The Death of the Pits

A day to both mourn and celebrate.

I grew up in a mining town. My grandfather hated going down the pits so much he swore he'd do anything to save his sons from the same fate. In the end my dad's older brother became a miner, and lost his hearing and his lungs to the job.
My dad went up the way instead, and became a slater. At least he had the skies to look at, even if he often got soaked and frozen.

The following poems are from my third collection, Graffiti in Red Lipstick, and are dedicated to my grandfather, and my great-grandfather who was also a miner. I never met my grandfather. He died the year I was born. Both he and my uncle loved their gardens more than anything.


Miners' Daughters

Our hair is honey blond and styled,

our clothes are well-made, warm,

and on our fingers gold rings shine.

But in the memory of our bones

rickets lurks like an ache

and our lungs still recall

the hacking coughs 

of grandfathers we never met.

At night in the dark pit of our dreams

we are down on our knees

tunneling, chipping

at the hard black face of the future

and even as we sit, well-groomed,

sipping cocktails in this posh hotel

there is a trace of coal dust

beneath our polished fingernails.

black heat - a sequence

pit wheel

slowly turning

black-spoked giant

from the mineshaft of memory

you draw a smiling child

waiting at the pit-head gate

miner

he did not have a garden

just a plot, to grow a functional crop

carrots, leeks, potatoes

but always he kept a corner

where he cultivated flowers

to feed his soul

after a twelve hour shift

of eating into darkness

lousing time

bursting from the cage

black creatures

frightening

until they smiled

white teeth human

the miners’ perk

coal castles dumped

for dirty wee rascals

to be kings on

coal

burning in the grate

wind howling in the lum

we saw castles, dungeons

fire-breathing dragons

our parents saw money

going up in smoke

and worried lest winter

last too long

bings

once they peaked like witches’ hats

brooding, dark, they shadowed us

as we skipped to park and school

but today?

shrunken sugar loaf plateaux

sparkling white with last night’s snow