Brightlingsea 1984. Striking miners are picketing the entrance to the wharf in a bid to stop imports of coal. Squads of police are bussed in to keep the strikers at bay.

The social unrest forms the backdrop to Jim Westover’s novel, Penknife. It’s the sometimes gritty tale of Jarrod Brook who, after being expelled from boarding school before taking his O-levels, returns to Brightlingsea to find that his bedroom is occupied by a striking miner from Kent.

That Brightlingsea should feature so strongly in the story should perhaps come as no surprise, because author Jim Westover grew up in the town. All the familiar places are there – the Colne High School, the Rec, the Hard and more, as well as nearby Wivenhoe and Colchester.

The evocation of what it was like for our little town to be at the sharp end of a long and arduous industrial dispute will instantly recall the period for anyone who was there – and inform those who weren’t. Brightlingsea mayor Mick Barry is credited with helping wth research into the town’s involvement.

But while spending time on the picket lines helps to form Jarrod’s political views, the long hot summer sees him and best friend Colin drawn into petty crime as he tries to impress ardent feminist Verity.

Then, the well-meaning consequences of a drunken night out test their friendship to the limit, leading to prison, tragic consequences and – ultimately – redemption.

Jim left school with one O-level and fell into labouring work. He later moved to London to study journalism and publishing and one of his poems won a BBC Reggae Writing Competition. He later took an MA in Fiction at Middlesex University

Given that he also wrote lyrics, and performed regularly with Colchester art punks, Maniac Squat, it’s perhaps no surprise that the 264-page book hums along to the soundtrack of the early 1980s. There’s even a Spotify playlist to go with the story.

Author and campaigning journalist Duncan Campbell described Penknife thus: “A fascinating tale that captures a particular period quite beautifully. Jim Westover has managed to paint a picture – through the music, the culture, the sexual politics of the time – of small town life and love. A terrific read.” I agree. Read an excerpt for yourself below.

• Copies of the book, which costs £11.99 have been on sale in Spirals in Victoria Place and it’s also available from on Amazon and direct from the author’s website.

“Mum switched on Radio 4, and they were reporting on the miners’ strike. Talks had broken down because officials from the Coal Board had refused to discuss pit closures.
Some of the kids at school had assumed they were striking over money, but I’d tried to put them right. Thatcher planned to close a load of pits cos she said they were uneconomic. What she really wanted, Mum had told me, was to destroy the miners’ union in revenge for the strikes the Tories had lost in the seventies.
If I tried to start a conversation about the strike, I’d be able to gauge whether Mum was willing to talk about anything else yet, apart from me being expelled.
She surprised me by mentioning it first. ‘They’ve been bringing coal in through Wivenhoe and Brightlingsea. Did I tell you?’
‘No. Bringing it in from where?’
She turned down the radio and explained that scab coal was being sneaked into small ports from Eastern Europe to boost stocks and undermine the strike. Some miners from Kent found out what was happening and had come to picket locally. Mum told me she was on the committee of the Miners Support Group in Brightlingsea. ‘We’re organising places for them to stay.’
‘That’s brilliant, Mum.’ It sounded like socialism in action – backing each other up. Solidarity. My favourite group, the Style Council, were already playing benefit gigs for the miners; I’d read about it in the NME. Sharply dressed socialist, and poetic and political lyricist, Paul Weller was everything I wanted to be. But I didn’t have a group, or any money. Or even a decent haircut.
For the first, and perhaps last time that day, Mum smiled at me. ‘I’m glad you approve, Jarrod, because Tony has been sleeping in your room and I don’t think it’s fair to ask him to move, just because you’ve been kicked out of school.’
‘Who the hell’s Tony when he’s at home?’
‘A striking miner, from Kent. He’s going to be staying with us during the picketing at Wivenhoe.’
‘You could have given me a bit more warning, Mum!’ Then I remembered that I wasn’t even supposed to be back for another six weeks.
We were already in the shadow of the overhanging trees next to the old church on the way into Brightlingsea. As we came round the tight bend and back into blazing sunshine, the only sound I could hear was the car engine. And the scene was so still and familiar; it felt like we were bursting through the middle of a painting.”