Poetry of Mine. 3.
Poems © Bill Riley.
Please don't use my poems without my permission.
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Missing Pleasures.
Below ground we miss so much,
Not seeing the world, often out of touch,
You don't realise what we miss down there,
Things you take for granted we're unable to share.
The simple beauty of a bird in flight,
Or the stars that twinkle in the sky at night.
That wonderful feeling on a summers' day,
It makes us sad, but that's mining they say.
Watching stunning sailing ships is out,
There's no chance of seeing a swimming trout.
Deprived alas of observing sheep in a field,
Deprived of eyeing the farmers crop yield.
If only there were flowers to smell,
If only we had parks in which to dwell.
Watching horse racing would be nice,
Or seeing a croupier throwing dice.
Just imagine, no rainbows, no cats or dogs,
One good thing, none of those terrible fogs.
We miss children playing their games,
We miss attractive girls, women, and dames.
There's none of those flashy motorcars,
There's no beer flowing like in public bars.
If only we had a nice sandy beach,
If only the sea was close, within reach.
I could go on forever about such things,
I could wish that coal had been given wings.
Because then I wouldn't be down this mine,
Coal would move itself; that'd be just fine.
© Bill Riley. 19/06/03.
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Contents
A Wife's Love and Devotion.
Wife.
"Make that your last,
You're up at five,
Sup it up fast,
And cut the jive."
Miner.
"Yes pet, you're right,
I mustn't sleep in,
You're a lovely sight,
I'll fetch you a gin."
Wife.
"Stop them tricks now,
It's far too late,
And don't start a row,
Or there's jam for your bait."
Miner.
"Yes pet, I'm sorry,
I love you, you know,
It's good of you to worry,
Look, it's starting to snow."
Wife.
"Right, come away this second,
And fasten up your coat,
Look, you're being beckoned,
Good god, you've won tote."
Miner.
That's grand; I'll take the morn off,
I feel unwell, or so I'll tell,
Get me a whiskey I've a bit of a cough,
Hurry my love; don't dwell."
Wife.
"Come on you're not ill,
And you'll not having another,
That cash will pay electric bill,
So, say bye-bye to brother."
Miner.
"All right my love; let's go,
Romance is in the air,
Goodbye brother Joe,
We're away; so take care."
Wife.
"Romance, I hear you say,
I think perhaps you jest,
Too many pints will make you pay,
Go to sleep, you're past your best."
Miner.
"Oh god, it's that alarm,
I'd like to stay in bed,
In here it's nice and warm.
What's that pain inside my head?"
Wife.
"Come on; get up, sit on that seat,
Get dressed and go to work,
You're boots, are on the wrong feet,
You're still drunk; you berk."
Miner.
"My love you are a gem,
And you're right about my boots,
You should be wearing them,
Instead of me, and no disputes."
Wife.
"I'm sorry I've upset you,
But you know we need the money,
Just try your best please do,
When you get home, it may be sunny."
Miner.
"Ok, I'm off, I'll see you later on,
The pit would stop without me,
I'm away; I'm good as gone,
Get something nice for tea."
© Bill Riley.
2007.
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Contents
Down in the Coal mine.
Down in the Coal mine,
Coal mine so dark,
Colliers look and listen,
Hear the mine talk.
Hear the mine talk,
Each sound is a sign,
Hear the mine talk,
And you'll be just fine.
Down in the Coal mine,
Coal mine so dark,
Colliers look and listen,
Hear the mine talk.
I know some forget,
Forget the old rule,
The price of forgetting,
Is dangerous, not cool.
Down in the Coal mine,
Coal mine so dark,
Colliers look and listen,
Hear the mine talk.
How well I remember,
Those men who forgot,
Forgot the old rules,
They lost such a lot.
Down in the Coal mine,
Coal mine so dark,
Colliers look and listen,
Hear the mine talk.
© Bill Riley. 2006.
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Contents
Visions in a Coal Fire.
No, no, it's not the same,
The images aren't in the flame,
Coal was definitely the best
Far better than the rest.
I've tried staring at a gas fire,
And even at an electric wire,
Nothing comes to mind,
No great adventures can I find.
With a coal fire the flame would dance,
Watching, I was in a trance,
Glorious colours were splendid,
As smoke and fire blended.
Amazing visions I would behold,
Along with stories; previously untold,
A cold wet night; the best conditions,
Relaxing the minds many partitions.
My new gas fire brings me frustration,
I'm disappointed with the situation,
Those dreams I had are now deceased,
Just like miners, sacked, then fleeced.
© Bill Riley. 2007.
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Contents
I wandered through the dark pit.
(Apologies to Mr. Wordsworth).
I wandered through the dark pit,
That pays my wage each Friday,
Twas snap time; men may sit,
However, on their backs they lay.
Continuous as the conveyer belt,
They snored aloud in total bliss,
I cannot say the rage I felt,
Their happiness was so amiss.
They stretched and yawned, almost in time,
Tossing their heads as well,
Sleeping here is a ghastly crime,
New fears they tried to quell.
Would I report them to the boss?
Their hearts beat ever faster,
A fine, or sack, would be a loss,
At last I was their master.
For oft, when at the Kist I sat,
In vacant or in pensive mood,
I'm happy as a fat pit rat,
The power made me feel so good.
A flash comes to my inner eye,
Recalling all their qualms,
Did I report them? No not I,
Nor did I quell their alarms.
I let them sweat the rest of the shift,
And my heart with pleasure often fills,
Remembering it all gives me a lift,
Much better than watching daffodils.
© Bill Riley. 2007.
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Contents
One Day.
One day, I'll be out of this pit,
When I retire from it all,
It'll be great lazing around a bit,
No work cares; just having a ball.
One day, life will be fine,
Not a care in the world,
Out of this mine,
No coal to be hauled.
I never thought when I said that,
How soon that day would come,
Now I feel like kicking the cat,
Or smashing the garden gnome.
It gets so boring some days,
When I haven't a lot to do,
Life's changed in so many ways,
That's why I feel so blue.
If only I'd worked a bit longer,
If out pit had not been shut,
My bank balance would be stronger,
And I wouldn't be in this rut.
But hey, you can't have it always,
At least I'm in fresh air,
In summer, in the sun's rays,
I really don't have a care.
The flowers are out in the garden,
The bees are busy at work,
For moaning I beg your pardon,
Now this bottle I try to uncork.
To my wife wine I serve,
But that's not to my liking,
So I get what I deserve,
A beer fit for a Viking.
A pint of brown, that's better,
My life's taken an upward turn,
The burdens of life I unfetter,
Nothing to do with money I earn.
One day when it's all over,
One day when I go off for good,
One day we'll all be in clover,
One day I'll be understood.
© Bill Riley. 2007.
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Contents
The Colliers Bond.
As if my life's not hard enough,
With all the dust and gas,
Oh Lord the bond is really tough,
And I'm always short of cash.
I never stop to have a rest,
I hew and fill all day,
My mates tell me I'm the best,
But even I can't make it pay.
My Davy lamp gives little light,
To see with throughout my shift,
Mistakes are made, with partial sight,
Chastising me will cause a rift.
A quart of splint among my coal,
So I was fined for it,
27 shillings; nearly broke my soul.
Oh, how I hate this pit.
Black brass and splint is ever there,
Mixed with the coal I fill,
I hardly think that life is fair,
When what I earn, is nil.
A strike, we can do no more,
We will not bind again,
The blame lies at the 'masters' door,
But we'll all feel the pain.
The fight was hard and long,
The battle we have won,
The bond from our pit is gone,
Life will be better for my son.
© Bill Riley. 2007.
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The Deputy and his Lamp.
The deputy and his lamp went down pit,
In a big man-riding cage,
His tomato snap, was soggy a bit,
Which wet the papers sports page.
Inbye he looked at the gas-cap,
And noticed not even a trace,
He smiled to himself and sang a small rap,
It's safe, it's safe, it's safe in this place.
Oh, oil lamp, you are so good,
A beauty, of that there's no doubt,
If ever the air's in a bad mood,
Your flame will give me a shout.
Ever since we first were acquainted,
Your message I learned to trust,
Information from you is not tainted,
Now, I'll rest and eat my crust.
By gum, is that the time,
The men will be coming in soon,
The conditions here are sublime,
With that he started to croon.
Standing up; he'd been sat a while,
He remembered his silver lamp,
From here to pit bottoms a mile,
But his left leg developed the cramp.
Recovered, with lamp in hand, then on belt,
His pre-shift inspection over,
Satisfaction the deputy felt,
The lamp on his hip was in clover.
They made a good team,
Safety lamp and man,
They thought they were the cream,
Forward now to see onsetter Dan.
Back up the shaft they went,
Now time for them to part,
Glad of the time together they spent,
But, separation is good for the heart.
The lamp was placed on a bench by its friend,
The deputy bathed, then went to the pub,
The lamp was stripped and cleaned,
Then the deputy went home for some grub.
© Bill Riley. 2007.
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Contents
Tribute to the Lads.
I listen to old stories of days spent underground,
Are these tales embellished? Or are they sound,
Arduous tasks performed on bended knee,
Enduring such hardships: it should never be.
Each word I hear them utter is truly meant,
The message they transmit is clearly sent,
And scars shown to me freely do not lie,
Injuries, bad enough to make me cry.
These old miners speak; not to complain,
Each one recalls those with more pain,
We're the lucky ones: is their belief,
The friends we lost caused far more grief.
So, remember these miners near and far,
Wish them well; those men the coal did mar,
I don't ask you to sing their praises,
But think of the questions their injuries raises.
© Bill Riley. 2007.
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Contents
Wellington Colliery Disaster. 1910.
Everything's first class.
Everything's first class, said Henry,
Others confirmed, it's first rate,
There's nothing wrong in this pit,
But in one place, roof's a bit bad, I can state.
There's a large area of open goaf,
Where weighting is taking place,
No need to withdraw the men,
But be aware of what they may face.
Set two props as soon as you get there,
That's all you have to do,
No mention of gas was passed on,
The workmen received not a clue.
At 6 p.m. Laidlaw, the joiner, did mention,
The left-hand side of the "dilly", 3rd North,
There's a bit of gas there, so take care,
Take care as you go forth.
At 7.40, the air, it reversed,
Clouds of thick dust all around,
Men struggled to see through the mist,
And some fell to their knees on the ground.
A buzzing noise they could hear,
They couldn't grasp its source,
The hammer had stuck on the bell,
And wires were broken of course.
6th. North men knew nothing of the explosion,
They continued filling tubs with coal,
Till ventilation swept foul air towards them,
Endangering the life of each soul.
They recognised the danger instantly,
Most men left via the main road,
A safe exit was denied them,
It became their last living abode.
So many miners lost their lives,
They died a hideous death,
Tears will never ease the pain,
Of the mine taking away their last breath.
Some say the roof of the goaf came violently down,
Which forced out a great mass of gas,
A safety lamp may have been damaged, or smashed,
Igniting the methane, alas.
Rescuers fought an enormous battle,
To extinguish the vast raging fire,
At considerable risk to their lives,
For the consequences could be dire.
With enormous courage and self-devotion,
They endeavoured to reach those ensnared,
The fire was too fierce to conquer,
They tried so hard because they cared.
Many men were rightly acknowledged,
The Edward Medal was awarded to them,
Over sixty, I'm told were honoured,
But the fire, they failed to stem.
More valiant efforts were made,
Before the area was finally sealed,
Depriving the fire of air,
Would cause the fire to yield.
All men were withdrawn from the pit,
It was months before they went back,
Recovering the bodies was gruesome,
Yet, determination, they didn't lack,
The explosion killed twelve outright,
Various injuries killed others, it would seem,
Burns, shock, suffocation, and poisonous gas,
All ended in deaths so extreme.
The identification process was complex,
A number known only by items they had,
Some families were unable to view bodies,
The injuries sustained were so bad.
As weeks and months passed,
Families laid their loved ones to rest,
Please God take good care of them,
For, they were some of the best.
© Bill Riley. 2007.
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Where do Deputies come from?
Where do Deputies come from?
It's a question often asked,
Some say they never had a mom,
And their identity is masked.
Others claim they have no dad,
I think that's what they said,
No mom, no dad, that's very sad,
It's a confusing life they've led.
Think of the hard life they've had,
Without parents to guide them,
Is it any wonder some went bad,
Learn to forgive and don't condemn.
Lets think, just wait a mo,
That great filler from 10's face,
Wasn't that my deputy, Joe?
He used to fill coal at a furious pace.
Now then, I also vaguely recall,
A big ripper in 15's, an amazing man,
Worked like the devil after that fall,
Isn't he your face deputy Stan?
And that smarmy little toad,
You called him every name,
Saved 40 men in 52's road,
It's deputy Ron, the very same.
Where do deputies come from?
I'll not be the judge of that,
I think some had a dad and mom,
But it depends on where you're at.
© Bill Riley. 2007.
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Back Home.
Do you know just where I come from?
Do you know just who I am?
Do you know who's standing next to you?
Do you know from where I come?
Well. I come from dear old Ireland,
It's the place I love the best,
I've travelled all around the world,
Now, it's to home; that I am called.
My true love is old Ireland,
And one day I will return,
Back to that place; that God made best,
For I know; I've seen the rest.
Do you know just where I come from?
Do you know just who I am?
Do you know who's standing next to you?
Do you know from where I come?
Yes it's true, I come from Ireland,
But I left there long ago,
I hoped one day that I'd return,
For sure; that's where I was born.
My friend, my name is Paddy,
And I sailed the seven seas,
But come back home; it calls to me,
Come home from over the sea.
Oh! I love my dear old Ireland,
As much as any man,
But now my body's old and weak,
In my dreams, it's home I seek.
Do you know just where I come from?
Do you know just who I am?
Do you know who's standing next to you?
Do you know from where I come?
I don't think I'm going to make it,
My strength is all but gone,
Paddy is my name, good friend,
To home; my spirit, God send.
I can see the house where I was raised,
And it's full of all my friends,
Yes, they all know just who I am,
And I'm back with Dad and Mam.
You all know just where I come from?
You all know just who I am?
You all know who's standing next to you?
You all know from where I come?
© Bill Riley. 2007.
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Happy Miner.
I've been a coal miner for many a year,
Woking with many good men, that is clear.
I've always been happy with my little lot,
But would I change it? I would; I'm not a clot.
When I think of the money footballers get,
For kicking a ball, I come out in a sweat.
I think of the tonnage I shifted by hand,
I wonder if justice prevails in this land.
I have a nice home with a garden it's true,
But if I think of Beck's palace it makes me feel blue.
Am I jealous? Of course not, he's worth every pound,
I just wonder when he's going to invite me around.
I wait for the day when I take him for a drink,
The lads in the welfare would be in the pink.
I'd get to the bar; 2 pints I would say,
Then I'd look at Beck's, but he lets ME pay.
© Bill Riley. 30/07/03.
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Mining Gypsy.
Some miners moved around the coalfields seeking the best pay and conditions. They were the coal mining gypsies who roamed the coalfields searching for the best deals around.
In 1966 I became a mining gypsy, I left my hometown and moved to pastures new.
A job for life the coal board said, and we'll take care of you, yes, we'll take care of you.
Move now, the coal board told us,
You'll have a job for life,
Your future is safe if you move now,
With a new house for you and your wife.
I became a mining gypsy,
I was promised a job for life,
But now at the age of 50,
I'm washed up and I've lost my wife.
Well thousands took up the offer,
They upped roots and moved in a flash,
From Scotland, Northumberland and Durham,
For new pastures they made a dash.
I became a mining gypsy,
I was promised a job for life,
But now at the age of 50,
I'm washed up and I've lost me wife.
They've closed all the pits in this county,
I'm finished and out of a job,
My future is over and done with,
I was treated worse than a dog.
I became a mining gypsy,
I was promised a job for life,
But now at the age of 50,
I'm washed up and I've lost my wife.
I live in a virtual ghost town,
The smiles on folks' faces have gone,
We're all in the same leaky boat now,
Just surviving each day from now on.
I became a mining gypsy,
I was promised a job for life,
But now at the age of 50,
I'm washed up and I've lost my wife.
© Bill Riley. 03/06/03.
Ps. I didn't lose my wife, but lots of men did.
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The Pits.
Mile upon mile of tunnels some under the seas,
Miners spending lots of time on their knees.
Fighting a battle against an almighty foe,
Millions were killed; it's an endless tale of woe.
Men, women and children lost over the years,
Communities destroyed, endless floods of tears.
Killed by fire, falls, explosions, inrushes, gases,
One forgets some causes as time passes.
And no matter how many roof supports are set,
Mother nature will have her way, never fret.
The roof always tries to meet up with the floor,
Keeping roadways open is a never-ending chore.
Man wasn't meant to work underground,
Coal should be grown in a field; or there found.
What sort of life is it down in the mines?
Where everything's black and the sun never shines.
It cripples most men as they work in the dust,
The years take their toll as they're earning a crust.
The pits were closed for all the wrong things,
But our kids will be saved from the hurt mining brings.
So perhaps one day we will thank the Tories,
But that will take years; remember the stories.
I wonder if in a hundred years time,
Will anyone care about our years in the mine?
I hope history records the way miners' cared,
How they helped one another, even when scared.
It's dangerous and dirty, it can make grown men cry,
Thank goodness that soon no more miners will die.
© Bill Riley. 30/07/03.
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More Coal.
We used to walk for miles to reach the coalface at our mine,
This made the manager sad made him splutter and whine.
Losing coal production was nearly a national disgrace,
A new method must be devised to get us quicker to the face.
They talked for days about trains and how they'd cope,
Then engineer's face lit up, "we'll attach cars to a rope.
This will speed things up, and increase production at a stroke",
The manager said, "that's wonderful, pour me a rum and coke."
The project was soon started, every inch of track repaired,
New haulage engine, new rope; good intention was declared.
The men were looking forward to a ride instead of walking,
But as this new project progressed, the men began talking.
It soon became apparent travelling time was cut by a quarter,
We fell right into the trap, like little lambs onto the slaughter.
Coal production targets were revised this caused a lot of rage,
They were upping production targets but never upped our wage.
The manager was as happy as any manager could be,
He had visions of promotion and moving higher up the tree.
He sat there in his office thinking that he's a top class bloke,
He was dreaming of an area job, and the perks it would evoke.
The moral of this story is, if you think you're on a winner,
Don't trust the manager or he'll have you, before his dinner.
He wasn't being nice or trying to improve the miners' lot,
He only cared about more coal; that's exactly what he got.
© Bill Riley. 23/01/03.
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