A Welsh Coal Mines web page

These two poems were kindly sent to me from Australia.



MEMORIES

No matter where I roam, Wales will always be my home
A country famous for dragons, leeks and daffodils
Of  lush green fields and sweeping hills.

My memories are not clouded in a haze
When I think back to my childhood days
They are as clear as a bell
And in this poem I'll try to tell
Of the men folk in our family
Coming home from work as black as can be
Their shift just finished down the mine
They're walking home in the sunshine

Meanwhile the women at home are boiling water in a big pot
Making ready their baths with water nice and hot
Dad would kneel down next to the old tin bath
Strip off to the waist and wash the top half
But before jumping in to wash the rest of his body
The door would be closed for no one to see

It was heartbreaking to see their skin so rough and scarred
As a child I never realised mining was so hard
But our men would take it all in their stride
As they spoke of the mines with great pride
Never speaking of the hardship in the mines
We were led to believe all was fine.

Miners holidays were the last week in July
But for many this treat passed them by
Not going anywhere but home they'd stay
Cos there wasn't enough money in their pay
Nevertheless the family didn't care
As long as our Dad was there
He'd take us walking over the hills and vales
To have a picnic and tell us his tales
We'd sit and listen our heads in the clouds
And stare at our Dad's face ever so proud.

When it was evening and getting late
The men would go to the pub with their mates
After a pint, or two, three or four
The singing would start that's for sure
The usual songs sang by the working man
And of course a rendition of Calon Lan

But then you'd get that dreaded day
When the colliery hooter would blast and people would say
"Oh dear, God, Bless us one and all
Cos in the mines there's been a fall"
Everyone down to the pit head would go
Praying they'd see their loved ones once more
Some would give a scream of joy
They've just seen their man and their boy
But others would make a deathly sound
Cos their men folk are still underground.

The said reality would come to light
Their men against the pit have lost their fight
Never to cross their front door anymore
With their skin black and bodies sore.

It's a big funeral with all their mates from the mine
Dressed in their best suits looking so fine
They go to the cemetery for their last goodbyes
While at the home the women are strong, trying not to cry.
Making sandwiches and cups of tea
While the day seems oblivious to me

Then comes the final salute to their lives in Wales
All the men go to the pub and drink a few ales
They toast their friends a fond farewell
Promising their stories to others they'll tell


Yvonne Smith, February 2001, Australia

WAS IT WORTH IT


Was it worth it all those years ago
My answer friends is definitely "No".
Seeing your men going down that dark hole
Clawing at the earth for black coal.
Their bodies marked and heavily scarred
Tired and grumpy from working so hard.

But ask those old men, miners of old
They'd answer yes, they enjoyed digging for black gold.
"We knew no different" they would say
"It was our job, working hard for little pay"

The valley now is void of mines
Gone are the turning wheels, big holes and dram lines.
The land is now picturesque and green
No sign of coal or collieries are to be seen


Yvonne Smith Australia 2002