To The People...

Hewer and Drags-man,

Driller, loader, barrow-man and breaker,

Farrier and sparks,

(The only sparks made welcome underground)

Chippy and blacksmith,

Bands-man, timberer,

Banksman, hurrier,

Putter and pick-man…

Fuelers of progress,

Of light,

Of heat,

Of…

The nation and its possibilities.

Danger down there, it’s said, and comradeship,

Told by the very tongues that tasted coal,

That were irrigated by spit-polished

Lozenges of it, that heaved kibbles full

From face to surface.

There’s testimony

Of wives who would turn their faces towards

The headstock and wonder about rock falls

And the striking of rogue sparks and blue flames.

And railwaymen who had to haul away

Truck-loads of the black tonnage from pitheads

On muscular shoulders of their locos.

And the mums and dads who shovelled the slack

And cobs across their modest hearths, or lit

The gas to feed their families, or flicked

The switch to illuminate their lives through

The mystery of electricity.

All knew then of darkness, dust and danger,

Knew there was a cost to convenience,

Knew tall, bleak-black headlines, like tombstones carved

From anthracite, when that cost was blasted

Or buried in debit columns of names.

And the owners knew the price of safety

Would have to be off-set against profit.

A wage rise subtracted from dividends,

Shorter days worked diminished their leisure,

And

That socialist devils make mischief

For idle hands. Far better, then, to press

Colliers to the coalface, their families

 Into narrow double-rows, their wages

To a minimum. Production to a

Maximum, or lock the colliery gates.

But,

Those socialist devils make mischief

For working hands, hands that cut the coal

Fuelling

Factories and mills and workshops

And foundries for

Making the munitions,

Weaving battledress, manufacturing

The instruments and rolling out the steel,

For the guns and the bombers, for soldier,

Sailor and airman, for the fitting out

Of naval vessels, tanks and landing craft

The tore the swastika from the flagpoles

Of Europe.

                                Miners did this, made it all

Happen and then could not return their pits

To the ancient Reich of the coal owners.

“For the people, by the people!” This was

Inscribed in red on to the swelling heart

Of the nation, demanded by the voice

Of the nation and grasped in the clenched fist

Of the nation.

                                Sweet, oh so very sweet

On tongues of colliers…NATIONALISATION!

For

Hewer and Drags-man,

Driller, loader, barrow-man and breaker,

Farrier and sparks,

Chippy and blacksmith,

Bands-man, timberer,

Banksman, hurrier,

Putter and pick-man…

Fuelers of progress,

Of light,

Of heat,

Of…

The nation and its possibilities.

                                                              

                                                               Dave Alton