly. I have found him to be pretty sharp, but aggressive: much more the leftie. I confess to being surprised that you told Dean so much. It could all go back to Cooper. These regional officers tend to work closely together in general.’

Bridge laughed again. ‘I doubt it, Gordon, I very much doubt it. Indeed, If I have brother Dean weighed up correctly, and I’m a good reader of men, having inside knowledge that his colleague doesn’t have will appeal to his enormous ego. If I am wrong and he does let it out, all would not be lost. With a bit of luck, Cooper would bring them out on strike in breach of contract, and we could bring the closure forward.’ His expression became more serious. ‘I must say though, I am surprised you think Dean and Cooper hit it off with each other, if Cooper is the leftie you say he is.’

Taylor tilted his head, lips pursed. ‘I don’t know, James. Dean is a big Labour man, as is Cooper, I understand.’

Bridge nodded towards the window. ‘Well Gordon, there goes your big Labour man, leaving without so much as another word to his members.’

Taylor looked over his shoulder in time to see Dean’s Toyota passing through the factory gates. Turning back to face his boss, he shrugged.

‘Gordon, do you remember that commie works convenor who gave us so much trouble a few years ago?’

Taylor nodded. ‘Sam Bolton, you mean. Yes, how could I forget the idiot?’

‘Well, if you recall, Arthur Dean was as keen to get rid of him as we were, and when Bolton went a bridge too far our friend was very co-operative in giving him the chop. In fact, it was entirely because of Dean’s intervention that we didn’t suffer a sympathy strike. That’s why I don’t think he and Cooper will be close. Dean is of the old right leaning school of unionists.’

‘That’s certainly true, James, but it’s all water under the bridge, now.’

The MD laughed. ‘Not this Bridge, Gordon. It might be amusing though, when up against Cooper over Sheffield, to let him know how co-operative his colleague was. Divide and rule, as they say.’

Taylor forced a tight smile. ‘When do you plan to announce the Sheffield closure, James?’

‘In a few weeks, when the kit from this plant is packed and shipped. I don’t want to risk a blockade here to prevent us moving the stuff. Do you have anything lined up for your future employment?’

The question brought a heavy sigh from Taylor. ‘No, not yet, but I’m not particularly worried. Thanks to you I have a generous severance payment, and I am reasonably well known in the Institute. Someone will give me a lead, I’m sure.’

‘Well, you know you are welcome to change your mind and relocate with me to our Dorking offices. Our marketing and distribution people still require a personnel chap.’

‘That is really kind of you James, but my family all live in Lancashire, and my two boys are at school here. It would be too much of an upheaval to move them at this stage.’

Bridge adopted his standard sympathetic expression. ‘I understand Gordon, but I shall certainly miss having you around. As for myself, I confess I can’t wait to return to Surrey, and my wife hates it up here. My two are at university now, so our location is irrelevant to them. You say all your family is in Lancashire Gordon, but you’re not a Lancastrian, are you.’

‘No James, I’m from Leicester, as you know, but since my parents died my only relatives are from my wife’s side, and she’s a Southport lass. Her parents are still alive, and living in Southport, and she has a brother who lives with his wife and kids in Preston. Janice is very close to him and to her father.’

‘Well, if you’re sure about staying in this neck of the woods, I’ll make some enquiries at the lodge about possible openings for you.’ Bridge stood suddenly in a way that made clear the discussion was ended. ‘I must get back to some paperwork Gordon, and I’m sure you have stuff on your desk waiting attention.’

Taylor rose to his feet, nodded, and left the office. He returned to his desk, checked with Janet Baker, his Personal Assistant, that people were getting their envelopes, and dealt with some of his own paperwork. He then decided to do a tour of the works, but as he was about to leave, Janet entered the office with one of the women from the packing department, Mrs. Gradwell, who had a problem.

Taylor invited the women to take a seat, noting her anxious expression. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs. Gradwell?’

She replied hesitantly, her eyes tearful. ‘I’ve just got my envelope sir, and it says I’m to finish at the end of this week. I started less than two years ago, just, so I’ll get nowt by way of compensation, and my husband was made redundant by his firm last year, and he’s still out of work. This hits us very hard, sir.’

Taylor studied her in silence for a moment, his face thoughtful. ‘Very well, Mrs. Gradwell, go back to Janet and tell her that your name should be transferred to the list of people staying for three months to help with dismantlement. I’m afraid that is as much as I can do for you; I’m very sorry, but it should mean you have two years service by the time you leave.’

Janice noted the weariness in her husband face. ‘Has it been a bad day, darling?’

He gave a slight nod. ‘Announcing redundancies is never pleasant, love, but what I found really depressing was spending much of the day in the company of two unprincipled thugs: one of them urbane. Thankfully, we’re unlikely to come across either of them in church.’

* * *

While Fred and Arnie joined the queue for tea, Tony and Kevin lifted a table from its stack by the wall, placed it near a window and arranged four chairs around it. They sat down to wait for the others to join them. After about three minutes Fred approached with two mugs of tea and took a seat. A minute later they were joined by Arnie, also carrying two mugs. The four sat in thoughtful silence for a few minutes, their collective reverie being disturbed by the arrival of Ken Atherton and his political clone, Jack Fox, a dour little man. The pair pulled chairs to the table and sat down, uninvited.

Atherton placed his elbows on the table, rested his heavy chin on strong, cupped hands, and ran narrowed eyes round the group. ‘Well, lads, what are we going to do about this?’

Arnie turned his narrow face to the ‘commie shit stirrer’, his watery eyes blinking. ‘What can we do Ken, we’re stuffed mate, well and truly stuffed.’

Tony snorted derisively. ‘What’s your big idea, Ken, barricades at the gate?’

‘You can sneer Thatcher, it’s all I expect from someone with your name, but the idea you’ve mentioned isn’t as daft as you think.’ Ken failed to reveal that he had not previously thought of it. ‘It’s what the French would do, lock the management in the offices and block the gates.’

Fred shook his head. ‘And a fat lot of good it does ‘em Ken. The Frogs are losing jobs as fast as we are.’

‘No they’re not mate. They still have a manufacturing industry worth the name, and their government protects it because they’re shit scared of what will happen if they don’t. You just think about it for a minute. If we took action like the French the papers would be round here like a shot, and the television cameras.’

Tony snorted again. ‘Aye, and the police.’

Atherton shook his head vigorously. ‘You’re thinking negative, lad. Just think what effect all that publicity could have.’

‘Aye, we’d never be offered another fucking job, anywhere. You’re out of your tree, man.’

Throwing his weight back in the chair, Atherton gave an ironic laugh. ‘Getting offered a job, you’re bloody joking mate. An ugly bugger like you’s not going to get a job anyway. Have you no idea what’s happening to the economy, thanks to your namesake’s heritage. We live in a casino pal, and you’ve just lost your chips. Job offers, my arse’

It was Tony’s turn to laugh. ‘That’s just where you’re wrong, pal. I’ve been made redundant twice before, and I got a job each time, within a fortnight.’

‘And you think you’re going to be third time lucky. Dream on. All you’re going to be offered is a fucking useless training scheme, just to keep you off the streets.

Fred flushed angrily at this, but tried to restore a sense of reasonableness with his tone. ‘They’re not useless Ken. My lad has done two courses, and he’s gained new skills and knowledge.’

‘Has he got a job?’

‘Well, no, not yet, but he feels better equipped to get one.’

Ken Atherton sighed heavily. ‘Fred, I have nowt against you’re kid, but you’ve just said it all. They might have made him feel more able, but the jobs aren’t there for him. What that training does is increase the lad’s aspirations more than his qualifications. It’s a race he can’t win because they’re moving the finishing line. I’ve a mate at the snooker club who’s a trainer, and he’ll tell you what’s happening. They’re feeding them bullshit, old son, sheer bloody bullshit. People come out of those courses and apply for jobs they wouldn’t have thought of going after before, and thinking they’re too good for work they could get. It’s a bloody con.’

Arnie tugged his long nose. ‘Well, the unions support ‘em.’

Atherton’s chair creaked as he again moved his bulk against its back. ‘The unions? Arnie, you are a great comedian, funnier than Bernard Manning ever was. We’ve seen this morning a classic example of what the union’s have become with that fat twat Dean. The unions are impotent Arnie, knackered, fucked up. That’s what globalisation was all about, cutting the ground from under the unions. The politicians set capital free to roam the planet, looking for cheap labour. Have you ever read a book called ‘No Logo’?’

Arnie shook his head. ‘I don’t read books.’

‘Well, you should. It’s all in there. The politicians are in the pockets of big business mate, letting capitalists escape the obligations of decent working conditions. Asia is one big slave labour camp, using people in ways they’d be arrested for in Britain. Because of that some people in this country have been unemployed for years. They’re like zombies.’

Tony Thatcher looked over his spectacles at Atherton, slowly shaking his head. ‘I don’t know about Arnie being a comedian, but you tell some good jokes. I’ve met some of those who have been out of work for years, some live in our flats. They don’t want work, mate. They’d rather piss around all day, gawking at the box with a can in their hand. There’s one who lives on the floor below me who hasn’t done a hand’s turn for three years, officially, but he’s down at the pub most nights, working behind the bar on the black.’

Atherton smiled. ‘Which paper do you read, Tony, if you read any?’

‘I read the Mail every day, including Sundays.’

The smile broadened. ‘Now, how did I know you were going to say that? Try reading Socialist Worker, it’ll open your eyes. You just wait till you’ve been idle for a few months. It becomes a habit.’

Tony grinned. ‘Is the Socialist Worker printed on perforated rolls?’

‘No, but it’s on softer paper than the Mail.’

Jack Fox sniggered. ‘He doesn’t use the Mail for that Ken, it’s full of shit to start with.’

Fred laughed as he met Fox’s eyes. ‘Fucking hell, it talks. I thought you’d lost your tongue Foxie.’ Fox resumed his silent vigil, his face once again gloomy.

Atherton frowned, humour giving way to gravity. ‘Seriously though, lads, we’ve been sold down the river by the political elite. Do you realise that our class has enjoyed relative prosperity for less than a lifespan. It’s rags to rags, with a one generation gap. We are expected to go cap in hand for a crap wage, while the oligarchy gets fatter and fatter pay for less and less fucking effort. We’re twats for putting up with it. Britain needs a revolution to sweep the bastards aside. Then we can have real democracy.’

Fred and Tony gave a collective groan. It was Fred who spoke. ‘Have you any interest Ken, other than bloody politics?’

‘I’m in the snooker club.’

‘Aye, ‘cos it’s the only place you can find more than half a dozen reds together.’ Tony laughed at his own wit.

Arnie leaned forward, elbows on the table. His pinched, lined face looked quizzical. ‘What do you mean by a real democracy, Ken? I thought we lived in one.’

Ken Atherton looked at his little questioner pityingly, and spoke gently. ‘No, Arnie, we don’t, and we won’t as long as we have a self-perpetuating political class that treats government as a career. We need to get power where it belongs, with the people. Life in Britain revolves around the political class and their capitalist paymasters. We, the workers, are peripheral.’

Tony rose from the table. ‘Well, I’ve still got a job here for now, so I’d better get back to it. I’ve heard all this stuff before Ken, and it doesn’t improve with the replay. You carry on with your class war, I have a machine to oil.’

As Tony walked away, Fred too rose to his feet, a slight smile on his face. ‘I respect your views Ken, and some things you say make sense, but you’re never going to convince us that the class war is still on. Britain is the most democratic country in Europe, if not the world. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.’ Fred then followed Tony from the canteen and across the yard to Gordon Taylor’s office. The two collected their envelopes and opened them as they regained the open air. Both were to leave at the end of the week, Fred with a cheque that seemed to him a fortune, and Tony with nothing but his wages. Neither man spoke as they pocketed the envelopes and returned to their respective workplaces.

At the end of the afternoon, Tony clocked off and went to the car park to find Fred already sitting in his Nissan ‘skip’. He slid into the passenger seat in silence, forgoing the usual joke or complaint about the state of the car. Fred shot him a sideways glance as he engaged the gears. ‘You all right?’

Tony gave a long, slow sigh. ‘Aye, I’ll live, but I’m not looking forward to telling Josie the worst. We’d sort of talked our chances up over the weekend, trying to look on the bright side.’

Fred grunted as he steered the car through the gateway. ‘Aye, I gathered that this morning, but I did try to tell you.’

His passenger sighed again. ‘Not now mate, please. I feel like shit, and your being right doesn’t make it any better.’

Fred reached across and patted his brother-in-law’s knee. ‘Sorry mate, I wasn’t crowing. Do you want me to come up with you to say hello to Josie?’

‘No thanks mate, I’m a big boy now. She’ll be fine about it, but this is the third time, and the second time in less than a year.’

‘But you got jobs before, quickly enough.’

‘Aye, by dropping down a level each time. I started off as a qualified mechanic and was a charge-hand when the first firm closed. I got a job a couple of weeks later as a fitter, and took it rather than stay on benefit. When that job went down the toilet I came here as a fitter’s mate in maintenance. I’ll take anything, but the money won’t be good, that’s for sure. I’d promised Josie a holiday this year, but that’s out now.’

Fred remained silent for a few minutes. ‘Why don’t we meet in the ‘Wheatsheaf’ tonight for a jar, you and Josie with me and Carol? We haven’t done it for a week or two.’

‘I’d like that, but I’ll see what Josie says, and give you a call.’

Fred drew into the kerb outside Tony’s tower block and sat with the engine running as he watched the tall figure approach the building, shoulders sagging. Glancing up, he saw Josie at the window and waved. There was no response.

At eight-thirty Tony eased through the doors of the Wheatsheaf to find Fred and Carol already seated at a table in the lounge. As he entered, Fred rose to his feet and watched Tony kiss his sister on the cheek. ‘It’s my call Tony. Is Josie not coming?’

Tony took a seat. ‘Aye, she’s just called in the ladies on the way in. She’ll have her usual glass of white wine, and mine’s a pint of bitter.’

Josie joined them at the table as Fred returned from the bar carrying their drinks. She embraced Carol and took the seat next to her. Fred noted the absence of the usual Scouse cheeriness and the failure to joke about his balding head. The irrepressible little Liverpudlian was uniquely repressed. She appeared to have been crying.

The group exchanged small talk about family for a little while, with everybody avoiding mention of redundancy until seeking safe topics became patently ridiculous. It was Fred who eventually broached the subject that was on all their minds. He looked at Josie as he spoke. ‘Not a good day, today love, was it.’

Josie forced a smile. ‘I’ve had better, lad, but worse as well. We’ll live. I’ve still got my job at Tesco, and I can ask them for more hours. How about you?’

Fred’s eyebrows jumped. ‘We’re alright Josie. I’ve told Lee that being picky about what he does is a luxury we can’t afford now. That pissed him off a bit, but he’ll come round. Carol’s got her part-time job at the solicitors, and I’m still young enough to get something.’ The thought that he was five years younger than Tony was left unsaid, but Tony’s frown revealed his grasp of the unspoken.

They talked of possible opportunities for a while, some realistic and some quite fanciful, the latter being denounced by none as such. The determination to lift each others’ spirits was apparent, and became more so when Josie mentioned that they would not be going on holiday this year. To her surprise Fred grinned broadly.

‘Oh, yes you are, my love. We’ve hired a gite in France for a fortnight. Lee doesn’t want to come, but even if he does, it doesn’t matter. The place holds six, and you’re coming with us.’ Josie stared, open mouthed and looked at Carol.

Seeing the glance, Fred laughed. ‘You’re alright Josie, me and Carol have already talked about it, and we won’t take no for an answer. We are driving there, and the place is already hired, so it’ll cost me nowt extra. I got a decent lump for my redundancy, so we don’t have to cancel, and you two are coming, we insist.’

Tony rose suddenly and hurried from the lounge without speaking. Fred started to rise too, but Josie put a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Let him go, love, he’ll be alright. Tony’s upset. He needs to let it out. To be honest Fred, a holiday doesn’t matter all that much to me, we never got them when I was a girl, but Tony thinks it matters. It’s his pride, so I’m going to accept for both of us. Just one thing though, if you’re driving us down in that car of yours, I want it cleared out first of all that rubbish.’

The three of them laughed, to the bemusement of the approaching Tony returning from the ‘gents’. (6937 words)

Tom’s reply:

Hello Ken,
I confess to being familiar with the adage 'less is more' and with adverb aversion, which in some reaches neurosis proportions. I see both as valid pointers, but not cast-iron rules, as I'm sure you agree. Your comments were very useful in forcing me to re-visit the story with a more sceptical eye. You will see from the attached that I have listened, and made changes with the result that 400+ words have gone down the tubes. You would not expect me to adopt all your suggestions uncritically, and I haven't, but thanks again for caring enough to make the effort. I hope you like the story in its new, slimmed down form. Incidentally, I have sent it to another Ken, Loach. Whether he will readit or not, who knows, but I had nothing to lose by sending it.

All the best to you and Rosie,

Tom

Tom’s Revised Version

All in This Together

Reaching the pavement, he stood for a moment at the kerb edge and stared down the road. The Nissan was nowhere to be seen. He turned to face the grey slab of the tower block, casting hazel eyes up to the third floor window from which she always waved. This morning, there was no wave, no movement of any kind. She stared back impassively. Their eyes met in unleavened sadness, man and wife still infected by the foreboding evident at breakfast. The rattle of the approaching Nissan caused him to turn back to the road as the battered white car pulled into the kerb. Fred leaned across from the driving seat to push the passenger door open then watched in silence as Tony cleared a space amid the debris.

Seated at last, Tony glanced at his brother-in-law. ‘It’s about time you treated this car to a good clear out. I’ve seen less cluttered skips, mate.’

Fred shrugged as he slipped into gear, his normally cheerful expression absent. ‘Give over, lad, you’re beginning to sound like your sister.’

Looking back towards the flats, Tony saw that his wife was no longer at the window. He turned to the driver. ‘Is that why you’re looking like a wet weekend, ‘cos you and Carol have had another barney?

Fred shook his head as he pulled away from the kerb. ‘If I got down in the mouth every time your sister had a go at me, my face would be frozen in a scowl. Our little punch-ups are all part of the in-house entertainment.’ He spoke without the familiar grin. ‘This car gets washed every time it rains, and that’s a lot of washing round here.’

Tony fell silent for a couple of minutes before deciding to try again with a topic that never failed to bring a reaction from Fred. ‘Well, it can’t be the City result mate. If you got pissed off every time they got whacked you’d have gone looking for a high building years ago.’

Tony forced a chuckle, but his driver made no response. They travelled in silence for several minutes, with gloom descending. At last, the older man could bear it no longer. ‘For Christ’s sake Fred, what’s your problem?’

Sighing, Fred kept his eyes on the road as he adopted a tone appropriate for speaking to an intellectually challenged ten-year old. ‘I don’t believe this. What the fuck do you think this meeting’s about this morning, the prices in the canteen? Are you telling me that you and Josie aren’t worried?’

Tony sighed too. ‘Of course, we’re worried. We’ve talked about nowt else all weekend, but you can’t go around like a bear with a sore head just because management’s called a meeting. We don’t know for sure what it’s all about.’

‘Give over, you know fucking well what it’s all about. Why do you think they’ve invited the union in? They don’t do that for fun.’

‘Nearly twenty years.’

Fred gave a slight nod. ‘Let’s hope you’re right, but I haven’t been through it before, and I’ve still got a kid at home. Yours have all fled the nest.’

‘He has tried, for fuck’s sake. Lee’s a good kid. He’s been to college, but gets offered peanuts. He wants a proper job: a career. You can’t blame him for that. His problem is he believes the government’s bullshit. He’s done two courses now, but there’s bugger all at the end of ‘em.’

‘He might need a bit of a shove from you.’

Fred took his eyes from the road briefly to look at his companion. ‘Dump him, you mean, like the politicians do to us? No chance! I could never look in a mirror again.’

Tony affected a cheerful tone. ‘Any news, Arnie?’

Arnie sniffed through his long beak. ‘None that’s any good, mate. Ken Atherton reckons some management have already cleared their desks and pissed off.’

Tony turned his eyes to the yellow painted ceiling with its lines of neon tubes. ‘If management here’s so bad, mate, why have you stayed for twenty years?’ The question was asked more in the manner of a statement than genuine enquiry.

Fred sounded irritated. ‘I said some of ‘em, not all.’

A nudge from Kevin caused Tony to lower his gaze and watch the entry of James Bridge, the managing director, his Human Resources Manager, and Arthur Dean, the union’s regional secretary. The three walked to the front and seated themselves behind two dining tables placed together. The canteen was now almost full, with around two hundred people. The hum of conversation died as the trio took their seats.

This comment met with groans from a handful of newcomers. One man rose from his seat to speak. ‘This is the third time in two years I’ve been made redundant, and the second time I’ve got nowt. If you knew two years ago, why was I taken on three months ago?’

As James Bridge sat down, Arthur Dean climbed to his feet, placing knuckles on the table before him to assist in the task of lifting his bulky figure. The square head swivelled on his thick-set neck as his eyes swept the gathering. ‘I am not here to support your managing director, but I have to say, in all fairness, that he has done his best for you in discussions with the owners, as has your union. I am convinced that we got the best deal possible for you, and many of you will be pleasantly surprised by the details. As Mr. Bridge said, we have to live with the reality, and that reality is a globalised world.’ His fleshy jowls wobbled as he spoke.

Dean’s face reddened. ‘I resent that remark, brother. I’ve never sold anyone down the river in my thirty years of service to the members.’

Beside the union man, Gordon Taylor stood up. ‘This is a very sad day for us all, I think. It is a shared experience and we should not allow ourselves to be sidetracked by recriminations and expressions of personal disappointment. There is an envelope for each of you in my office containing details of your personal compensation, and leaving dates. If you will come to us there during the morning, we shall be happy to deal with any errors or problems that you see. Later today, the local employment office will be sending people here to talk about opportunities in the area, and to answer your questions.’ Someone gave an ironic laugh. ‘Opportunities, round here? You’re a bloody comedian mate.’

Taylor glanced at James Bridge, who rose to his feet, and the three men left the canteen, all looking straight ahead.

As the doors closed behind them a crescendo of voices filled the room until it reached deafening proportions. The noise echoed from the ceiling and walls so that people could barely distinguish the words of those sitting alongside them. There was anger and tears as the serving hatches opened and two canteen ladies prepared to serve free cups of tea, as directed by the MD. While some continued to vent their anger, the majority formed an orderly queue to collect their mugs. Watching from the back of the room, Ken Atherton muttered to his neighbour. ‘Look at ‘em Jack, like bloody sheep, saying thank you for their cuppa. If Trotsky had been British he’d have topped himself in fucking frustration.’

* * *

‘Bring in coffee for three please, Sylvia.’

James Bridge replaced the handset on his telephone, rose from his high-backed chair and stepped round his large desk. He crossed the thickly carpeted floor to where a glass coffee table was surrounded by four easy-chairs. Two were occupied already, one bearing the challenging weight of Arthur Dean, a once powerful physique run to fat, and the other by the tall ascetic figure of Gordon Taylor.

Bridge took a seat facing a window that overlooked the factory gates. He treated Dean to a warm smile. ‘Well Arthur, that didn’t go too badly, did it, apart from the offensive suggestion that you sold your members down the river. A most ludicrous remark, if I might say so.’

Bridge sipped his coffee and took his time placing the cup down before answering. He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. ‘I had thought of that possibility too, Arthur, and was surprised that you didn’t raise it during our negotiations.’ He took another sip of his coffee as Dean stared across the table.

‘Well, is it on?’

Dean stared open mouthed as he considered the implications of Bridge’s reply. ‘Are you telling me that Sheffield is going to close as well?’

Dean scowled. ‘Does Sid Cooper know?’

‘Sid Cooper?’

‘My opposite number in Yorkshire.’

‘But, then again, it might happen.’

Bridge shrugged slowly and raised his eyebrows. ‘That is undeniable.’

‘What’s your guess?’

Dean threw his hands in the air and exhaled loudly. ‘What you mean, James, is cheap labour.’

Bridge shook his head. ‘Not just labour, Arthur, truly, it is also a question of regulations and controls.’

‘Aye, controls on working conditions that the labour movement took a hundred years of struggle to gain. Now, you’re tossing all that down the toilet.’

Dean grunted and reached for another biscuit. The trio stayed together for a further half-hour, during which Bridge and Dean talked across the silent human resources man, mainly about the general state of the economy. Looking at his watch, Dean rose suddenly.

‘I must go, gentlemen, I have another meeting on the other side of Manchester.’ Thanking Bridge for his hospitality he was escorted to the office door by the managing director. Bridge then rejoined Taylor.

Taylor raised a slight smile. ‘Well James, you now know how to handle him when you next negotiate, just stick a packet of chocolate digestives in front of him.’

Bridge laughed. ‘Fortunately for my ticker, I am unlikely to be negotiating again with the oaf. The Sheffield closure will mean dealing with Cooper.’

‘He’s quite a different kettle of fish, James. You have only met him briefly. I have found him to be pretty sharp, but aggressive: much more the leftie. I confess to being surprised that you told Dean so much. It could go back to Cooper. These regional officers tend to work closely together in general.’

Taylor pursed lips. ‘I don’t know, James. Dean is a big Labour man, as is Cooper, I understand.’

Bridge nodded towards the window. ‘Well Gordon, there goes your big Labour man, leaving without so much as another word to his members.’

Taylor glanced round in time to see Dean’s Toyota passing through the factory gates. He shrugged.

‘Gordon, do you remember that commie works convenor who gave us so much trouble a few years ago?’

‘Sam Bolton, you mean. Yes, how could I forget the idiot?’

‘That’s certainly true, James, but it’s all water under the bridge, now.’

The MD laughed. ‘Not this Bridge, Gordon. It might be amusing though, when up against Cooper over Sheffield, to let him know how co-operative his colleague was. Divide and rule, as they say.’

Taylor forced a tight smile. ‘When do you plan to announce the Sheffield closure, James?’

‘Well, you know you are welcome to change your mind and relocate with me to our Dorking offices. Our marketing and distribution people still require a personnel chap.’

‘That is really kind of you James, but my family all live in Lancashire, and my two boys are at school here. It would be too much of an upheaval to move them at this stage.’

Bridge adopted a sympathetic expression. ‘I understand Gordon, but I shall certainly miss having you around. As for myself, I confess I can’t wait to return to Surrey, and my wife hates it up here. My two are at university now, so our location is irrelevant to them. You say all your family is in Lancashire Gordon, but you’re not a Lancastrian, are you.’

‘No James, I’m from Leicester, but since my parents died my only relatives are from my wife’s side, and she’s a Southport lass. Her parents are still alive, and living in Southport, and she has a brother who lives with his wife and kids in Preston. Janice is very close to him and to her father.’

Taylor rose to his feet, nodded, and left the office. He returned to his desk, checked with Janet Baker, his Personal Assistant, that people were getting their envelopes, and dealt with some of his own paperwork. He then decided to do a tour of the works, but as he was about to leave, Janet entered with one of the women from the packing department, Mrs. Gradwell.

Taylor invited the women to take a seat, noting her anxiety. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs. Gradwell?’

Taylor studied her in silence for a moment. ‘Very well, Mrs. Gradwell, go back to Janet and tell her that your name should be transferred to the list of people staying for three months to help with dismantlement. I’m afraid that is as much as I can do for you; I’m very sorry, but it should mean you have two years service by the time you leave.’

Janice noted the weariness in her husband face. ‘Has it been a bad day, darling?’

* * *

While Fred and Arnie joined the queue for tea, Tony and Kevin lifted a table from its stack and arranged four chairs around it. They sat down to wait for the others to join them. After some minutes Fred approached with two mugs of tea and sat down. A minute later they were joined by Arnie, also carrying two mugs. The four sat in silence for a few minutes, until disturbed by the arrival of Ken Atherton and Jack Fox, a dour little man. The pair pulled chairs to the table and sat down, uninvited.

Atherton placed his elbows on the table, rested his heavy chin on cupped hands, and ran narrowed eyes round the group. ‘Well, lads, what are we going to do about this?’

Arnie turned his face to the ‘commie shit stirrer’, his watery eyes blinking. ‘What can we do Ken, we’re stuffed mate, well and truly stuffed.’

Tony snorted. ‘What’s your big idea, Ken, barricades at the gate?’

‘You can sneer Thatcher, it’s all I expect from someone with your name, but the idea you’ve mentioned isn’t as daft as you think. It’s what the French would do, lock the management in the offices and block the gates.’

Fred shook his head. ‘And a fat lot of good it does ‘em Ken. The Frogs are losing jobs as fast as we are.’

Tony snorted again. ‘Aye, and the police.’

Atherton shook his head. ‘You’re thinking negative, lad. Just think what effect all that publicity could have.’

‘Aye, we’d never be offered another fucking job, anywhere. You’re out of your tree, man.’

‘That’s just where you’re wrong, pal. I’ve been made redundant twice before, and I got a job each time, within a fortnight.’

‘And you think you’re going to be third time lucky. Dream on. All you’re going to be offered is a fucking useless training scheme, just to keep you off the streets.

Fred broke in. ‘They’re not useless Ken. My lad has done two courses, and he’s gained new skills and knowledge.’

‘Has he got a job?’

‘Well, no, not yet, but he feels better equipped to get one.’

Ken Atherton sighed. ‘Fred, I have nowt against you’re kid, but you’ve just said it all. They might have made him feel more able, but the jobs aren’t there for him. What that training does is increase the lad’s aspirations more than his qualifications. It’s a race he can’t win because they’re moving the finishing line. I’ve a mate at the snooker club who’s a trainer, and he’ll tell you what’s happening. They’re feeding them bullshit, old son, sheer bloody bullshit. People come out of those courses and apply for jobs they wouldn’t have thought of going after before, and thinking they’re too good for work they could get. It’s a bloody con.’

Arnie tugged his nose. ‘Well, the unions support ‘em.’

Arnie shook his head. ‘I don’t read books.’

‘Which paper do you read, Tony, if you read any?’

‘I read the Mail every day, including Sundays.’

‘Now, how did I know you were going to say that? Try reading Socialist Worker, it’ll open your eyes. You just wait till you’ve been idle for a few months. It becomes a habit.’

Tony grinned. ‘Is the Socialist Worker printed on perforated rolls?’

‘No, but it’s on softer paper than the Mail.’

Jack Fox sniggered. ‘He doesn’t use the Mail for that Ken, it’s full of shit to start with.’

Fred laughed as he met Fox’s eyes. ‘Fucking hell, it talks. I thought you’d lost your tongue Foxie.’ Fox resumed his silent vigil, his face once again gloomy.

Atherton’s humour gave way to gravity. ‘Seriously though, lads, we’ve been sold down the river by the political elite. Do you realise that our class has enjoyed relative prosperity for less than a lifespan. It’s rags to rags, with a one generation gap. We are expected to go cap in hand for a crap wage, while the oligarchy gets fatter and fatter pay for less and less fucking effort. We’re twats for putting up with it. Britain needs a revolution to sweep the bastards aside. Then we can have real democracy.’

Fred and Tony groaned. It was Fred who spoke. ‘Have you any interest Ken, other than bloody politics?’

‘I’m in the snooker club.’

‘Aye, ‘cos it’s the only place you can find more than half a dozen reds together.’ Tony laughed at his own wit.

Arnie leaned forward, elbows on the table, his face quizzical. ‘What do you mean by a real democracy, Ken? We live in one.’

Ken Atherton looked at his questioner pityingly. ‘No, Arnie, we don’t, and we won’t as long as we have a self-perpetuating political class that treats government as a career. We need to get power where it belongs, with the people. Life in Britain revolves around the political class and their capitalist paymasters. We, the workers, are peripheral.’

As Tony walked away, Fred rose too, a slight smile on his face. ‘I respect your views Ken, and some things you say make sense, but you’re never going to convince us that the class war is still on. Britain is the most democratic country in Europe, if not the world. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.’ Fred followed Tony across the yard to Gordon Taylor’s office. They collected their envelopes and opened them. Both were to leave at the end of the week, Fred with a cheque that seemed to him a fortune, and Tony with nothing but his wages. Neither man spoke as they pocketed the envelopes and returned to their respective workplaces.

At the end of the afternoon, Tony clocked off and went to the car park to find Fred sitting in his Nissan. He slid into the passenger seat in silence, forgoing the usual joke or complaint about the state of the car. Fred shot him a sideways glance as he engaged the gears. ‘You all right?’

Fred grunted as he steered through the gateway. ‘Aye, I gathered that this morning, but I did try to tell you.’

Tonysighed again. ‘Not now mate, please. I feel like shit, and your being right doesn’t make it any better.’

Fred reached across and patted his brother-in-law’s knee. ‘Sorry mate, I wasn’t crowing. Do you want me to come up with you to say hello to Josie?’

‘No thanks mate, I’m a big boy now. She’ll be fine about it, but this is the third time, and the second time in less than a year.’

‘But you got jobs before, quickly enough.’

Fred remained silent for a few minutes. ‘Why don’t we meet in the ‘Wheatsheaf’ tonight for a jar, you and Josie with me and Carol? We haven’t done it for a week or two.’

‘I’d like that, but I’ll see what Josie says, and give you a call.’

‘Aye, she’s just called in the ladies on the way in. She’ll have her usual glass of white wine, and mine’s a pint of bitter.’

The group exchanged small talk for a while, avoiding mention of redundancy until seeking safe topics became patently ridiculous. It was Fred who broached the subject that was on all their minds. He looked at Josie. ‘Not a good day, today love, was it.’

Josie forced a smile. ‘I’ve had better, lad, but worse as well. We’ll live. I’ve still got my job at Tesco, and I can ask them for more hours. How about you?’

‘We’re alright Josie. I’ve told Lee that being picky about what he does is a luxury we can’t afford now. That pissed him off a bit, but he’ll come round. Carol’s got her part-time job at the solicitors, and I’m still young enough to get something.’ The thought that he was five years younger than Tony was left unsaid, but Tony’s frown revealed his grasp of the unspoken.

Seeing the look, Fred laughed. ‘You’re alright Josie, me and Carol have already talked about it, and we won’t take no for an answer. We are driving there, and the place is already hired, so it’ll cost me nowt extra. I got a decent lump for my redundancy, so we don’t have to cancel, and you two are coming, we insist.’

Tony rose suddenly and hurried from the lounge. Fred started to rise too, but Josie put a hand on his arm. ‘Let him go, love, he’ll be alright. Tony’s upset. He needs to let it out. To be honest Fred, a holiday doesn’t matter all that much to me, we never got them when I was a girl, but Tony thinks it matters. It’s his pride, so I’m going to accept for both of us. Just one thing though, if you’re driving us down in that car of yours, I want it cleared out first of all that rubbish.’

The three of them laughed, to the bemusement of the approaching Tony returning from the ‘gents’. (6531 words)