Sunday 20th September 2015
‘You’ll only get one of these in a lifetime,’ the CEO said, gesturing to the marquee where 300 lunched on Thursday right beside the pit. Our mine has opened. Mines very rarely open. In fact only once in a lifetime, if at all. You may remember the Ground Breaking ceremony in March 2014 when Val attended with me. Well, now in that place where grandees including the local MP dug ceremonially with spades, is a vast processing plant that buzzed away agreeably throughout the luncheon and speeches on Thursday, making money. It’s easily the size of a ocean liner. What we’ll do with it if the mining company goes bust, Lord alone knows. So this was one of the highest days for our family. My grandfather was telephoned from Canada on a Saturday morning over 50 years ago. In those days a transatlantic call was an event. ‘I hear you’ve got a mine,’ a voice said. The man turned out to be off his head, but anyway that was the start of it. We never thought to see the day when 400 acres of moor and farmland would be ripped up, not counting the mine pit itself which is intended to achieve inter-galactic dimensions, and an industrial town established with processing plants and tubes and silos and car parks. Such a great day for the family. Now Royalties will roll in on a quarterly basis. I was at a loss for what to wear for the Opening. In the end I opted for Zara biscuit slacks, Zara cream jacket and the blood-orange scarf from Bamberg that bleeds (STILL no word from the shop in Bamberg re: how to fix the dye). But the Gay Mother said, ‘I thought you said we weren’t to stand out.’ So I got her to select an ensemble which was in dun and metal shades (very suitable, although the powder that leaves our plant is black) – a Balenciaga royal blue shirt, Prada stretch slacks and a Topman siver-grey jackette. I thought to change for the Trustees’ Meeting afterwards but didn’t. The Gay Mother had a country heather-mixture ensemble of various knits and tweeds – no jewellery: ‘It’ll be cold up at that mine,’ she said, correctly as it turned out. Well, of all the men present, there was only one other wearing fashion – I suspect he had designed the cup cakes for the occasion. He had a short scarf dashingly folded below the neck and modern retro hair. Our labels were all wrong: Cousin Smurry was rendered as Murry. Cousin Sapphire had no label at all. Cousin Monica was furious at the incompetence. I should mention that a warning light had come on in my Official Driving Car (as Joshua Baring calls it) near Reading the day before as I left the Capital for the Opening. The engine entered ‘limp mode’. Two hours at Reading with the AA man and limp mode was at an end – for about 30 minutes. Then in the near far West, the specific Official Driving car assistance showed up but the required part was not to be had. So I limped on to the Gay Mother’s in the Far West. In the end the Official Driving car was tended to during the Mine Opening at the Mine by the specific Assistance Service. I don’t know what this bodes. The repair was successfully carried out. Of course we knew no-one at the luncheon or only a few apart from our private Vicar who gave the address at Cousin Barley’s wedding. ‘You could have a chapel put up here,’ I said. He was thrilled with the idea. He loves theatre and the fun side of religion. A mining chapel would be a whole new style. Lunch was a hog-roast, which the dear Australians who are mining the mine, had understood was traditional in the Far West. They’d got in a good local caterer who showed up with two pigs on spits. Salads, stuffing, then mining cup cakes with coffee. A good stout lunch suitable to be eaten on the edge of a mine pit. Speeches were given: the Australian High Commissioner, the Lord Lieutenant, the Chairman of the Board , the CEO – all very historic and radiant. Great mining hope. But the metal prices are sinking, you see. China has met crikation, is jammed. None of this was mentioned. Ten years ago we had no mine. Or we had it but it was doing nothing, not even a basic rent was coming in but we never thought about it. Now we have it, the promise of riches is dangling and I at least am wracked. Will I be able to buy antiques at £10,000 a throw or won’t I? Will I be able to have couture like the Queen? All is confusion and uncertainty. More, more, more… me, me, me. I would say, ‘Never go onto the uplands of money. It’s Hell there. Look what happened to the Multis.’ We’ve seen their suffering with money. Better to give to the Poor or devote entirely to others. How about a bare simple life? Well, how about it?