Goin doon th Pit oan th Dayshift

Goin doon th pit oan th dayshift.

Oh, hoo ah hated t git up fur th dayshift. Half past three in th mornin! Ah niver got t like it! In th winter, it wis dark when ye got up, nd cauld. Goad, wis it no cauld.
Ye'd mak yir piece, braid n jam or a bit o spam if ye wir lucky. Some folk wid dae bananis. Some wid pit crisps on it. If ye wir real lucky, yir mum wid mak it fur ye!

Then awa t catch th miner's bus. Five o'clock it come. Smok a fag while ye waited. Smok a few mair on the wey. Bus fu o blue reek, n nevir a windae open. Even if ye didnae smok, ye did!

Ye'd git thair by quarter t six. Inte th clean lockers, tak yer claes n shin aff, then walk past th baths wi yir tool wrapped roond ye. Yir piece in yir haund, nd yir last fag in yir mooth. Mind no t tak onny fags or matches wi ye. No allowed!
In th dirty lockers, ye'd pit oan yir biler suit. Th dirty lockers wir heated, sos yir biler suit wis dry. Yir bits, tho, they wis curled upit th taes. Th'd straighten oot when th got wet. Mak shair ye didnae hae ony bauccy or matches oan ye. Likes as no, they'd search ye and if yis hid ony contraband on ye, that'd be it. Secked on the spot and reported t th polis.

Ah hiv t say that ah wis an apprentice sparky, nd we thocht we wis th elite. Bit better than th common miner.
(Mind you, they kent they wis th real workers. As fur officials - huh! - an oncost workers, they didnae come inte it!)

Ye'd git inte the cage. Th oversman wid pu th bar shut, signal the winder, nd doon ye go. Thae express lifts th hae in thae big skyscrapers ... they're nuthin! They've got a lot o men wantin doon th pit, n naebody's hingin aroond. Yir feet kin come aff the bottom o th cage at times n yiv got a mile t go. Doon th wey! An tha's man-windin speed.
Bein a sparky, ye cin yase the coal windin skip at times, n th engine man disnae ayewis remember no t yase coal windin speed. Wheeee!
Th first time y go doon th pit, there's ayewis somebody t tell ye aw aboot th boy that fell doon th shaft. Aw th wey, n no touchin the sides. Scripped them up in a san bag, an their bits wir ayewis aff their feet. Still laced, but aff their feet. Th fricht dis it, so they say. If yiv got a vivid imagination, yir days aff t a bad start, n its gonna get worse.

Yer at th pit bottom noo, sos yer better see aboot getting tae the face. This is whaur ye fund that th face is a long wey awa. Could be miles. An it aw depends on whit pit yer at.
If yis is doon the Seafield, at Kirkcaldy, yer in luck. It's a braw new pit. Th roadweys must be near twenty feet high, an they're aw lit wi fancy floorescent lamps. Broad and straicht, an here's th best bit. They've got thae wee trains - man ridin bogies - jist grab a seat, an travel in comfort. Braw.

If yis is doon an auld pit, like th Wellesley in Methil, better start walkin noo! The face is a fair wey, an there's jist you an yer lamp.

A word in yer lugs aboot the lamp. There's only wan wey tae wear it. Only Hollywood miners an cavers dae it different.
(Dae understaund cavers. Whaud go doon th pit if there wisnae onny coal?)
Ye clip the lamp tae the front o yer helmet. Ye pass th cable roond the helmet on th richt haund side, an tie it tae th helmet at th back. Th cable then goes under yer left oxter an doon tae th battry that's looped on yer belt at th back. Mak shair it's a guid, strong leather belt an no wan o thae jessie wans wi th elastic an the snakes heid fasner. Yer gaun be doon th pit aw day, an ye dae want th battry hingin doon alow yer knees.
An here's summin that awboddy tries wance. When yer awa fae th pit bottom, switch aff yer lamp. Bet ye thocht ye kent whit darkness wis. Ye do noo! That's darkness, so forget aw thae films whaur th hero runs along th undergroond passage. Less ye want a flet nose an skint knees!

In an auld pit, as they dig th coal oot, th face gets further an further awa fae the pit bottom as time gets on. As yer walkin, ye notice that th roof is supported by half moon steel girders. An as the pressure comes on, ye notice that they're slowly bendin like sugarelly. No jist th roof is comin doon. Th pressure's on aw sides, sos th wa's an th flair are comin in tae. Stane isnae solid when yer a mile alow th surface. It bends, it swells an sometimes ye can hear it moanin quietly tae itsel. Ye'll no see it move as yer lookin at it, but chances are, the road yer walkin doon'll be th road yer crawlin up at th end o yer shift. Ther's ayeweys teams o brushers, workin aw th time, diggin hard jist tae keep th roadweys open. That's why, if ye close a pit fur onny length o time, ye'll never be able tae open it again.

Ther's ayeweys twa roads tae a face. Th ingoing an th outgoin.
Th ingoing's usually cauld cause that's th wey th fresh air comes in. Th outgoins warm an stale, heated by th stane yer diggin through, cause th nearer tae Hell ye get, th warmer it gets.

Best place tae be is the face. It's the best supported. Great big walkin props move wi th coalcutter as it runs up an doon th face, chewn oot th coal then movin forrit fur anither run. Th place no tae be is th waste. Wance ye tak th coal oot, ye leave a big empty space ahint ye, an wi nae support, th roof starts tae bend doon till it touches the flair. Sometimes it comes doon slow, an ye kin see fur yards an yards intae th nairryin gap. An sometimes it jist draps. Wan minit yer lookin way intae th waste an th next, yer touchin a solid wa in front o yer face. Funny thing is, ah cannae recollect ever hearin it drap. It must mak a noise, shairly, but tae me it ayeweys seemed tae fa in silence. Ye never, ever went intae th waste. If ye drapped a spanner an it bounced intae th waste, there it wis an there it wis gaun tae stey.
Mebbe someboddy'll dig it up in a couple o hundred million years, when the seabed risesup intae a mountain, an th rain weathers th rock awa. Sos if yis funds a ž Whitworth spanner, some time in th future, ye can keep it. It's aw metric wans ah yaise these days onnywey.

Noo! let's talk aboot ha'in yer piece, an shotfirin. Mah dad wis a shotfirer.

It's hard gaun when yer workin doon th pit. So, of coorse, yer gled when it's time fur yer piece.
As a sparky, ye can be onnywhere doon th pit, but like as no, ye'll be workin on th face. This is whaur th Seafield wis special.
In an auld pit like th Wellesley, the face started workin near th pit bottom, an as th years went by, it moved further an further awa. This meant that th grund ye were workin through settled doon intae th waste ye left, an th roads through tae th face were runnin in unstable stane. If ye mind, ah telt ye afore about brushin, tae keep th roads clear. Obviously, someboddy somewhere had a smart idea.

"Why no tak th roads oot as far as ye can, an then work back. That wey we'll be workin fresh grund. Clever, eh!"

Of coorse, that meant spendin a lot o money afore ye produced wan lump o coal. But then, we're talkin National Coal Board here, so whit's money?

Noo, whaur wis I? At the Seafield. Richt enough.
The Seafield wis a braw modern pit, so they drove th roads oot fur miles aloe th Forth afore they dug onny coal. Whit they did fund wis saund. Lots an lots o saund. Somehow, saund at th bottom o th sea disnae surprise me, but then again, whit dae ah ken?
So they pit th saund intae saundbags - whit else? - an they took it up tae th surface. An piled them aw up.
This is jist like the pit! Ah'm still waitin tae get mah piece! Still, we're nearly there.
Aw it ta'en wis fur anither clever sod. Micht hae been th same wan.

"Why no yase th saundbags tae support th roof! Save on props! Clever, eh!"

So aw th saund came back doon th pit. Thoosands o bags o th stuff. They had a monorail tae bring them in. An they practicly chok'd th road wi them. It looked like th trenches in th Great War! Saundbags awhere.
Which meant that ye could hae summat cumfy tae sit when yer ha'en yer piece.

Ah'll tell ye. Ah'm gled tae be sittin doon after aw that.

Ye kept yer piece in a piecebox. It wis made o tin, in twa halfs. Th box wis th shape o a Norman arch (bit o culture, there!) an th twa halfs fitted snug th gither. This kept th stoor oot. Th shape wis jist richt fur fower slices o plain bread. Th workin man's loaf. Nane o that pan bread. That wis fur wimmen, an fancy sannies fur guests. Th posh wans. That's whey a fancy accent is cawed 'pan-loaf'.
Ye'd hae cheese or spam or corned beef on yer piece. Onnybody that had better had obviously no been married long. We ta'en an awfy len o newly-weds. Well! Whaur else could ye get biled ham or an egg?
Ye had yer tea in a flask. Ye aye drank it black. When ah started, Ah had a nacky wee bottle that screwed intae th bottom o th flask, that ye put milk in. Ah aye yased tae drink mah tea wi milk in it. Efter a while, ah drank it black, like awboddy else. Here's why.

Th shotfirers yased tae dae their job durin piecetime. They'd be drillin awa durin th shift tae develop th road sos it could keep ahead o th face. An they fired th shots at piecetime.
There ye'd be, sittin cumfy on yer saundbag airmchair, cheese piece in wan haund an a cuppie in th ither. Then ye'd see th shotfirers walk pat ye tae th wee hauf they'd made. They liked tae be further awa fae th shot than you were. A quick peep on th whistle, an then ..

WHOOF!

No a bang, mair a chesty cough. An th coal an stoor wis awplace. An th smell. They yased tae say it wid cure onnything. Certainly did sumthin fur yer lungs.
When th air cleared, ah'd look doon at mah milky tea. In th licht o mah lamp, it wis a lilac colour. Nice colour fur a frock but no much cop fur a cup o tea! So ah started drinkin it black.

Time tae back tae th face. So back t work!

This bit's important, so's ah want yis aw tae pey attention.

Doon th pit, there's rules an regulations.
Ah telt yis afore aboot th nae smokin rule. Ye dinnae smok doon th pit cause there's gas doon th pit. Firedamp. Methane is its Sunday name. So nae fags, nae matches.
As it says on th notice board afore ye get in th cage. "No chemical, mechanical or electrical apparatus for the ignition or combustion of tobacco."
Like ah said. Nae fags! (If yer an American fae San Fransisco, check th meanin afore ye start a protest march!)

There's an awfy lot o rules an regulations doon th pit.
Ye cannae fa asleep doon th pit - it's aginst th law. Ah remember a coort case whaur th defence wis "Ah wis overcome wi th heat an th fumes fae th conveyer motors an ah fell doon, unconscious, on a pile o blankets that jist happened tae be left there by a first-aider. Ah micht hae been snorin but it jist goes tae prove that th air wis bad!"
Ah think he got aff wi a fine, cause th air wis ayeways bad.

There's a law says nae wimmen an nae bairns doon th pit.
Afore th wimmen oot there join in wi th protest march fae America, jist hae a wee look at th history o pits.

Minin folk were ayeways at th front when it come tae fechtin aginst th terrible things that industry wanted tae dae tae them. There's mony a street in Scotland named efter a reformer or socialist politician. In thae days, it wis th place tae be.
Efter th Great War, the fields o Flanders were fu o crosses tae mark them that had faun fur their country.
Doon th pit, near evry rule an regulation marks th place whaur a man, wummin or bairn had deid keepin yer coal fire burnin.

Dinnae get me wrang! We werenae a bunch o soor-faced sticklers when it come tae th rules.
Like aw apprentices, we cairryed on like eedjits. Richt cocky, we were! At th end o oor shift at th Wellesley, we couldnae be bothered walkin aw th wey back tae th pit bottom. So we yaised tae jump on tae th coal conveyer. This wis th conveyer belt that taen th coal fae th face, aw th wey tae th skip at th pit bottom.
Cause it wis a long wey, there wis mair than wan belt, an each belt would rise up tae drap its coal on tae th next. Aboot six fit wis th drap.
Th secret wis tae jump aff afore th end got too high, then walk tae th next belt. If ye wis too slow, ye couldnae get aff, then it wis a big drap an half a ton o coal wid land on yer heid!
Anither problem wis th roof. Wood wis yaised tae pack oot th supports an girders, an as th weight come on, th wood'd break an splinter. Big splints o timber wid stick doon fae th roof. If wan o them caught th cable fae yer lamp, or stuck in yer claes, th result wis either a fifty ton o coal enema or yer claes ripped aff ye!
If ye turned up at surface wi nae claes an yer erse red raw, ye couldnae admit it cause it's against th law.
Awboddy kent, though! Efter runnin th gauntlet o smilin faces, fetchinly clad in pit bits an lamp, ye'd be shair tae walk th next time!

There wis wan rule doon th pit that awboddy kent.
Ah've never seen it written doon on paper but it was shairly written in th heart o evry miner, an it wis th only reason that a man wid gaun doon th pit day efter day.

If th roof come doon, or there was a fire or explosion, evry man wid dae his best, risk his life tae try an get ye oot.
At th Michael fire, we couldnae dae that. Th fire wis jist too bad.
Ther's no a miner staundin that disnae feel that.

If yis still wants tae be a miner efter aw that, then ah'll tell yis aboot undergroond trainin at Muircockhall, officials and th blue tattoo.

If y're still readin this, then th glamour o bein a miner has got tae yis!
Ye didnae want tae be an engine driver cause it's no th same withoot th steam trains, an it disnae look like yer application tae become a checkoot assistant at Sainsbury's is gaun tae get a reply.
Then th answer is ...

Jine th Coal Board!
It's a guid life, an yer maw willnae mind swappin ye fur six ton o coal a year. Jist dinnae expect her tae mak yer piece on th dayshift!

Furst of aw, ye've got tae dae th 'Aptitude Test'. This helps th Coal Board tae fund th richt place fur ye.
They ask ye tae answer aw these tricky questions, like "Whit's yer name?" (No awboddy gets this richt, but dae worry aboot it. Jist answer wi confidence. Ah'll explain aboot th Trainin Officer in a minit).
If ye pass this stage, ye're in as a Minin Apprentice.

If ye fancy chancin yer mitt in summin technical, ye can try bein a Sparky or a Fitter.
It disnae mitter which wan as th trainin's th same fur th first year. Aw ye've got tae dae is figure oot which wey roond th wee cogwheel turns when ye turn th big wan. (Guess! Th odds are better than th bookies!)

Ye get a wee talk fae th Trainin Officer an th Safety Officer.
An this is where ye learn th first truth aboot minin. It's dangerous. But wi a wee bit o common sense, ye can get by. So, in an industry that's protectit by a big union, ye cannae fire folk jist cause they're a wee bit on th daft side.
Coorse, haen an eedjit doon th pit is no a guid idea, sos ye mak them summin safe. Like Safety Officer or Trainin Officer! That wey, they'll never get doon th pit!

Aw cummaun, ye're sayin. That's no fair!
Well, let me tell ye aboot mah Trainin Officer. He got th job cause th real candidate didnae turn up fur th interview. He wis haundy, an tae fill in th time, he gied a talk on th subject o 'Th Matchbox'. Fur ten minits! Ah couldnae mak this up if ah tried. He wis so prood o th fact, he yaist tae tell aw th apprentices aboot it.
As fur th Safety Officer, th day he got th job, th pit wis a lot safer. Providin he wis never let onnywhere near it!

If ye wis a Minin Apprentice, ye worked on th surface fur aboot six months, an then ye went tae Muircockhall, near Dunfermline, fur yer undergroond trainin.
Sparkies an fitters didnae go there fur at least eighteen months. Mebbe they reckoned it wis safer tae keep us awa fur as long as possible. Efter aw, a sparky wi a live wire is like a coo wi a gun. Best stey awa! As fur a fitter, they were usually built tae haud th roof up, no tae wear themselves oot wi thinkin.
Onnywey, they had tae let us go sometime.

Th minin apprentices had tae stey there residential, th engineers got tae travel in wan o Willmax's buses. They wis hauf th size o wan o Alexander's, aw pastel shades o pink an green, an had big chrome bumpers an tail-fins.
If Elvis had been an apprentice, he'd a loved it!

Muircockhall wis th trainin pit fur th Fife region. It wis a pit, and a mine.
Better explain. In a pit, ye go doon in a cage, hingin fae a steel rope. In Scotland, a mine wis someplace ye could walk doon. Bit like th gold mines in thae cowboy films.
As th shaft at Muircockhall wis only 150 fit deep, they had a mine whaur ye could walk up an doon.
Rule wis, walk doon - get th cage up, get th cage doon - walk up!
Th cage taen fower o yis, an when ye rang th bell tae go doon, ye looked doon through th mesh on th flair o th cage. Ye'd see this wee heid lookin up th shaft tae see if ye wis ready. Whitever ye dae, dinnae gob doon th shaft! It's a long shift, stuck halfwey doon th shaft, an ye could spend th next fower weeks shovellin. Dinnae dae it! Richt?

It wis a braw wee pit. It even had a gallery that had nae props or supports, jist like a cave. There wis a bit in th regulations that allowed it, seein as th pit wisnae very deep an th weight comin doon wisnae a problem.
That bit wis gey auld. An ye could see aw thir bonnie fossils on th wa's. There wis a fish that wis nearly twa fit long. Ah hope someboddy taen them oot fur a museum afore they shut th pit.

Awboddy got th same trainin.
Ye had tae learn tae pit up props, widden wans an dowty hydraulic wans. If ye have a choice, ayeweys pick a widden wan. If th weight comes on sudden, ye can hear wid creak. A hydraulic wan jist slowly sinks till it's jammed in fast. Nae warnin. Jist a lot o diggin tae get it free, an hope it's jist th prop yer diggin oot.

Ye got fire fechtin practice. They gie yis fower lengths o hose. Each fifty fit long. An a nozzle.
Ye'd aw start fae th same place, at th hydrant. Ye had tae unreel yer hose as ye ran an then couple it tae th next hose.
Ye're probably ahead o me on this.
Of coorse, th man wi th first hose had it easy, what wi it bein next tae th hydrant, but awboddy else had tae guess whaur th last hose wid run tae, afore startin tae unreel their hose.
See whit's comin? Can you guess how long a hunnert an fifty fit is?

When th last bit was unreeled, th man wi th nozzle had tae stick it on an shout "RIGHT!"
Then they'd turn on th watter. Jist as awboddy wis tryin tae mak a fifty fit hose stretch tae sixty.

Aw it wis bliddy cauld. That watter wis freezin!

"TURN IT AFF! TURN IT AFF!"

Of coorse, they couldnae hear ye fur th soond o high-pressure watter scooshin aw o'er th place.
Verry educaishonull! Ah couldnae possibly repeat whit else we sayed!

An of coorse ...
Th wan we wis aw waitin fur. Shotfirin!

We got tae drill th hole. Prepare th shot. Tamp it in tae th hole. Pit in th clay tae stop it, mak th charge burst th coal better.
An we got tae fire it as weel!
Brilliant! Ayewis wantit tae dae that. No a bang. Mair a a thump an a facefu' o coal.

So here's whaur th blue tattoo comes in tae it.
If ye hae an accident doon th pit, a bad cut or a compound fracture, th coal stoor gets in. It's sterile, so that's no a problem, but they cannae usually get th coal stoor oot. It leaves a mark, a blue mark, under th skin.
It's hoo ye can ayewis tell an auld miner. He'll hae a few blue tattoos.
Th auld boy that taucht us shotfirin took aff his shirt tae show us. A shot had backfired wan day an he wis hit wi th coal an th flame.
He'd been wearin a string vest at th time. They'd jist started tae become fashionable. He had a blue chest at th front, wi a perfect white string vest printed on it.
Tattoos! Ah dae mind. But a set o underwear like that, ah can live withoot.

There's only wan mair thing t tell yis, afore ah catch th tow up th pit. Ah'll tell yis hoo tae close a pit!

Ye'll jist hae tae bear in mind that whit ah say is whit ah felt at th time. History'll be th judge o wha wis richt an wha wis wrang.

Furst of aw, jist let me say mah piece.
Did ah like workin doon th pit? Aye, th folk wis great tae work wi.
Wis ah sad tae see aw th pits close. No! Nae man should hae tae crawl aroond in th dark, diggin fur coal. If ye want tae pit mair coal on th fire, awa dig it yersel!

Th folk that worked doon th pit wis jist ordnary folk.
Some o them wis great artists, some were poets that were th equal o any lakeland scribe. An some were as daft as brushes!

Th word we're lookin fur is 'compensation'.
Aw ye've got tae dae is say "We're a caring industry. If you are injured in an accident, we will help out and pay compensation.".
It's hard tae believe, but wi th thocht o three hundred quid fur a broken airm, there wis enough eedjits that thocht it wis a bargain.
Twa tubs an a quick shove, an it wis a month aff wi sick pey an a nice wee bundle in th back pooch.
Ah ken th names, sos if ye're oot there readin this, jist think. Wis it really worth it?

Of coorse, bein a nationalised industry, bein daft wis th thickest seam in aw th pits.
Some o th machinery doon there, coal cutters an th like, wis that expensive that th Coal Board rented it. So whit dae ye tak oot first when ye close a section. Ye tak oot th props an let th roof fa doon. Leavin th machinery in there. As far as ah ken, we could still be peyin th rent yet on machinery that's noo sae flat that ye could make bean tins oot o it! If ye cared tae dig doon a mile or so for it.

Ah'm telt that thae conspiracy theories are awfy popular these days.
Amateurs. That's what they are.
Compared wi th Coal Board, jist amateurs. Jist dig up th historical figures (ye'll shairly no be able tae dig up onny coal!) and ye'll see.
Ye'll fund pits that mak a profit in a year where they didnae bring up onny coal, an new pits that were fitted out wi rubbish (expensive rubbish!) when they knew that they wid never open.

An this is it. The Big Secret. Hoo tae close a pit.

First, look fur a pit that's makin money. Say it's makin a million pounds profit a year.
Buy ten million pounds o equipment fur it.
Check th accounts. Loss at end of financial year: nine million! Obviously an uneconomic pit!
Close it doon tae save money (but no afore shippin oot th equipment tae anither pit - assumin it wis delivered in th furst place).

If that disnae work, efter nationalise, try rationalise, downsize, pasteurise or onny ither -ize.

Soond crazy?
Ah've worked fur two o th biggest employers in Britain, an they're bith gaun noo!

Bith yaised th same methods tae close places.
If we could jist nationalise crime, poverty and sickness, an pit th same bampots in charge. Whit a wonderful world it w'd be!

That wis the pits.(Th pun wis unintentional, bit ah liked it so it steys!).

If ye liked it, ah'm gled.
If ye learnt onnythin, that's tae th guid.
If ye didnae - well ye've probably got a job in management, workin fur th Cooncil.

Going down the Pit on the Dayshift.

Oh, how I hated to get up for th dayshift. Half past three in th morning! Ah never got to like it! In the winter, it was dark when you got up, and cold. God, it was so cold.
You'd make your lunch, bread and jam or a bit of pork luncheon meat, if you were lucky. Some people would do bananas. Some would put potato crisps on it. If you were exceptionally lucky, your mother would make it for you!

Then off we go to catch the miner's bus. Five o'clock in the morning, it comes. Smoke a cigarette while you waited. Smoke a few more on the way. The bus was full of blue smoke, and never a window open. Even if you didn't smoke, you did!

You'd get there by quarter to six. Into the clean lockers, take your clothes and shoes off, then walk past the baths with your towel wrapped around you. Your lunch in your hand, and your last cigarette in your mouth. Remember not to take any cigarettes or matches with you. Not allowed!
In the dirty lockers, you'd put on your boiler suit. The dirty lockers were heated, so that your boiler suit would be dry. Your boots, though, they would be curled up at the toes. They'd straighten out when they got wet. Make sure you do not have any tobacco or matches on you. Likely as not, they'd search you, and if you had any contraband on you, that woulsd be that!. Sacked on the spot and reported to the police!