‘This isn’t a march, Ronnie, and there’ll be ructions.’ Adam was speaking to his brother but looking at his father as he added, ‘You and Mam’ll be best off here.’

‘You can’t tell me what to do.’ Ronnie turned, appealing to his father. ‘I can come, can’t I, Da?’

‘Aye, course you can,’ said John Gilbert. ‘It’s good to know at least one of me sons hasn’t got a yellow streak running through him.’

‘That’s not fair, Da. Me and the others’ll come, you know that, but this’ll end badly – any fool can see that.’

‘Oh, I’m a fool now, am I?’

‘For crying out loud.’ Adam’s exasperation was clear as he stood up so quickly that his kitchen chair tipped over, clattering on the stone slabs. ‘I’ll be here at seven-thirty, all right?’

It was dark and raining in the wind when the six of them joined the large crowd of miners gathered round the colliery gates later that evening. Adam was glad his mother wasn’t feeling well and had stayed at home – it was one less thing to worry about – but there were quite a few women and older bairns with their menfolk in the big mass of people milling about.

Directly in front of the locked gates were more police than Adam had ever seen at one time, some on horseback and some on foot standing in regimented rows and patting the palms of their hands with their batons in a way that was obviously meant to intimidate. Walt, on Adam’s left side, swore softly, and Fred standing behind them muttered, ‘Look out for Da and Ronnie once the fun starts.’

The words hadn’t left his mouth when the blacklegs who had been working down the pit came into the colliery yard, some forty or fifty men in all and each one looking terrified. At the sight of them the crowd started shouting and cursing and throwing stones, and one of the policemen on horseback began reading the Riot Act in spite of the fact that no one could hear a word he was saying. The moment he finished speaking the rest of them acted. As Adam said afterwards to his brothers, it was like the charge of the Light Brigade but there were no women and children in that battle, unlike this one. Although it could hardly be called a battle, more like a massacre.