The weather had turned hot by the time that Michael got to meet the North East Mayor John Armstrong, but as usual it wasn’t going to last. As Michael drove into Newcastle, dark cumulonimbus clouds were beginning to gather overhead and the air seemed heavy and pregnant with menace. As Michael parked his car, he could hear the first rumble of thunder somewhere to the south.
Meeting the elected Mayor
Michael walked into the imposing building that was known locally as Johnny’s castle and went to reception.
“Er, I am Michael and I have an appointment with Mr Armstrong for 10 am”, Michael said, trying his best not to sound in any way nervous. It was two minutes to ten.
“I will see if he is available”, the receptionist replied, in a bored, detached manner.
She went on her phone and was soon able to announce to Michael that Mr Armstrong would see him now. She tried to smile as she said it but really she couldn’t be bothered.
Michael was taken upstairs by one of Armstrong’s colleagues; minders some might have called them. He was ushered into a large room, with a large desk, where Johhny Armstrong, an equally large man was waiting.
“Michael, Michael, good to see you”, Johhny Armstrong said, offering his hand to Michael.
“Good to see you as well”, Michael replied, almost crossing his fingers behind his back with one hand as he shook Armstrong’s hand with the other.
Well, it’s been a long time, Michael. You seemed to like it down London…”
“Yes, yes….it has”. Michael agreed.
“Will you have a coffee or a tea?” Johnny asked innocently.
“Er, yes coffee, just with milk. No sugar.”
“Certainly. One cup of white coffee coming up.“ Soon Michael was handed the cup of coffee.
“Have a seat, Michael”, Johnny said, pointing to a smaller seat in front of his imposing desk and equally imposing chair.
Michael sat down. There was a pause that seemed like an eternity, before Johnny spoke.
“So, then Michael, You have been on a fact finding tour of the North East. And you are going back to London tomorrow. To your paymasters in the Smoke”.
“That is correct”.
“So what have you learnt in your time back home ?”
“Many things”.
“And what message do you have from the Westminster government?”
“That you need to be patient up here. Don’t expect too much too quickly from the new government.”
“Really? You surprise me”, Johnny replied. “And there was me thinking the government had been elected on a mandate for change”.
“Well, there will be. It’s just that the country is in such a bad way of 14 years of the Tories…”
“It is indeed. But we all know that. What are you going to do about it…?”
“Well, it’s not all down to me…”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, yes… I do”.
“So, the Treasury Green Book. Will it be reformed? Will we start to get our fair share of funding here in the North? Or are we going to go on getting little more than crumbs from the table, a southern table I might add, while London and South East continue to get the lion’s share of funding? And that no doubt will make it even more attractive to government funding. It’s a self-fulfilling prophesy isn’t it? And it has been for 40 years or more. Sometimes I wonder why we don’t just give the Treasury all our money and quietly starve to death…”
“That’s ridiculous”
“Is it? Is it really? You have been up here for a few weeks. You have seen the potholes and the damaged pavements, the pound shops and the closed youth centres.”
“Well, yes, I have seen some, I suppose. But there are green roots of revival in many places too…”
There are. But no thanks to people like you. Thanks to the enterprise and decency of people living up here. People, I might add, who didn’t just walk away from the Northeast at the first possible opportunity.”
“Oh, so that’s what it is, is it? I move south to improve myself and I get this on my return.”
“Yes. That is it. Because why should anybody have to move south to improve themselves and their lives. Why”.
There was no immediate answer from Michael.
Eventually he said: “They shouldn’t.”
“Ah…no you’re getting it. So, what about the Green Book being torn up, then?”
“Well, I don’t think we can do that. Treasury Orthodoxy and all that you know…”
“Oh, I know it only too well…”
“There is a certain mentality in the Treasury in London, you see and…”
“You don’t say.”
“Well, it will change…it just might take time…”
“And what am I meant to do in the meantime, then about child poverty. About the transport infrastructure? About health. Education. You know we have the unhealthiest people in the country and the worst exam results. And you know what that is…”
“Well…”
“Is there nothing you can do to stop us being just an appendage to England, a forgotten corner?”
“It’s above my paygrade I think”.
“Well, think harder. Anyway, if you will excuse me, I have another meeting at half past ten, with some women from a community group in County Durham. They need support to set up a cooperative to take over many of the services that used to be run by the council, but which the council have had to cut. They are an interesting group. They say they are taking inspiration form stories they heard about the region’s past…and the cooperative movement 150 years ago.”
“Sounds interesting. John. I won’t detain you any longer.”
“OK. Well, good to see you again. Michael and you take care.”
“You too, John”
The men shook hands Michael made his way to the door and down the lift to the exit. Soon he was back in his car, just as the storm really broke and his car’s windscreen became lashed with huge raindrops. He was about to drive off, when his phone rang. Michael lifted it up and put it to his ear.
A call from Brian
“Hello. Michael here.”
“Hi Michael. It’s Brian. I just wanted to say… we got a letter this morning, from the council, We have got the EHCP for David. Karen is so happy, she’s crying! Thanks for your advice, Michael. It’s much appreciated. I owe you one.”
“Oh, that’s great Brian. Well done. And no, you don’t owe me one at all. You looked after those archives for Pauline, remember? Well, you did me a favour in more ways than one… I can tell you. Take care, Brian”.
“You too, Michael.”
Michael put his phone away, turned the ignition key and drove slowly off into the storm.
Going south again
The next day, Michael was back in his car, driving past the Angel of the North in Gateshead, on the A1 south. In his pocket was his resignation letter; he thought that it would be nice hand it in, in person.
THE END
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