Oaks Ballad

A pre-Christmas, sparkly, 12/12 day.

Then… Explosion felt, far and near!

Cracked black diamonds blew away.

Déjà vu, The Oaks of yesteryear.

Devilish fiend of firedamp struck mine.

Some workers bid each other goodbye. Amen

into vortex of Dantean-layered decline

I’ll never see those darlings again

From nineteen counties: Northumbria to London,

Norfolk to Cork, toiling on the dark side.

Men and boys, local and incumden

deaths. Howmany, howmany, howmany? The Oaks’ detritus cried.

A valiant voluntary rescue but 383 were dead.

Many bodies unburied, deep in Stairfoot terra.

Family futures, stark glimpses ahead;

burdened down with perseverance and terror.

Gloria Victis.

The Oaks and The Tears

of a hundred and fifty years

are remembered by us today.

.

When The Oaks Took 383: Give Or Take

Claire Crossdale