Geordie Mining Tales. Part 3.

In the coal mining towns and villages of Northumberland and Durham there was always a great interest in gardening, keeping homing pigeons, drinking beer and growing prize winning leeks, flowers and numerous other vegetables.

The tale that I am about to tell goes back now to about 1960 just before I married my first wife (now deceased) and I was home on leave from the Merchant Navy. As I have mentioned previously I had an agreement with my dear mother that on the first Monday when I was home my Dad and I would have a day on the "pop". My mother never complained about "Old Jock" having the shift off because I compensated her financially.

So, imagine the scene "marras"
"Bed'ilton Station Workin' Men's Club" roond aboot elivin in the mornin", ivry body had a big heed from Sunday neet and all the wanted was a cuple of Fed Best to cleer the heed like.

My future father- in - law Abie Nichol was also in the club collectin' bets for Hunter the bookie at the station.
He wes sittin heving a crack with his pit marra Harry Tatters, so as per usual when I came on leave I always bout Owld Harry half a best and a rum and blackcurrent.

In fact it became a tradition over the years of back and fro' to the club when a was on leave like.
They both invited my father and me to join them on the domino board, not that I'm any domino player it made the owld cheps happy.

Then Owld Harry pipes up "I believe ya gan a get yursell spliced with Abies dowta Vera is that reet son.
That is quite correct Harry says McKinney.
Tell me son can wor Vera cook or not says Harry.
Oh yes says McKinney, she is a smashin' cook and she can even make top class leek puddin' as weel as spotty dick puddins.

Harry, then lit his clay pipe sat back an says tiv us all, lookin' at John (my Dad) a hope yur' youngin knaws whet he's lettin hisell in for, cos am gan te tell ya all aboot me and wor Margaret Jane, all aboot wen we got married.

We didn't hev any honeymoon cos a wes on foreship on the Sunday neet, but we had a canny neet at her mothers hoose on the Saturday, if ye kna wat an talkin aboot son.

As it happened the Monday after the weddin' wor lass decides ta mek a Leek Puddin' for me cumin yem from the pit.
Monday beein weshin day tha wes plenty of het weter in the poss tub for me te hev a good wesh in the scullery before I tackled this gryt big leek puddin.
So off a started, wor lass bein' kind ev' shy like, presents this gryt big thing in a cloth - reet in frunt ev me.
It wes a canny size cos she put it on a gryt big dinner plate, a tuk one luk and says tell me bonnie lass wats this.
Why HARRY its a leek puddin av med it special fer ye.

Having removed the clooty cover there was hairs all ower the bloody thing, so a says ti wor lass tell me pet wat div a dee with it give it a shave or eat it.

His wife made the grave error of not boiling the leek puddin in a muslin cloth she had used an old piece of woolen blanket therefore when cooking all the wool stuck to the leek puddin.

God strike me down this night I am telling you the truth and you can just imagine the roars of laughter from all in the club that Monday morning

See Ya Marra - Happy Days

Terry

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Geordie Mining Tales of Long ago by Terry McKinney. Part 4.

When I grew in the pit village of Bedlington it was not unusual to learn that most of the men of Bedlington worked at the pit, purely and simply because there was no other industry.

Previously mentioned I come from a family of coal miners on both sides of my family that go back five generations.

Living in Bedlington during my early childhood was not easy, in fact it was bloody tough and it became even tougher when my Dad was injured "Doon the Pit".
No one other than those with money owned a motor car it was all shanks's pony, in other words you had to walk everywhere, never mind it was also a very interesting period of my life and I have no regrets.

When my father returned from WWII he started work at Hartford Colliery which as the crow flies is about maybe five miles from Bedlington.

He used to walk there and back and when he came home from the pit, I being the oldest in the family had the job of cleaning his pit gear.
Sometimes when he was working in a wet seam he came home still soaking wet not only from the underground water but he was also soaked in perspiration because he had walked five miles back home, there were no pit head baths at Hartford Colliery.

Eventually he changed pits and commenced work at Cambois Colliery which is right next to the North Sea and opposite the Port of Blyth it would have been about five or six miles from where we lived at the time.

However, Old Jock must have got smart and bought a bike to travel to work on. If there are any of you who know the Bedlington area we lived at Holleymount Avenue located at the East End of Bedlington or commonly referred to as "The Bottom End".

Where we lived overlooked the wooded area of the River Blyth and Holleymount was on top of a hill right next to the road that was also part of the main route to Blyth, Hartford, Cramlington and Newcastle.

In addition Holleymount also overlooked Atlee Park where the Northumberland Miners Gala was held for many years.

When my father went to work he would take the short route by cycling through what was commonly called "The Free Woods", this saved him quite a distance and time to get to Cambois.

However, what I'm leading up to is the day that the local policeman came to the house to inform my mother and Granny McKinney that my father had been seriously injured at Cambois Pit.

And that she had to get into the Royal Victoria Hospital, Newcastle as soon as possible because it was a matter of life and death.

There was immediate panic and I had to get my brothers and sister organised to go stay at my Aunt's house until my mother and Granny returned.
Once this was done my mother requested me to get changed into some clean clothes and go with her to the RVI; I was bloody scared I can tell you because I did not know what lay ahead at the hospital.
Someone organised for a private car to take us into Newcastle because to travel by bus would have taken quite a long time.
Upon arrival at the RVI my Granny took me to one side and spoke to me in a very gentle soft voice advising me to be very brave and not cry when we saw my Dad.
Eventually we arrived at the Emergency Section and there lay my poor Dad still in his wet pit clothes and his head and face all bandaged in blood covered bandages.

I was not involved with my mother when she consulted with the doctor from what I can gather my Dad had crawled onto a "shot"and this resulted in his head and face being seriously injured and immediate surgery was necessary in an attempt to save his sight.

I did not realise then how serious his injuries were but it did not take long to understand that he was going to be blind for the rest of his life.
One small thing that comes to memory was the nurse on duty asking my mother why he still had his "bate" in his jacket pocket? This poor young woman was under the impression that the miners all came to bank, had their lunch at the canteen, and then went underground again.

Quite amazing for a nurse to not understand what a miners lot was working underground.

Times passed by and following several operations my mother was told that there was no hope for my Dad he would be totally blind.

It was a very traumatic period of my childhood because all the responsibility was placed upon me as the oldest boy and I never stopped I can assure you.

Eventually my Dad came home after having spent quite some time at St. Dunstan's Home for the Blind and again it became a nightmare for my poor mother running the home, no compensation, very little money, living on handouts and so it went on.

However, we survived this major ordeal and I managed to continue with my education as well as doing whatever part time jobs were available.

Now then we come to the part regarding:

FAITH - HOPE - and - CHARITY.

I was brought up in the Roman Catholic faith and it is the miracle of my father regaining his eye sight that even today I retain my faith in God and Our Blessed Lady of Lourdes, it keeps me going.

During this traumatic period of my life as well as that of my father, my Granny McKinney used to bathe his eyes every night with water from a bottle that someone had brought her from the shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes in France, following this ritual we then all knelt down together and said the rosary.
You better believe it that bottle never went empty during a period of approximately three years.

The prayers and holy mass's that were offered for my Dad at St. Bede's were endless and eventually his sight was restored and even the surgeon at the RVI could not, and would not, believe that it had occurred.

That is the true meaning of FAITH.

HOPE - was the hope that in time my Dad would be able to see and by the grace of God his sight was restored.

CHARITY - well what can I say if it had not been for the kindness of fellow miners and their families offering help and assistance where would I be today.

Till the day I die I will never forget those hardships and having to be strong and without the true spirit that was always found in all pit villages we would never ever have survived.

To complete the story;

I became very close with my Dad as I became older and more mature and when I came on leave from the Merchant Navy we normally had a few pints together. It was during one of these very intimate sessions with my Dad that I actually learned the truth about what happened when he was shot.

He was a coal filler at the time and him and his "marra" had drilled and charged the section of the face where they were working, they had lit the squib and the fuse was burning when my Dad realised that he had left the drilling machine on the face.

Thinking that he could crawl back onto the face and beat the squid was his big mistake, he copped the lot and all the upper part of his body was seriously injured.

When I asked him why he did such a stupid thing his reply was " Son if we had lost the drill it would have been my job", so much for the good old days and private enterprise hi.

I also asked him why he even thought of going back underground and again his reply to that was.

" Son I was given a job on bank, but with a family to feed I could be better off at the face" I could not bring you all up on "drippen and bread"

Even though on many occasions during my childhood I became involved in many angry brawls with him and at times hated him for his strict discipline. Yes I copped the pit belt every time, but when I look back it did not do me any harm in fact it made me a far better person for what I am today.

If he was still alive he could clarify all of this but sadly he passed away two years ago.

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