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At last week's National Union of Mine Workers' conference at Rothesay, in Scotland, Horner gave a demonstration of his tactics and his might. On the platform he sat between grim, green-eyed Manny Shinwell and buck-toothed Lord Hyndley, chairman of the National Coal Board. Horner got from both of them exactly what he wanted. He asked for the closed shop, shorter hours, more social security.
Shinwell said that if these demands were granted now Britain's whole economic machine might be thrown out of gear. But Shinwell knew that he had to stay on good terms with Horner if any coal at all is to be mined. So Shinwell helplessly held out his hands, shrugged and said: "I come in a mood of appeasement."
Will Horner try to do to Britain what he did to Maerdy? Some Britons would not put it past him. Horner himself has said: "If there were a possibility of war with Russia, the coal fields would stop."
As always, old Jim Horner, in his house at Merthyr, is sticking up for his son. Last week, putting his worn velvet slippers carefully on the blacklead fender before the fireplace, he declared stoutly: "They've had our Arthur in prison four times—but he never did do anything wrong."
Others feel differently. Said a mine owner: "That bad little devil! I'd willingly strangle him with my own bare hands."