Poetry of Mine.
Poems © Bill Riley.
Please don't use my poems without my permission.
|
How Dark?
How dark was it down there in that coal mine?
How could you tell night from day?
I know that you faced a lot of danger,
Working down there so I could play.
You never complained, not once about it,
Even though it wasn't your first choice,
I hope you can hear me now, Dad?
I hope that you can hear my voice?
Oh how I hate that pit you worked in,
I hate everything its done to you,
I hope you can hear how much I love you,
There is so little I can do.
I know that soon you have to leave me,
Pray God it's better for you there, and you'll be treated well,
You don't deserve the pain you've gone through,
You didn't deserve that time in hell.
Oh how I hate that pit you worked in,
I hate everything its done to you,
I hope you can hear how much I love you,
There is so little I can do.
I pray you hear each word I've spoken,
I pray you hear each word I've said,
It brings me to tears to see you broken,
Lying so limp on that sickbed.
Oh how I hate that pit you worked in,
I hate everything its done to you,
I hope you can hear how much I love you,
There is nothing I can do.
Love you Dad.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Silent Enemy.
It creeps up on us daily as we mine the coal below,
We can't see it, we can't smell it; but it's starting to grow.
It gains in strength, collecting near the roof or on the floor,
If we choose to ignore it, it will punish us for sure.
It is deadly it is silent; it creeps nearer every second,
It's gathering up its forces, nearly ready now, if beckoned.
Now it's all around us, but we can't feel a thing,
If it's not detected soon, disaster it will bring.
The rippers in the main gate prepare to set a ring,
They jump upon the scaffold planks; Jack's head begins to swing.
He shakes his head jumps off the planks; the intruder has been found,
"It's safer here", he told his mates, "it's safer on the ground".
The Deputy was called for, and he brought his silver lamp,
He quickly took a sample and found deadly firedamp.
"Get some brattice cloth erected; right across the gate".
"We must dilute this menace, or I know what is our fate".
The work was carried out brattice spread from side to side,
Forcing fresh air up, directed, where the enemy did hide.
The gas was soon dispersed as it mingled with the air,
The danger now is over; there's no place for methane there.
Now that we are safe again, we think of bad times past,
Of the men who lost their lives when the methane grew so fast.
A single spark was all it took to release its mighty force,
It took with it each fragile life, which it passed along its course.
All coal-mining areas have endured their share of grief,
They have suffered with explosions, lives taken by this thief.
It doesn't care about religion, colour, creed, or things like that,
Silently sneaking on each victim, with the cunning of a cat.
To defeat the coal mine menace you must treat it with respect,
Be alert; be on guard, it only wins when there's neglect.
Keep the fresh air flowing, keep it mingling with all gases,
Then each day we will return to our wives and to our lasses.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Leek Show.
Billy used to grow the biggest leeks for miles around,
He used to plant them in specially prepared ground,
The soil in his leek bed was the best in all the land,
And he fed the leeks each day with a secret compound.
Billy had won the leek show for five years on the trot,
So a nasty, jealous competitor tried to spoil his plot,
His plot of land was sabotaged his leeks were in a mess,
When Billy found out later, he was really in distress.
Billy tried to find the culprit, but everyone kept quiet,
They knew if Billy found out, there would be a riot,
If I find out who did this, I'll string him up you'll see,
I'll kill the vicious bugger; I'll hang him from yon tree.
Billy never did find out, not throughout his natural life,
But someone did, and slashed his leeks, with a carving knife.
No way would they allow a rat, to win by evil means,
They stopped him in his tracks, but never spilt the beans.
It's funny though how things turn out, cause Billy won the show,
He had more leeks hid away and nurtured them to grow,
The leeks he displayed that year, were as beautiful as silk,
For Billy spent hours on end washing them with milk.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
The Colliery Blacksmith.
The colliery blacksmith begins his task,
He can make almost anything you ask.
Pumping the bellows he raises the heat,
The colour changes it's working a treat.
Into the forge he puts the iron lump,
He gives the bellows one last pump.
When its been in there long enough,
He takes it out, to do his stuff.
Over to the anvil the smithy then went,
Here the iron is twisted and bent.
With hammer raised above his head,
Line up the target, now he's prepared.
The hammer drops with a mighty blow,
And finds its target down below.
The iron's moved around with skill,
Then hit again at the smithy's will.
The iron's features eventually altered,
Throughout, the smithy never faltered.
Covered in sweat and muscles straining,
Job almost finished, little remaining.
Next cool it in the water trough,
They say this water cures a cough.
Or warts, or sores or rheumatics,
This was believed, by old mystics.
The blacksmith is a mighty man,
He reshapes metals; follows a plan.
Lesser men would surely faint,
Are they protected by their patron saint?
Footnote: -
Saint Clement patron saint of blacksmiths.
St. clement's day. 23rd. Nov.
Saint Dunstan was a blacksmith.
It's said he shod the devil.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
New Hartley Disaster.
(Hester Pit).
January 16th. 1862 was the day of the disaster,
21 tons of cast iron falling faster, and faster.
A pumping beam snapped and down the shaft it fell,
Below, it must have sounded like something from hell.
Many sections were dislodged from the shaft lining,
One shaft was the only way out for those, coal mining.
The shaft was blocked off, the miners' entombed,
It wasn't known then but these miners' were doomed.
Rescuers worked tirelessly for several days on end,
Trying to save, father, son, brother and friend.
But gases built up quickly in the mine working,
It caused miners' to sleep, stopped them from talking.
When the rescuers entered the mine; far too late,
They first found John Galligar; death was his fate.
He looked normal and seemed only to be sleeping,
The scenes that followed would start brave men weeping.
Men and boys, lying, sitting or kneeling, unable to roam,
Brothers locked in each other's arms thinking of home.
Motionless, lifeless; sons with heads on dad's shoulder,
Death silently took them; they'll never grow older.
In the pocket of overman Mr. Amour, a book was found,
It noted a prayer meeting that took place underground.
Plus, Friday half past two, Gledson and others, extremely ill,
Their faith remained; did they ever question God's will?
Personal items were recovered and placed in a heap with a nod,
On one tin flask a message was scratched, "Mercy, O God!"
On another, "Friday afternoon. My Dear Sarah---- I leave you,"
He was resigned to his fate; there was nothing else he could do.
Nearly every home in the village lost a breadwinner,
No longer would they come home for their dinner.
Rivers of tears flowed, which could have filled a lake,
Many lives changed, evermore suffering heartache.
Thousands of people attended the funerals to mourn,
They lined the streets where the coffins were drawn.
Most miners were buried in the churchyard at Earsdon,
Others buried at Cramlington, Cowpen, Seghill and Horton.
If there had been two shafts and not one, in this coal mine,
Those trapped below would have had a lifeline.
The disaster led to the introduction of a new Parliament Act,
It was too late for these poor souls, and that's a sad fact.
Footnote:-
A memorial stands in St. Albans church in Earsdon,
Inscribed are these words.
To the memory of 204 miners who lost their lives in Hartley Pit
by the fatal catastrophe of the engine beam breaking.
1862, January 16th.the date of the New Hartley disaster,
a mineshaft incident that killed 204 miners.
At the top of the shaft was a cast iron beam weighing
43 tons, half of the beam projected over the mouth of the shaft.
The beam snapped in two and fell down the shaft, 21 tons of
uncontrollable cast iron, which dislodged sections
of the shaft lining as it fell.
The shaft was blocked off and the miners were entombed.
Tremendous efforts to rescue them failed.
The shaft was their only way out, the disaster led to the
introduction of an Act of Parliament making it compulsory
for every colliery to have two shafts.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Trapped.
Six days I've been trapped here in this hole,
I'm paying the price for hewing out coal.
It's bad here were the sun doesn't shine,
I'm so worried in case I die in this mine.
The air that I breath is a wee bit stale,
And I think my lungs are starting to fail.
If they don't find me soon it'll be too late,
I don't want to be carried out in a crate.
My lamp, it went out a few days ago,
I've nothing to eat and my spirit is low.
God help me to survive one more day,
To see my wife, and my kids at play.
Thank you Lord; I see them so clear,
Take care of them as I wont be there.
Is that a light I see there in the haze?
I'm very tired; I've been here for days.
The sun will shine on my face once again,
But it will be on a much higher plane.
It appears it's the end of my earthy toil,
My body to rest in Gods serene soil.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Canary.
Poor little fellow to be used like that,
But better than being chased by a cat.
Taken down the mine to warn of gas,
To show if it's safe for men to pass.
If the bird falls and it passes out,
It's obvious that some gas is about.
The men retreat to safe fresh air,
And soon the canary recovers there.
I never saw a canary down the mine,
It stayed on the surface all the time.
The safety department took care of it,
It was safe in an aviary on top of the pit.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Wild Miner.(With apologies to a Wild Rover).
I've been a coal miner for many a year
And spent all my pennies on women and beer.
But now my redundancy money's all gone,
They've all disappeared where the sun never shone.
And it's no nay never, no nay never no more
Will I play the wild miner, no never no more.
I'm stuck by the telly most of the time,
As I haven't a licence I don't pay a dime.
I never go out cause my knees are so sore,
And the weathers all wrong; it's starting to pore.
And it's no nay never, no nay never no more
Will I play the wild miner, no never no more.
I went to an ale-house I used to frequent
And told the landlady my money was spent
She said she was glad of my custom before,
But if I was broke, to "get out the back door".
And it's no nay never, no nay never no more
Will I play the wild miner, no never no more.
I bought I ticket for the great lottery draw,
If I won that landlady my money would claw.
But I make this promise if ever I'm rich,
She'll get none of it now the vicious old b**ch.
And it's no nay never, no nay never no more
Will I play the wild miner, no never no more.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Children.
To read the list of kids killed in the mines,
It's a horrid tale; in fact they were crimes.
The numbers that died will never be known,
Records weren't kept; no details were shown.
Some children killed were only aged seven,
They were far too young be travelling to heaven.
So many were crushed against the roof or side,
Many explosions took others who died.
A boy of eleven was crushed by a horse,
Crushing by tubs was often a source.
Accidents galore in the cage or the shaft,
Lives taken whilst they learned a craft.
Children who should have been playing in fields,
Destroyed by the dangers a coal mine yields.
Little bodies mutilated in a terrible way,
Take care of them now; please Lord, I pray.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Dust Clouds.
With each single step we took; as we walked inbye,
A little cloud of dust took flight; some went into each eye.
A lot of it was swallowed or went inside our lungs,
It made us cough and splutter; it was, caked upon our tongues.
The dust it hangs suspended in the air we had to breath,
No wonder most coal miners end up with such a wheeze.
Dust takes its toll on every man who travels in its path,
It has no mercy, no regrets; all victims of its wrath.
A lot of it was coal dust which built up from year to year,
It was mixed with bags of stone dust to reduce its might; I fear.
For coal dust, when ignited is a lethal, violent, force,
What comes in contact with it is destroyed without remorse.
Now lungs are full to busting point; we've not yet reached the face,
When coaling starts; the dust clouds grow, at an alarming pace.
We swallowed tons of dust most days; while working in the mine,
No wonder that we suffer so; and grow old before our time.
If we pause for just a moment and reflect; this I sadly say,
That dust, especially coal dust; can get you either way,
If your lungs survive the onslaught it endures each working day,
At the slightest chance coal dust ignites and blows your life away,
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Quick Pit Fitter.
A long time ago I was working on devs,
My fitter was missing a few upstairs revs,
He would argue for hours when installing trepanner,
But I knew he was scared of using a spanner.
His problem went back a number of years,
A bossy old overman reduced him to tears,
He installed this gate belt drive, so it seems,
Upside down, he never got over the screams.
He was called everything under the sun,
Since then my fitter has not been much fun,
Now before every job, he sits down and thinks,
But half of the time he's having 40 winks.
Eventually he was cured of this terrible fear,
When the back of my hand arrived at his ear,
He looked at me with those sorrowful eyes,
And he flung his spanner; planning my demise.
Over I fell with my feet pointing west,
Then he grabbed me, right next to my chest,
That's it he said, that section goes first,
But I'll just have a drink to quench my thirst.
We had a good laugh as work progressed,
Each section aligned one after the rest,
Well done; the lads praised him to bits,
But he still shies away from using his mitts.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Perfect Miners.
Men I worked with were perfect in every way,
No bad habits; true gents every day.
Travelling through air-doors; except for a few,
They always stood back; "please after you".
When lifting a load, heavier at one end,
To there most men their mates would send.
Shots were fired almost every single day,
"You go down there till dust comes", they'd say.
When advancing a chock left on the collar,
"I'll get the next one", you hear men holler.
Spreading stone-dust could be quite fun,
Ensuring work-mates were properly done.
If the paddy was full up to the brim,
"Jump on the rubber" they advised him.
Nobody can say a bad word about men,
If a problem arose, they'd first count to ten.
The only time there was any bother,
At the end of the shift no one would hover.
Getting on cage was sometimes a chore,
Trying to find room for just one more.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Waltzing Miners.
Australia it seems want our men,
In Oaky Creek, Queensland; ye ken.
Bowen Basin is one of the places,
Oaky No. 1, with million ton faces.
Here Waltzing Matilda is often sang,
But you may come home like a boomerang.
Not much charm for us down under,
Hope moving there is not a blunder?
Not that good for the fairer sex,
Cause Aussies think more of their 4X.
Personally I don't know what to do,
Don't fancy fighting a kangaroo.
Those crocodiles I would surely hate,
They may frequent a wet supply gate.
But lets look on the brighter side,
Those coal seams are very wide.
Not much time spent on your knees,
Bound to miss the pigeon crees.
Give it a go, what the hell,
I can always give my pals a bell.
I think I'd probably miss the beer,
It's far superior over here.
Maybe I'll try that surfing lark,
But maybe not; I'm allergic to shark.
Just sitting by the bill-a-bong,
Supping whisky; can't go wrong.
So Australia, here I come,
Need to spend less time on my bum.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
The Penitent.
Historically the fireman's job was a pain,
Setting fire to gas again and again,
He held a long stick with a candle on it,
His only protection was a penitent kit.
This clothing was made of leather or wool,
It was well dampened to keep him cool.
Not much protection when gas was ignited,
And many were killed or their bodies blighted.
Now the fireman is an official of the mine,
With much less danger most of the time.
The penitent name lost over the years,
But for that job we'll shed no more tears.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Coals to Newcastle.
There used to be a saying known throughout the world,
But what now of those words, once so often called?
The fame of Newcastle and its coal was truly great,
Today it’s all in ruins; total pit closure now its fate.
So who would have believed they’d see the sorry day,
When coal was no more mined, and in the ground must stay.
I shed a tear remembering all that’s gone before,
And more good men are shown the unemployment door.
Mining is a hard job; of that there is no doubt,
Though it's honest work, as many often shout.
And it's not such a good life toiling down below,
But it's a trade so many worked so very hard to know.
Although the Tyne still flows in proud Northumberland,
Traffic it now carries, somehow seems less grand.
The river of coal we knew so well has finally run dry,
Yet thousands ask the question; “why, why, oh why"?
Coal from our mines has kept countless fires blazing,
To think that it’s all over is heartbreaking; it’s amazing.
So many gave so much; coal is etched upon their soul,
Who’ll forgive those, who destroyed our river of coal?
© Bill Riley. 2005.
|
Contents
Fields of Mine.
The fields I walk upon this day,
Were once the places I earned my pay.
As beautiful as they all look now,
I'd rather see men with sweat on brow.
Proud men who earned an honest living,
Deprived by politicians unforgiving.
They say every dog will have its day,
That's hard to believe, this day in May.
Memories I have still remain strong,
Back with the lads, where I belong.
We had good times, though work was hard,
Accidents; the good times often marred.
Twelve years now since I was sacked,
The same since work togs were unpacked.
The memories are all I have to show,
And aches and pains that will not go.
Those men I cursed so many times,
I miss them all as I write in rhymes.
What would I give to have them near?
If only their ramblings I could hear?
So many men have passed away,
Before their time, many would say.
I walk the fields but in my mind,
I'm in a place of a different kind.
My mind it plays so many games,
As I see the faces, but forget the names.
Next minute we're back producing coal,
And we haven't lost a single soul.
Did those spiteful politicians really win?
Losing a precious resource was such a sin.
I hear we're running out of gas and oil,
From nuclear power I nervously recoil.
Windmills scattered all around the land,
At least they're safe and not too bland.
Only time will tell how we were failed,
Who was right; who should have been jailed.
Trouble is when that day comes along,
Those to blame will be dead and gone.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Walk the Lines.
Walking between the lines,
The journey is long and slow,
Others have done it many times,
With their powder bags in tow.
Trying to step on every sleeper,
Inevitably missing quite a few,
The distance is less than a metre,
Take a short stride; start anew.
Since men laid the track,
Many months have passed,
The bags break your back,
Seems like weight has amassed.
Ballast is missing in places,
Stumble and almost fall,
Men with grimaces on faces,
Are no longer walking tall.
Now drop the heavy load,
Having reached the goal,
At the end of the road,
Now start mining coal.
© Bill Riley
|
Contents
Copyright © Bill Riley. 2003,2004, 2005.
All Rights Reserved.
