Spectrum of Welfare

The following poems have been composed from phrases contributed by visitors to the National Coal Mining Museum of England. All were collected on one day, 19^th February 2020, and drawn from information boards displayed around “The Hub”. The contributors were invited to write their chosen lines by selecting a coloured pen. The subsequent poems have been made from words written in the same colour. All the words used are those supplied by the visitors. My role has been to form them into reflective verse. I have retained mis-spellings and non-sequiturs as they contribute to the sense of the poems.

(Dave Alton – Coalshed Poet)

Red

I can’t tell a lie,

We were working on a seam:

Canary – Gas – Cage.

We are awkward, hard to use,

Dust made people hard to breath.

To pass a message

On eye-catching equipment:

Banners at a cost.

Explosion of welfare schemes,

Family in rescue teams.

Orange

Kept two canaries,

Two steel doors. Amazing days

Working on a seam.

It’s time to celebrate-

Wrestling, boxing, colliery bands.

Banners promote pride

And children-s entertainment

For use underground.

Danger still in existence,

Fun activities also.

Pink

What does remind you?

A mine? The helmet? Banners?

Colours and mottoes,

Gala days, celebrating

Once the most dangerous job.

Time improved greatly,

Family and friends rescue pride:

If bird feints – gas leak!

Coal mining was explosive,

Smoke disaster over years.

Green

Encourage miners

Struggle for gala of change;

Everythink proto.

Equipment, holiday silent,

Built family, love and friendship.

Turquoise

Join colliery bands,

Once the most dangerous job

Still chirping away.

Games in London used to ruffle,

Creating cuts and bruises.

Purple

Friends, smoke and helmets,

Draped in black to mark a death

Behind pit banner.

A very dangerous job,

Disasters still in existence.

Deadly days happened,

A colliery incident,

Gala team performed.

Celebrating time rescue,

Trained bands in the museum.

Black

All of a sudden

Everything deadly silent,

Danger with the lads.

Colliery bands were waiting

With family and friends by hell.

A sudden something,

Working a seam a yard high:

One hour in you knew.

Men in black killed or injured,

Thousands, I’ve cried, carried out.

We would rush for help,

All named still in existence

Until formal death.

Coal mining is dangerous,

But safety rules made us think.

Unusual happened.

Volunteers seriously

Went about today

To really mark areas

That mine inspectors once saw.

Telling Stories

Telling Stories

(Poem composed from conversations with visitors to the National Coal Mining Museum on 5^th February, National Story Telling Day)

(1)

Granddad was from Fife,

Miner all his working days,

Mainly in Stoke, though.

Dad escaped in a spitfire

And I live now in Salisbury.

(2)

“Children, whose bag’s this,

And where is your group leader?

That’s it, two by two.”

Crocodile slouching its way

To the coach in neat order.

(3)

Thirteen’s old enough

For the joinery shop:

Time served and ready.

When the kids came, where’s the brass?

From rip saw then to ripper.

(4)

Saturday scrum-halves,

From pit props to prop forwards,

All in the same league.

Come Monday, under the sports’ field,

Players back at their tackle.

(5)

My brothers went down,

Dad, of course, and my uncles.

I went to college.

Gran gave me ten bob each week,

“Just ‘til you’re working.” she’d say.

Dave Alton

(Coalshed Poet)