OVER the next few weeks I helped out with the campaign, which included a number of meetings across the Notts coalfield. I recall one held in the Hucknall Sports Centre, with Ann Lilburn, then leader of the national Women Against Pit Closures movement, in the chair. Barry Johnson, vice-chair of the regional TUC, spoke on its behalf in his home town, with Arthur Scargill speaking for the NUM.

I organised the main rally of our unity campaign at Mansfield Leisure Centre one Saturday afternoon. Arriving there in good time, I found our national office receptionist Marilyn had turned up, but as she had a disability she could not climb the steps leading to the seats.

When I asked one of the strongest-looking stewards if he could help her he assessed the seating arrangement, looked carefully at Marilyn, then picked her up gently and simply carried her to one of the highest seats in the hall, giving her a brilliant view of the stage. She was delighted. Once the meeting began I thought everything was going well until I was approached by a plain-clothes police officer, probably from Special Branch, who looked very serious.

“I need to inform you we’ve had a phone call saying there’s a bomb in the building.”

I felt a sort of lurch in the stomach, then began to suspect what was really happening.

“Do you think it’s a genuine threat, or just a hoax?” I asked. I had read that the IRA had certain codes they used when alerting the police to bombs they had planted, so the police would know they were not hoaxers.

“Well, there are none of the identifying markers we would expect if it were a real bomb threat.”

“So on balance you don’t really think it’s a genuine threat?”

“Probably not, but we can’t be absolutely sure, and it’s your decision whether or not to halt the meeting and clear the building.”

“Well, I think the opposition are trying to force us to abandon our meeting by making the threat. I don’t believe there really is a bomb, but I need to consult Peter Heathfield before I can give you a definite answer.”

Now my problem would be to persuade Peter to talk to me while the meeting was continuing and while he was preparing himself mentally to give one of his powerful speeches. I tried to attract his attention without disturbing the current speaker, but understandably Peter didn’t want to be disturbed at that moment, so brushed me off. I was forced to persist in a whisper.

“I’m really sorry Peter, but this is very urgent. The police say that there’s been a bomb threat. They say there are no identifying markers that would prove it’s a genuine threat, but they can’t be sure. I think it’s the opposition, trying to force us to abandon our meeting and wreck our campaign, so I don’t think we should give them what they want. I can get the stewards to check discreetly under the seats for parcels, just to make sure. Do you agree that we should carry on with the meeting?”

He gave me a penetrating look, then agreed. No doubt Peter gave another of his excellent performances when he spoke that afternoon, but I was too busy to enjoy, or even notice, his speech. Pushing aside for a while my anger at the disgusting tricks the opposition was using, my next job was to talk to the stewards without creating a fuss that might alarm our audience.

The last thing we needed was a panic. I managed to get the team together quietly in a little huddle, explained the situation then asked if they would try to look discreetly under the seats for unexplained packages. Finally, I checked with them that they were happy with what I was asking them to do. Impressively, they all seemed determined to carry on calmly. As the others were moving away to start checking for parcels, John Evans of Duckmanton, who worked part-time as Heathfield’s driver, came closer.

“Is there anything more you’d like me to do, Hilary?”

What better proof could there be of John’s devotion to our union?

“If anything happens, make sure you look after Heathfield first — he’s precious to us. Thanks a lot, John.”

Along with the stewards, I kept looking at any space that could possibly hold a bomb. For the rest of the meeting, I was hoping desperately that I had judged the situation correctly and that there was no bomb. If I turned out to be wrong, the consequences could be appalling and would be my responsibility, as I had led Heathfield into agreeing we should continue with the meeting.

The event finished without any explosion, so it seemed clear that the breakaway merchants had simply been trying to frighten us into abandoning our meeting. I felt really pleased that we had called their bluff.

Yet our satisfaction did not last long, because the breakaway forces won the individual ballot of our Notts members. That was a tragedy for our members, seriously damaging our ability to look after their interests. Never called a trade union by the NUM, never recognised by the TUC as a genuine union, the organisation calling itself the Union of Democratic Mineworkers, or UDM, came into being.

Initially, we were told that it would be called the Democratic Union of Mineworkers, or DUM, but as our loyalists started calling its members dummies, the name was suddenly adjusted. To nobody’s surprise, the UDM was eventually recognised as a union by the Tory government-created trade union certification officer.

Many NUM loyalists in Nottinghamshire still refuse to utter its name, even 40 years after its creation. Despite the right-wing national Labour Party leadership’s hostility to the strike and to Scargill, the Labour Party never recognised the UDM either.

Recollections of the Miners’ Strike by Hilary Cave, a joint Morning Star, Manifesto Press book is available now from our shop at bit.ly/strikeHC.