Blantyre Pit Burning Fatality

On the 30th August, on a Saturday morning,
Those brave Blantyre miners went out to their calling.
They never thought when they left their homes, for they left without a dread,
They knew they had to go down the mine, to earn their daily bread.

Those men worked hard from morn till night, far from God’s light of day,
If anyone knew the dangers they face, they’d give them a bigger pay.
Mothers and children rushed to the pit, when they heard of the explosion in the mine,
They were weeping for their loved ones, as they stood at the mouth of the mine.

As the cage came up with its toll of death from the depth of the burning pit,
It smote the heart of masters, for those men who worked down the pit.
We’ve seen these disasters galore in the past, we’ve seen the blood on the coal,
How long are these horrors going to last, how far are we from our goal?

Must we stand silently by, must we face death for the boss?
The taker of profits, who loudly declares, “We’re working our mines at a loss!”
He lives in a mansion, and you in a slum,
He is the elite, and you are the scum.

Hunting for pleasure and in gaudy dress,
The hunger in your eyes, bespeakes of distress,
He drives his car, smokes Havana cigar, while you’re content to stay,
In a room nestling in the slums, contented with your old clay.

Regaling in champagne, whilst water is your fare
The sun is his light and yours the gloomy sphere,
His sons go to college, become doctors, lawyers or such,
Yours go down the pit to handle a hutch.

If another disaster perchance takes place,
The fathers, the sons, perchance get caught,
It wont be unusual, just another disgrace,
On those whom the boss describes as naught,
Such things the miner must face,
The Boss? Oh no! He’ll not!

If you’ve respect for the dead,
and wish disasters to stop,
Get under the banner that’s painted red,
and fight till you drop.

Tom Penman

One of the paintings created by Yvette Vanson for an exhibition at the National Mining Museum to celebrate the 30th Anniversary of the Miners Strike.

John Ryan-Park: I remember Granny Park tell stories of the mining disasters in Blantyre and Priestfield Coal Mines.

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If you have any Poems… Send them to Bill

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