Mining Memories.

One Moment in time.

Don't let time slip you by. Please submit your memories.

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Submitted by Bill Whelan (known as Weirwolf in the pit).

Hi Bill
I started life in the Yorkshire pits in 1966 at Waterloo Main, Temple Newsam (Leeds)- Lofthouse Colliery (Wakefield) - Ledston Luck Colliery (near Leeds).

Because of the lack of light and distractions of mundane chatter/gossip I enjoyed my every working day in the pit - they were adventure days - would I find the fossil I've always wanted to find (don't know what it would be of) to bring me fame? Naw never happened but the searches were exciting.

During the main and major strike I wrote a poem you may wish to use, it is harsh but I shed tears of pain as I missed my work/adventures and suffered being called idle and work shy (from unemployed folk) our fight was for them and their children.

THE MINERS STRIKE OF 1984/85.

This year is one that will be well remembered.
When the united strength of miners became dismembered,
By outsiders, who intervened in our "just" dispute.
Persons paid miners with money gained by ill-repute,
To try and break the "Miners Strike of 84".
Their meddling has caused an industrial war.

Striking miners suffered hardships they never tasted before.
Just to have the right to work for a few years more.
Then in came the "Tories", lashing out with cash.
Hoping to make our morales crash.
But they only succeeded in feeding the greed of the greedy.
And only strengthened the fight within the needy.

The Scabs who have taken the filthy lucre.
Have only shortened their working future.
For when this strike is over, they will stand alone.
While the true "Miners" loyalty lives on.
Supporting our union in its time of need.
Not deserting its call to a whim of greed.

Scabs remember, one day you will need some-one.
To support you when the Tories and police have gone.
But you will only have other Scabs as friends.
And their loyalty changes with the winds.
Or until a better bidder comes along.
So! Scabs prostitute your beliefs and begone.

Scab think of the injuries on each side.
Think of the people who have died.
Think of them all while you spend your wage.
Think of all the misery and the rage.
And spend your money, not with pride but with shame.
For your Scabbing is the only thing to blame.

Scab there is only one thing you've been good for.
And that is, creation of a unity never seen before.
With our women coming from the back.
And accepting this strike and contributing courage,
Because your only goal is your own selfishness.
Not like the strikers, their wives and children, who are selfless.

Take note Scab of what your support of the N.C.B. means.
It means destroying the school leavers dreams.
It means bribery of yourself will be tried again and again.
To achieve the Government and the Boards aim.
To smash with the prostitution of Scab labour against the majority.
The unions and the freedoms that there used to be.
So refuse the money, become a proud man again.
Stand up for your rights and not for financial gain.

email Bill Whelan with comments on the poem please.

Submitted by Alan Melville.

I have fond memories of my grandfather who worked and played hard and was part of the mining community of Kidwelly, South Wales. Often we would stay with our grandparents as my own father had died in an explosion at the peterochemical works in Port Talbot in 1961 when I was only three years old and they formed a natural support system for my mother during those early years. I remember we would be sitting at the table at grandma's as children eating our hot porridge for breakfast just before school and Granda would come in from an evening shift down the pit. All we could see of him were the whites of his eyes as he was covered in coaldust and soot. That didn't stop him stooping down and rubbing his sweaty black face all over mine and shouting 'Ow do Bugger Lugs......Aaaaarrrgh!' before running off upstairs for a bath. I would have to get washed for a second time before school but this time in the sink. I can still see Grandma chasing him up those stairs with the poker. It wasn't until I got older when I found out what a coal miner actually did and the fear and dangers that had to be overcome as part of their everyday routine, that my understanding and respect for my Granda flourished. Regardless of all the difficulty of his job he always managed to drink heavily and gamble without a care. He would always tell me that he wasn't a coal miner but a chocolate miner and then sing the song 'I'm a little teapot' before going out again. What fond memories.

Alan Melville

Submitted by Brian Bennett and Ron Morton.

Hello again Bill, Thanks for acknowledging our email (my neighbour Ron and I). Your dead right Bill we both have many memories of Shirebrook. What a wonderful place to work. I think it was within the biggest three or four pits in Europe with over 2,500 men producing 2 mill. tons yearly. I suppose the most enduring memory we share are the 17 months between November '83 and March '85 i.e. the 4 months overtime ban followed by the year long strike. Although this created a fair bit of strife between some factions it also generated some very strong bonds which remain forever. I know we all had to learn new skills in order to preserve the future of Shirebrook. Events beyond our control overtook us and regrettably our future was not to last many years. What a catastrophe? But all is not over, last week I went to see the new Alkane plant at the top of the old Jubilee Drift now producing electricity for the local grid so the old pit is still contributing. Incidentally the Jubilee Drift commemorated the Queen's Silver Jubilee and 25 years later at her golden jubilee it is still producing. What a turn up for the book, All the best,

Brian Bennett and Ron Morton

Submitted by David Floyde.

Having been born in Shirebrook most of my family, grandfather, father, uncles have worked at Shirebrook or Langwith pits so as a family we have known many of the people from both villages both socially and down the pit, even going to the Derbyshire Miners Holiday Camp ( yes it was paid for by the Derbyshire miners as a compulsory payment was deducted from their pay) we spent many holidays at Rhyl North Wales sharing the camp with that miners families from Pleasley, with many a night drinking the Mansfield best bitter and also competing with the brass bands. Having said my little bit I will get to the point, some of the best stories of the people of shirebrook have been told by an uncle who worked at Shirebrook his name is Ron Scruby and he lives in Langwith, he has actually had a book published about his life and stories of life around the market area.I am sure he would keep you going in stories for quiet a long time.
David Floyde

Thanks for the information David, I hope I can persuade Ron to share his stories on my web site.

Bill Riley.

Submitted by Linda Gray.

Hi.

Coming from Shirebrook, men covered in black dirt were all around me as a child, my brother Jim was the closest I knew to the miners. I remember by the time of 13 yrs old, my brother came home from the mines each day covered from head to waist in black stuff. He stripped to the waist each day and gave me 6d to scrub his back for him and wash his hair in the sink. ( I thought that was great).
I used to think what a horrible job it must be to get this dirty.

Jim told us many tales about his mates down the pit, but I didn't listen much being a child.
I read a lot of books by an author called Catherine Cookson, they are stories from true happenings, some of them are about the mining days of old, and I have seen the reality of what a miner goes through. I hold my hat to all of you.

My brother Jim still lives in Shirebrook and when I last visited him he showed me the pictures of the mine being blown up. He was very choked up about it I must tell you.
This story may not mean much to you miners, but I just wanted to say I am enjoying reading all the web news on Shirebrook and the mines also.
I am now living in Australia but my heart is always in Shirebrook.

Linda Gray (Pinnock).

Submitted by Doreen Hanley a trombone player with Bearpark & Esh Colliery Brass Band.

I did some coal blasting when I was in Africa. The mine at Reitkule in Transvaal was a typical Highveld mine, huge seams. A bus drove all the men on shift down into the mine, and then when they got off all had a bicycle, kept in the bike sheds.
The mine was fully electrified, strip lighting everywhere, with those robot coal eaters.

Well one day I asked if I could go in on a visit, and they said yes. I got off the bus, pedalled a bike to the face and then watched for a while.
Then I asked if I could blast a face. The mine captain = deputy, agreed, and after putting in 26 sticks of dynamite, a small charge over there, handed me the gizmo to blast.
I watched them packing the charges, and then all we did was go round a corner, literally. I asked if it was time to blow, and which key to press, all the men were grinning as I pushed the damned button.
Within seconds we were all covered in coal dust, inches thick. I was eating it, because I was talking as I pushed the button.
Their idea of safety was non existent.

We were only about 20 ft from the face I blasted - standard practice!!!!!!!!

I also have it on very good authority, that when some of the machines jammed up, they didn't bother with fitters. They just got a few sticks of dynamite and blew the pipe off which was causing the trouble. Then the fitters could come in and fix up the resulting mess.

Doreen

Submitted by Bill Richardson.

Hi again Bill. Talking has stirred up all sorts of memories of my childhood and the pit. I dug out the enclosed pic and it should stir your memories also. Its wor Norman & Jackie with the pit ratter Meg straight off shift still black, no pithead baths those days (1951) it was the tin bath, as they came up wor Geordie & Ronnie went doon, I often wonder where we all slept in that tiny pit hoose. All four are dead now, Ronnie was the last one to work, He like you ended his days as Deputy with the closure of Westoe in South Shields. All died with pit related diseases too soon for any compen. One of my jobs as a wee lad was to go down to local tobacconists every day and get 4 sticks of RUBICON TWIST chewing baccy and 2 ounces of Western Glory snuff, horrible stuff and I can still smell it in my nostrils as i type.
The good old days ! I dont think so.




email Bill Richardson.

Submitted by Heather Halfpenny.

My mums name is Brenda Greenwood, she helped out in the Ollerton soup kitchen and also went on many of the marches, she was always on hand to help out in any way, she also did a lot of speeches at a lot of the board meeting, my dad would travel all over collecting money for families who needed help my mum went to Rizly prison for seven days for picketing, she was warned by the police if she did not go home she would be arrested, but my mum being my mum was very stubborn and stood up for what she believed in and stayed were she was, the police arrested her and took her away, she was the only woman during the pit strike to be arrested, she told us it was very hard for her she was made to clean toilets and scrub floors, my dad did his best for me and my brother telling us it was going to be ok but I was 15 years old and very rebellious, I hated the thought my mum being in prison every one teasing at school,being looked on as a bad family whose mother got in to trouble all the time, but it was not like that my mum was a good person she did every thing for us, she was always there when I needed her, apart from the seven days she spent in prison when I really needed her, but that was just me I hated the thought of my mum being in that horrible place, but looking back now I am very proud of what she stood up for, she stood up for the right to be heard to be seen and for the right of free spirit to be able to do any thing she wants to do, IM VERY PROUD OF YOU MUM AND I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH.

If anyone can help me find some photo's or has any information about my Mum please contact me.


email Heather Halfpenny.

Submitted by Dave & Mhairi Goodwin.

I worked at Pleasley pit for a couple of years just before I came to Canada in 1973. As I remember one Winding engine was steam driven ( not many left in the area at that time ) and the other electric. One shaft was also not true vertically and instead of the normal rope guides for the cages it had steel rail tracks running the whole depth of the shaft. When you were riding the shaft you would feel a jerk to one side then the other as the cage went past the bent bit. It was weekly maintenance job for the shaft crew to inspect and replace worn sections of track and fish plates. It was amazing to see these guys doing this work which involved some of them standing on beams fitted into the side of the shaft unbolting the tracks and waiting to guide the old track out and the new track into place. The shaft was about 970 yards deep I think so lots of space below them. The pieces of track were suspended from the cage by chains and were moved by signals from a guy on top of the cage using a whistle to either move up or down ( there were no mobile phones then ). After a long shift in the shaft doing this work the guys had a lot of nervous tension to let off and I can remember the games and antics they got up to in the showers. I did an inspection with them one day riding the top of the cage slowly travelling the shaft looking at the track, joints and supports to see what needed replacement. That was scarey enough, I couldn't have done what those guys did for a million dollars.


email Dave & Mhairi Goodwin.

Submitted by Hank Hoffmeister.

Bill, I'm not from a mining family, but as a youngster, my father, a German immigrant to the US, watched the movie "How Green Was My Valley" which intriguiged me about the "mines". In fifth grade I had a teacher from Wilkes-Barre, Pa whose father & uncles had worked down the PA collieries in that area. I became hooked on coal & decided that I would go to work in the mines if I ever had the chance. Indeed, during my second year at Penn State, I met a grad student in mining engr. who spent his summers in a zinc mine. While I applied & got hired, my transportation became limited, & ythe job passed. Ironically, I got hired a few years later, but had already gone underground closer to PSU. I haqve a BS &MS from Penn State, but could not get a job to my liking upon graduating with the MS in 1971 so went looking in Clearfield Cty., PA & got hired at the tipple of a coal co. in Osceola Mills, PA doing some analyzing work on shipped coal. A couple of months later an opening became available for a shuttle car driver in one of the deep mines, which I asked to go for & got it. I worked for a year in the mine prior to the parent oil co. closing the pit due to a high sulfur content & a decreasing market. I had achieved my goal of working in the mines, though not as long as you or many of your comrades, but it paid off several years later when my job in a Philadelphia slaughterhouse (meat science degrees & killing/cutting experience) became "redundant". No major problems in the mine, other than being covered up to my waist in water when the continuous miner broke through an entry from the opposite side which hadn't been drained. Neither the operator nor myself had the time to escape the inrush, which found its way to the sump 3 crosscuts down, but we had to work the rest of the shift with a little more than soggy shorts.

To those of you who have worked a lot longer in the "pits" than I have, no matter where, we have all experienced more than most of or "related" workers ever have or will. I followed up my soft coal experience with a stint in the PA hard coal mines, which is another memory of itself, the two of which account for the best working years of my life, the tales of the anthracite to come later.

See ya at the face.

Hank.

Submitted by Ian McDonnell.

During my teens I spent every summer at my cuzzins place in Clowne , Derbyshire. His father worked 1st of all at Southgate Colliery til it flooded with water from Oxcroft...........and then at Creswell. My cuzzin John be came a collier at Creswell in his 18 th year.He worked all his life as a miner ending up at Markham Main. He recently retired from his second career.........stacking shelves at Tesco.......Worksop branch....!!!!!! During my time at Doncaster College we had folk from collieries in South Yorkshire / North Derbyshire / North Notts.

It was during this time that I met a young man called.......and I kid you not.........Roger Moore......lol........he was an Apprentice Mine Surveyor from Shirebrook. At about the same period I also had the priviledge of having another young man from that Area in my class at 'tech.....called Ivan Gent. Later , in my engineering days , I worked for Sheffield City Council and was closely involved in the construction of the Parkway. When that was built I travelled every day to the Mosboro' Townships.....via Beighton...til getting a post with Rotherham Engineers.

I was born in 1946 down Sarrff in Deptford London. We as a family mum dad and younger sister , moved from rural Kent, when I was 8 years of age in 1954. We exchanged council houses with a family from Merrill Road Thurnscoe , as far removed from the peace and tranquility of Kent as you could wish to imagine.I began school at the local Hill Primary school. As you can imagine with my " cockney " accent.........lol.....I was the butt of much jesting / bullying .....call it what you will. In a short time I learnt to take care of myself and ,being a big lad , soon made lifelong friends. I passed my 11 plus at 10 years of age and attended Mexbro' Schofield Technical School for 7 years leaving in 1964 with 5 O Levels and.....1 A Level.At this time , within a 5 miles radius of Thurny ,as my village was known , there were 25 collieries and ........the second largest coking plant in Europe at Manvers.

There are none of these now.I began work in the old Doncaster Area of the NCB at the village colliery....Hickleton Main........in September of 1964.I was indentured for a 5 years period as an Apprentice Mine Surveyor. This meant attending the colliery for 4 days a week ,being trained in the practical aspects of Surveying.........and the 5 th day being spent at Doncaster College of Technology during which I passed 1st my ONC ......then my HNC....learning the theory.....the latter having to be attained before we could be " Qualified ".

During this time at Hicky.........I witnessed the transformation from a pit pony populated colliery , where the supports on the face were wooden , to a fully mechanized ,modern production outfit.

I left the pit in 1969 to work on the motorways as an engineer.After a good few years working all over the country .........under pressure from my lady wife.......lol.......I returned to mining.
This time ,however, I was to work on the opposite side of the fence so to speak.I started at Dearne Valley Colliery as a coal face trainee.........!!!! I worked my way into management , again , via shearer driving / Dosco road header driving / Dosco Dint header driving.......ripping.In 1984 I left Dearne , having reached the lofty heights of Development Overman , and started at The University of Sheffield where I read for a 4 year degree in Mathematics and Teaching.

In September 1988 we as a family moved down here to the South East of Essex where I took up a post of Mathematics teacher at a local school.
The Irony is.........lol..........after spending so many years underground with only so much as a scratch.....working in some of the most inhospitable places known to man........I had to retire early due to being run over by a of all things.........a Southend Transport Bus. I still keep in contact with a lot of friends from my mining days .........and visit my old village but...........the Heart has gone out of it.

Kind Regards
Ian McDonnell BSc. Hons.

Submitted by Mick Emmerson.

Wheelbarrow Capers

When I started at Whitwell Colliery after doing my training at Grassmoor training centre in 1959 I spent 6 months on the surface waiting for my 16th birthday so I could go underground. After doing a further 20 days training underground (close personal supervision it was called) I was deemed fit to be a pony driver taking materials to the coal face, we worked on districts called 29s and 30s down what was called The North East Dips

These districts down the Dips were unusual because they were linked to Steetley Pit from its main roadway by a small roadway 6ft wide and 5ft high, which was used to ventilate Steetley Pit because they only had 1 shaft. This roadway was the responsibility of Steetley, and was constantly being repaired usually by two older men who were coming up to retirement. Because of the small size of the roadway it had no conveyor belt, or rails, so they used to transport the debris in a wheelbarrow and empty it onto our belt a distance of about 300yds, one day they brought the barrow to our belt and left it there while they went back for their snap

When they arrived back after snap the barrow had been emptied for them but some sneaky sod had pinched its wheel, they made no more to do than pick up the barrow between them and stalked off back to Steetley in what can only be described as a magnificent sulk.

Within the hour all the pony drivers had been rounded up from off all the districts down the dips, About 12 of us altogether, we had our overman and their under manager who lined us all up and they walked down the line and asked everyone of us " Did You Pinch The Wheel Off The Wheelbarrow?" None of us could stop laughing; the ponies even looked as though they were sniggering also, and the meeting broke up in utter chaos. Needless to say Whitwell had to buy a new barrow for Steetley. Four of us pony drivers were given the task of taking this barrow to the two men who repaired the roadway so we ceremoniously carried it to them and placed it down gently in front of them, two of us flicked away an imaginary speck of dust and polished the offending mark with a not to clean sleeve, saluted and bolted like shots out of guns.

As for the wheel it was never found But I bet to this day it is still buried in manhole No 85 at the bottom of the dips manrider Better Still I can guarantee it's still there

The S*** Fly Saga (the beginning)
These flies were present at all pits not because the pit was a dirty place far from it, most places were spotless, they were present only due to the lack of toilets etc., and if you gotta go, you gotta go, and usually men used the blind side of the conveyors or any other place as much out of the way as possible

We had this problem at Whitwell for a number of years and we tried all the usual remedies I, e, spraying, greasy light fittings, fly papers, we also noticed if you were firing shots as soon as the shotfirer shouted "fire" they all vanished into thin air and when the smoke and dust subsided they were back in no time at all.

Some time in the late seventy's we had a new Safety Officer who had better remain anonymous (you never know who is reading this) who was going to make an impression on someone, sometime in the future. He came up with the brain wave of introducing small spiders so that the webs they wove caught the flies, this method was actually tried here with the result that we were now overrun with spiders as well as the dreaded flies and also we had to put up with cobwebs everywhere and because of the prolific food chain created the spiders grew to be enormous, after a couple of years it was decided to spray again but this time for spiders and the problem gradually got better but after the pit closed in 1986 I bet to this day now the spiders and flies will have survived and will still be at war with each other somewhere in the bowels of the earth below Whitwell

(It's a nice thought anyway)

Two Stories about pony driving 1959-1963

1 Jedder day early 1960s

Another episode with regards to pony driving, which I think happened at most pits was the practice of pony drivers carrying the materials they took up the gates from the end of the tracks right up to the rippers to save them time in having to fetch them themselves, for instance rings (arches) boards, struts and anything they required, sometimes the distance could be anything up to 150yds. For doing this extra bit of work the rippers used to tip the drivers usually 5 old shillings (JEDDER) from each member of the ripping team, we always drove to both gates of the face and two teams of rippers

The usual practice was to get out of the pit as early as possible on payday and we then sat on the railings outside the baths until the men drew their pay. This meant we had an extra £2, in our pockets if you were lucky enough to catch all your men. £2 in those days was a lot of money the wage for pony driving was. £5 before stoppages. So this extra cash was very useful. As I said earlier you did not always catch them or they tried avoiding you if they could, so if you are reading this LOL WOOLEY & DICKY KEELING, 33s supply gate rippers you still owe me 10 old shillings or 10 bob if you like.

The ponies we had at Whitwell no 2 pit

1st Pilot a big light chestnut colour with a mind of his own. Very stubborn with a tendency to stand on your toes, if you were not quick enough for him, at some time in is life he would never back up to let you hang him on to the tubs. To cure him of this habit it was the practice to back him all the way to the stables, resulting in him being the fastest animal in reverse in the coalfield. My own personal memory of Pilot was I was sent driving at the other side of the pit one day, and the normal way to make him stand still while he was hung on to the tubs was to tie him to the side of the tunnel by his limbers. (Sometimes even tying his fetlocks together as well) when he was finally hung on some brave soul had the pleasure of untying or cutting him free. Then it was like the Charge of the light brigade all over again. By the way his hooves were as big as frying pans

2nd. Fly very similar to Pilot but this animal only had 1 eye (pure accident) no one ever ill-treated our horses, with the result that if you came to a set of points he could only see one way and he always went that way, if the points were the other way he always got your tubs off the road.

3rd Ben a very stocky small pony very strong, gentle, his only fault was he was always hungry and used to scour the gates (tunnels) for crusts of bread, he would pinch your snap given half a chance. And suffered with terrible wind and he made us suffer as well.

4th Sandy a sandy colour and very highly-strung, unpredictable, uncontrollable to the unwary and very nervous, he even suffered from nervous exzma and we had to rub special cream on his head to stop him getting sore, but a good willing pony for all that. Most of the drivers refused to take him out but he was very special to myself and my workmate Herbie Roberts and we could do anything with him and some said he would do anything for us. "Excluding us using a chain for pulling" Bert Williams (Bloody great big Bully and arsehole creeper our corporal) and Sandy detested each other and Sandy always showed his contempt for Bert in the only way he knew, (lashing out with his hind leg whenever the occasion arose and a quick nip of the teeth) usually keeping Bert out of our way for days on end under the pretence he had more pressing work to do elsewhere.

More about Bert and his type later (another story)

5th Pinza he was similar to Pilot and Fly but he was very handsome, he was once entered at Bakewell show, he also had a bronchial complaint (called being broken winded) and he used to get really out of breath. Pinza was part trained at Whitwell, by several drivers, myself included and he was always very gentle and willing and could open doors for himself. He also had the very unnerving habit of being able to break wind silently but you always knew when he had done it, POOH. We said his farts came out in their slippers so we couldn't hear them coming. A final word about Pinza, on a few occasions when we were having our snap he actually came up to us and sat back on his rear end with his front hooves placed on the ground rather like a dog in front of us, when he did this it was the devils own job trying to get him up again "just like he had gone on strike". Pinza hated narrow places, and if we took him back to the stables through the pit bottom and there were tubs on both tracks he would charge through like a maniac with the limbers rubbing and crashing into the tubs, if there was a queue of men in the pit bottom waiting to go up the pit he thought nothing of charging straight for them, clearing the shaftside in seconds

6th Mick a black pony very good to work with, sadly he had got cancer and had to be put down, a most upsetting episode for us drivers and one probably best forgotten. " While Mick was able and in no pain we kept him working steady near the pit bottom, his condition was only diagnosed because we pony drivers could tell he was not well due to the horrible smell when he passed water" when it was obvious he was suffering he was put to sleep in the stables by the then N.C.B. vet.

7th last but by no means least Nigger. Nigger who was named as his colour, was the oldest pony at the pit .27yrs roughly, and being older by 8 to 10 years than the others he took precedence over all the others with regard to drinking water and everything else as well, the others moved out of his way when he went for a drink in the stables. He would never take a drink while out working (we had special buckets for them to use on the districts), but he would have a drink out of the drivers Dudley (water Bottle) the method being to put the bottle in the side of his mouth and tip the bottle up while he quenched his thirst. He also liked a pinch of snuff and a chew of bacca if he could get some off you. Nigger had arthritis in his back legs (screws) and was not very fast, but if there was ever any abnormal or extra heavy loads to pull which the other ponies balked at we always sent for him, it was said he could pull the pit inside out if need be, he also was one of the few ponies who would pull with a chain instead of the tool called a devil which had to be used by law (this tool enabled the pony to hold back if need be while going down hill) with a chain he relied on the driver locking the wheels for him with a locker and this is where trust came into its own, (a locker was simply a piece of wood about 14 inches long which was put through the spokes of the tubs thereby locking the wheels, obviously some of the ponies had been caught behind the fetlocks a time or two so they refused to pull with a chain, and if you tried to make them they let you know in no uncertain terms what you could do with your chain. Another thing about Nigger was he never "Farted" at snap time, but if he had to he would always amble past and get downwind and let rip. The norm was about 90 decibels and the duration usually 30 to 40 seconds or more, and a few stops and starts in-between. Finishing with a crescendo and several full stops, he would then turn his head to look at you, rather like Mr. Head, the T V horse famous at the time. The look was of total disbelief and embarrassment and deep shame but at all other times he didn't care a jot and could do it anytime he liked and did as well MOSTLY STRAIGHT IN YOUR FACE WHILE YOU WERE HANGING HIM ONTO TUBS

Nigger always was the Gaffer of all he surveyed both in the stables and down the districts and he always got special attention and titbits from everyone wherever he was working. Sweets, fruit, crusts of bread, some lad's even let him have a bite of their snap myself included; snuff and bacca were all welcome.

A Damn fine set of horses all of em!

Arc Wall Shearer.

The coal faces at Whitwell at this time early 1970s were originally headed out using a machine called, An Arc Wall Shearer, which had been declared obsolete 10 years previously and should not have been in the pit at all. When the faces were established and were in full production. We always had a visit from the area director to see how things were proceeding. When the visit was imminent all the bosses and all the officials got really agitated and wanted everything putting right before he came. Issuing orders left right and centre. Other officials then went round countermanding these orders and issuing there own, (it was more like getting ready for a visit from God than a mere area director) one of these bosses spied this infernal Arc Wall Shearer and decided it had to be put out of his sight, the only solution was to cut into the side of the tunnel with this machine far enough until it could be boarded in and left for eternity, this was done and just before the director arrived on the scene some silly sod painted on the place were the machine was boarded in, in great big letters just like this

ARC WALL SHEARER INSIDE HERE DON'T TELL ANYONE (Especially the area director)

Submitted by Ian State.

I am an x miner I came from mining family. My great granddad and great grandma worked at the colliery great granddad worked at the coal face with just a candle cap my great grandma worked on the pit top sorting coal from the dirt or dot as we called it. I have there wedding certificate neither one of them could read and write and they signed there names with an X. They both lived to a very old age.

I can also remember my late granddad coming home from the pit black as coal and grannie washing his back over the old kitchen sink. Then when he had changed they went off to the allotment to feed the pigs and chickens I think most miners had allotments and pigeons. We lived next to the railway line and often saw the steam trains chuffing by with the coal wagons with smoke and steam bellowing out.

I remember my dad who worked as a guard on the railway throwing big lumps of coal off the guards van for us to collect as he had T.B. so the N.C.B finished his employment through ill health so one way or another we still got coal for the fire.

I have many stories about pit life being an x miner but would take to long to write. Accidents deaths, strikes, hardship, good times and bad, and some undermanagers that should never have been allowed down a coal mine text book idiots.

I think the best time I had was when I was made a pony driver my pony was called star he was jet black with a white star on his forehead I loved that pony and often shared my snap with him I remember one day he stood on a blokes foot and this cruel chap picked a steel locker up and hit star on his head I went crazy and got hold of the locker with one hand and held the chap with the other on his throat up against a ring and was about to beat the living day lights out of him but a couple of the pony drivers stopped me .well it was nice putting some of my memories on this site thank you for taking the time to read this .

Ian.