In
the days when coal was king in Lancashire, Gloucestershire and many other mining
areas there was a strong tradition of pitmen writing poetry. Many of these were
published on a regular basis in the local newspapers.
Now the pits have gone and many of the men with them. Sadly, the tradition
has lapsed. These poems may keep the tradition alive.
I credit the author of these poems and songs,
when known--and credit the web site where I found them...
Don't Go Down In The
Mine, Dad
Melody - Robert Donelly, Will Geddes,
1910
Robert Donelly, Will Geddes, 1910
A miner was leaving his home for
his work,
When he heard his little child scream;
He went to his bedside, his little white face,
Oh, Daddy, I've had such a dream;
I dreamt that I saw the pit all afire,
And men struggled hard for their lives;
The scene it then changed, and the top of the mine
Was surrounded by sweethearts and wives. Chorus:
Don't go down in the mine, Dad,
Dreams very often come true;
Daddy, you know it would break my heart
If anything happened to you;
Just go and tell my dream to your mates,
And as true as the stars that shine,
Something is going to happen today,
Dear Daddy, don't go down the mine!
2. The miner, a man with a heart
good and kind,
Stood by the side of his son;
He said, It's my living, I can't stay away,
For duty, my lad, must be done.
The little one look'd up, and sadly he said,
Oh, please stay today with me, Dad!
But as the brave miner went forth, to his work,
He heard this appeal from his lad: Chorus:
3. Whilst waiting his turn with the
mates to descend,
He could not banish his fears,
He return'd home again to his wife and his child,
Those words seem'd to ring through his ears,
And, ere the day ended, the pit was on fire,
When a score of brave men lost their lives;
He thank'd God above for the dream his child had,
As once more the little one cries: Chorus:
My name's Polly Parker, I come o'er
from Worsley
My mother and father work down the coal mine
Our family is large, we have got seven children
So I am obliged to work down that same mine
And as this is my fortune I know you'll feel sorry
That in such employment my days I must pass
But I keep up my spirits, I sing and look cheerful
Although I am but a poor collier lass
By the greatest of dangers each day I'm surrounded
I hang in the air by a rope or a chain
The mine may give in; I may be killed or wounded
Or perish by damp or the fire of a flame
But what would you do if it weren't for our labours
In greatest privation your days you would pass
For we would provide you with life's greatest blessing
So do not despise a poor collier lass
All the day long you may say we are buried
Deprived of the light and the warmth of the sun
And often at night from our beds we are hurried
The water is in and barefoot we run
And though we go ragged and black are our faces
As kind and as free as the best we'll be found
And our hearts are more white than your lords' in high places
Although we're poor colliers that work underground
I'm now growing up fast, somehow or another
There's a young collier laddie runs strange in my mind
And in spite of the talking of father and mother
I think I should marry if he is inclined
But should he prove surly and will not befriend me
Another and better chance may come to pass
And my friends here I know to him will recommend me
And I'll be no longer a poor collier lass
Saw ye oot o' my lad ganning doon the waggon way
Wi his pocket full o' money and his bag full o' hay?
Oh my lad's a canny lad, the canniest Aa see,
Though he's sair frowsy freckled and he's blind iv an e'e.
There's nivor a lad like my lad drives te the staithes on Tyne,
He's coaly black on workdays, but on holidays he's fine.
Oh my lad's a canny lad, the canniest Aa see,
Though he's sair frowsy freckled and he's blind iv an e'e.
With his siller in his hand and his love in his e'e,
Yonder Aa see mi canny lad a- comin' alang te me.
Oh my lad's a canny lad, the canniest Aa see,
Though he's sair pock-brocken and he's blind iv an e'e.
Saw ye oot o' my lad ganning doon the waggon way
Wi his pocket full o' money and his bag full o' hay?
Oh my lad's a canny lad, the canniest Aa see,
Though he's sair frowsy freckled and he's blind iv an e'e.
I am a jovial collier lad
As blithe as blithe can be
And let the times be good or bad
It's all the same to me
It's little of the world I know
And care less for its ways
For where the Dog Star never glows
It's there I spend my days
Down in the coalmine, underneath the ground
Where a gleam of sunshine never can be found
Digging up the dusky diamonds all the seasons round
Deep down in the coalmine, underneath the ground
Me hands are horny, hard and black
Through working in the vein
And like the clothes upon me back
My speech is rough and plain
And if I stumble with my tongue
I've one excuse to say
It's not the collier's heart that's wrong
It's his head that goes astray
How little do the great ones care
Who sit at home secure
What hidden dangers collier's dare
What hardships they endure
The very fire they sit beside
To cheer themselves and wives
Mayhap was kindled up at cost
Of jovial miners lives
Then cheer up lads and make the most
Of every joy you can
And always make your murphy's such
As best befits a man
For let the times be good or bad
We'll still be jovial souls
For where would Britain be
Without the lads who look for coals
For many long years the pit's done its best,
And sets have rolled oot a' flats, north, east and west,
And all of the rumours that closin' was due,
They have all been put doon, for alas! it is true.
A meeting was held to discuss the affair,
And the manager said to us, right then and there:
"Let's have one last go before this pit is done,
And show a good profit on each single ton!"
Wey, profits were made, but with stock pilin' high,
The Coal Board decided this pit has to die,
And as output comes doon, we get drafted away
To pits to the east for the rest of wor days.
Wey, I've filled in yon Fan Pit, I've cut in the seam,
In the Newbiggin Beaumont since I was fifteen,
I've worked in the sections and in the main coal -
Man, it's hot doon the Monty, she's a dusty old hole!
So farewell to you, Monty, I knaa your roads well -
Your wark had been good, and your wark has been hell.
Ne mair to yor dorty old heap will aa come,
For your coal is all finished, and your life it is done.
O what's the matter with you my lass
And where's your dashing Jimmy?
The soldier boys have picked him up
And sent him far, far from me
Last pay day he set off to town
And them red-coated fellows
Enticed him in and made him drunk
And he'd better gone to the gallows.
The very sight of his cockade
It set us all a-crying
And me I nearly fainted twice
I thought that I was dying
My father would have paid the smart
And he run for the golden guinea
But the sergeant swore he'd kissed the book
So now they've got young Jimmy.
When Jimmy talks about the wars
It's worse than death to hear him
I must go out and hide my tears
Because I cannot bear him
A brigadier or grenadier
He says they're sure to make him
And ay he jibes and cracks his jokes
And bids me not forsake him.
As I walked o'er the stubble field
Below it runs the seam
I thought of Jimmy hewing there
But it was all a dream
He hewed the very coals we burn
And when the fire I's lighting
To think the lumps was in his hands
It sets my heart to beating.
For three long years he followed me
Now I must live without him
There's nothing now that I can do
But weep and think about him
So break, my heart, and then it's o'er
So break, my heart, my dreary
And I'll lie in the cold green ground
For of single life I'm weary.
A miner’s life is like a sailor's
But for a ship to cross the waves
Every day his life in danger
Still he ventures being brave
Watch the rocks they’re falling daily
Careless miners always fail
Keep your hand upon your wages
And your eye upon the scale.
Chorus:
Union miners stand together
Do not heed the owner’s tale
Keep your hand upon your wages
And your eye upon the scale.
You’ve been docked and docked again boys
You’ve been loading two to one
What have you to show for working?
Since your mining has begun
Worn out boots and worn out miners
Lungs of stone and children pale
Keep your hand upon your wages
And your eye upon the scale.
Chorus:
In conclusion bear in memory
Keep the password in your mind
God provides for every worker
When in union they combine
Stand like men and lean together
Victory for you will prevail
Keep your hand upon your wages
And your eye upon the scale.
I've traveled east and I've traveled west
And I've traveled owre Kirkaldy,
But the bonniest lass that e'er I spied,
She was followin' her collier laddie.
Refrain:
Laddie, O laddie,
The bonniest lass that e'er I spied,
She was followin' her collier laddie.
"O whaur live ye my bonnie lass?
Come tell me what they ca' ye."
"Bonnie Jean Gordon is my name,
And I'm followin' a collier laddie."
"O would ye fancy ane that's black
And you sae fair and gaudy?
O fancy ane o' higher degree,
Than followin' a collier laddie.
"Ye see yon hills the sun shines on,
The sun shines on sae gaudy;
They a' are mine and they shall be thine,
Gin ye'll leave your collier laddie."
"Though ye had a' the sun shines on,
And the earth conceals sae lowly,
I wad turn my back on you and it a'
And follow my collier laddie."
Then he has gane to her faither dear,
To her faither gane sae brawly;
Says: "Wilt ye gie me your bonnie, bonnie lass
That's followin' a collier laddie?
"O would she marry a man that's black,
And me sea braw and gaudy?
I'll raise her up to a higher degree
Than followin' a collier laddie."
Her faither then he vowed and swore:
"Though he be black he's bonnie;
She's mair delight in him, I fear,
Than in you wi' a' your money."
"O I can win my five pennies a day,
And spend't at nicht fu' brawly,
And I'll mak' my bed in the collier's neuk
And lie doon wi' my collier laddie.
"Love for love is the hargain for me,
Though the wee cot-hoose should haud me,
And the world before me to win my breid,
And fare for my collier laddie.
Oh, to those who know no better, and
the ones who do not care,
I'll take this means of telling you what a miner has to bear.
So when your servant fires the furnace and the smoke and blazes roll,
Just stop, and think who suffered for that little lump of coal.
He gets up in the morning -- he's in the land of Nod --
And at the family altar he will kneel and ask his God
To care for and protect him from the dangers underground,
So he can come back in the evening to his family safe and sound.
He eats a hasty breakfast, fills up his carbide flask,
Picks up his lamp and bucket, and he's ready for his task.
Says good-bye to wife and baby, stops to kiss them at the door.
He doesn't know if he'll see them in this life anymore.
He's soon below the surface, gets his car up in its place.
As he swings his pick and shovel the sweat pours off his face.
He's tired, weak and weary -- two hours have rolled around --
But he's got six more to suffer till he gets above the ground.
He's got to set some timbers, and drill a hole or two,
And then he'll roll some dummies. Then there's something else to do,
So he stays, toils and labours, loads every car he can
To earn a meagre living and to pay the clothing man.
When he lines up at the office with the others in a row
With their statements signed and ready for their little bit of dough,
And everything he's buying is away up in the air.
Do you think what he's asking for is anything unfair?
He only asks for wages that enable him to share
A part of mortal pleasure, and that is only fair.
It's a six-hour day, and Saturday stay at home and see
The sun rise in the morning like God aimed for us to be.
So brother, when you're knocking on the man who digs the coal,
Just stop, and think he's human, and he's got a heart and soul.
And don't forget the millions of tons he loaded out,
When the Kaiser tried to smear on us his lager beer and kraut.
You can tell your pals and neighbours, your servants and your wife,
That the plaster of your office room cannot crush out your life.
He's just a dirty miner, a sort of human mole,
Who takes these dangerous chances for a little lump of coal.
It's good of you to ask me, Sir, to tell you how I spend my days
Down in a coal black tunnel, Sir, I hurry corves to earn my pay.
The corves are full of coal, kind Sir, I push them with my hands and head.
It isn't lady-like, but Sir, you've got to earn your daily bread.
I push them with my hands and head, and so my hair gets worn away.
You see this baldy patch I've got, it shames me like I just can't say.
A lady's hands are lily white, but mine are full of cuts and segs.
And since I'm pushing all the time, I've got great big muscles on my legs.
I try to be respectable, but sir, the shame, God save my soul.
I work with naked, sweating men who curse and swear and hew the coal.
The sights, the sounds, the smells, kind Sir, not even God could know my
pain.
I say my prayers, but what's the use? Tomorrow will be just the same.
Now, sometimes, Sir, I don't feel well, my stomach's sick, my head it
aches.
I've got to hurry best I can. My knees are weak, my back near breaks.
And then I'm slow, and then I'm scared these naked men will batter me.
But they're not to blame, for if I'm slow, their families will starve, you
see.
Now all the lads, they laugh at me, and Sir, the mirror tells me why.
Pale and dirty can't look nice. It doesn't matter how hard I try.
Great big muscles on my legs, a baldy patch upon my head.
A lady, Sir? Oh, no, not me! I should've been a boy instead.
I praise your good intentions, Sir, I love your kind and gentle heart
But now it's 1842, and you and I, we're miles apart.
A hundred years and more will pass before we're standing side by side
But please accept my grateful thanks. God bless you Sir, at least you
tried.
Poor hard working miners, their troubles are great,
So often while mining they meet their sad fate.
Killed by some accident, there's no one can tell,
Their mining's all over, poor miners farewell!
Only a miner, killed under the ground,
Only a miner, but one more is gone.
Only a miner but one more is gone,
Leaving his wife and dear children alone.
They leave their dear wives and little ones, too,
To earn them a living as miners all do.
Killed by some accident, there's no one can tell,
Their mining's all over, poor miners farewell!
Leaving his children thrown out on the street,
Barefoot and ragged and nothing to eat,
Mother is jobless, my father is dead,
I am a poor orphan, begging for bread.
When I am in Kentucky so often I meet,
Poor coal miners' children out on the street.
"What are you doing?" to them I have said,
We are hungry, Aunt Molly, and we're begging for bread."
"Will you please help us to get something to eat?
We are ragged and hungry, thrown out on the street."
"Yes, I will help you," to them I have said,
"To beg food and clothing, I will help you to get bread."
I keep listening for the whistle in the morning
But the mines are still; no noise is in the air.
And our children wake up hungry in the morning
For the cupboards are so empty and so bear.
And their little feet, they are so cold, they stumble
And we have to pin their rags upon their backs.
And our homes are broken down and very humble,
And the winter wind comes pourin' through the cracks.
CHORUS:
Oh, it's hard to hear the hungry children crying
When I have to hands that want to do their share.
Oh, you rich men in the city, won't you have a little pity
And just listen to miner's prayer?
Just beneath the frozen ground the coal is laying,
Only waiting `till we seek it from its bed.
And above the ground, each miner stands there praying
While each miner's wife bows down her weary head.
Oh, we only ask enough to clothe and feed them
And to hear the hungry children laugh and play.
Oh, if we could give these things to those who need them,
I know that would be a miner's happy day.
At five in the morning as jolly as any,
The miner does rise to his work for to go.
He caresses his wife and his children so dearly
And bids them adieu before closing the door.
And goes down the deep shaft at the speed of an arrow,
His heart light and gay without fear or dread,
Has no thoughts of descending to danger and peril
But his life is depending on one single thread.
Now his wife had been dreaming of her husband so dearly;
She'd seen him in danger -- "God help me," she cried;
Too true was the dream of a poor woman's sorrow --
The rope broke ascending; her dear husband died,
Their home that morning was as jovial as any,
But a dark cloud came rolling straight o'er their door --
A widow, three children are left for to mourn him,
The one that they ne'er will see any more.
At the day of the funeral the great crowds had gathered,
He was loved by his friends, by his neighbors, by all;
To the grave went his corpse, by his friends he was followed;
The tears from our eyes like the rain they did fall,
And the widow, lamenting the fate of her husband,
Brokenhearted she died on the dear loved one's tomb,
To the world now is left their three little children,
Whose father had met with a coal miner's doom,
I hate the company bosses,
I'll tell you the reason why,
They cause me so much suffering,
And my dearest friends to die.
Oh yes, I guess you wonder,
What they have done to me,
I'm going to tell you, mister,
My husband had T.B.
Brought on by hard work and low wages
And not enough to eat,
Going naked and hungry,
No shoes on his feet.
I guess you'll say he's lazy
And did not want to work.
But I must say you're crazy,
For work he did not shirk.
My husband was a coal miner,
He worked and risked his life
To try to support three children,
Himself, his mother, and wife.
I had a blue-eyed baby,
The darling of my heart,
But from my little darling
Her mother had to part.
These mighty company bosses,
They dress in jewels and silk,
But my darling blue-eyed baby,
She starved to death for milk.
I had a darling mother,
For her I often cry,
But with them rotten conditions
My mother had to die.
Well, what killed your mother?
I heard these bosses say.
Dead of hard work and starvation,
My mother had to pay.
Well, what killed your mother?
Oh tell us, if you please.
Excuse me, it was pellagra,
That starvation disease.
They call this the land of plenty,
To them I guess it's true.
But that' s to the company bosses,
Not workers like me and you.
Well, what can I do about it,
To these men of power and might?
I tell you, company bosses,
I'm going to fight, fight, fight.
What can we do about it.
To right this dreadful wrong?
We're all going to join the union,
For the union makes us strong.
Farewell ye colliery workers, the muffler and the cap
Farewell ye Rhondda valley girls, we never will come back
The mines they are a-closin', the valleys they're all doomed
`There's no work in the Rhondda boys, we'll be in London soon
My father was a miner, and his father was before him,
He always had been proud to work the coal
Since they fell 'neath Provin's axe,
All the lads have had the sack
So away to work in England we must go!
No more the chapel singin', that long ago has left us
And the public house no more the miner's songs
For the boot wheels they are stoppin',
And the populations' droppin'
And I can't afford to stay here very long
Trehearve and Teralvye, Talleyfinley and Tenobbit
Trastreondda and Semfentra, all adieu
For I can no longer wait
While Parliament debates
So a fond farewell I bid to all of you!
In
the days when coal was king in Lancashire, Gloucestershire and many other mining
areas there was a strong tradition of pitmen writing poetry. Many of these were
published on a regular basis in the local newspapers.