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Thirty Years Man And Boy

Bob Williamson - Page 10

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When I started to write this account I did not consider who the readership might be

Chapter 19. The Gangers

They were always known as the gangers. They were the haulage lads who got the materials and supplies to where they were needed.

Why gangers? This name came from the time that pit ponies were extensively used for coal transportation. Tubs (narrow gauge railway trucks) when coupled together were known as a gang.

We also had the heavy gang, which had the more usual connotation, as a group of workers. These men were experts and their services were called upon when very heavy or awkward loads had to be transported. We had a lot of these types of loads and if great care was not exercised it was easy to get trapped (injured).

The gangers were always the younger workers waiting until the time that they would take a turn at the face training. This training took six months to complete and was very competitive because the big money was in face work.

Jokers would always have it, that their faces needed training, everyone, except the poor trainee, would fall about laughing.

Gangers were always larking about, as lads together tend to do, especially when they were waiting for materials at a roadway junction. I can remember one time that I had a job in K31 s tailgate. It was roasting hot and with just shorts on I was wet through with sweat. (Yes we actually did some work at times). The shearer was cutting in stone and our dust masks weren't that effective, so you got in, did your job and got the hell out of there.

So I travelled down the tailgate and through the air doors onto the cooler intake airway. Who should be messing about with water hoses but the gangers. One of them used me as a type of shield knowing that the one with the hose would not wet me through, any further than I was wet. The lad with the hose gave us a full blast of the high-pressure water jet.

Now I can lark about with the best of them but when working you don't mess around. I was absolutely livid and I put down my gear. He knew that he had made a big mistake, he threw down the hose and started to run, I caught him in three strides. There is a method with dealing with this kind of situation and it’s called rubbing the ring (which are the roadway supports). I grabbed hold of him and took a bunch of clothing and skin in each hand, then twisted several times until he began to yelp. Then I rubbed him up and down the ring, with his back, vigorously, all the while yelling at him.

Chastened I let him go and he fled along with his mates. The following day he had livid bruises to both shoulders.

Harsh, maybe so but my life could depend on him doing the right thing. It was a lesson that had to be taught.

At this point I must point out the fighting is a sackable offence, at least not with any witnesses around. Ring rubbing is acceptable.

Chapter 20. The End

Well they shut the Hucknall - after one hundred years of production, all gone overnight.

We had a fire, which closed off half of the mine workings with the loss of all the equipment. Then, the rich faces to the north and east were worked out, K3Is and K33s hit limestone intrusions. (White walls).

As we were mining underneath the town, subsidence claims rose.

Then they spent £15millions on a new washery plant and underground improvements.

We made a profit in that last year of £I0millions.

So a total loss of £5millions for the year was unsustainable.

Some took redundancy, while others took a transfer to other pits.

It was a sad goodbye to bottom pit, all the mates, gone, one big family and all the toil gone up in smoke.



Chapter 21. Ollerton

We sold the house at Kirkby Woodhouse and moved to Kirton, which was three miles north of Ollerton. It was a nice village and a lovely four bed roomed house that we would do well to pay the mortgage on.

With the demise of Hucknall we had the option of taking redundancy or a transfer to another colliery. I decided on a transfer to Ollerton in the North Nottinghamshire Coalfield.

As I was the sole earner I was soon to find myself living alone in the house. I just wanted to leave that part of my life where it belongs, in the past. The woman done me wrong, but that's another story.

Ollerton was like a Wild West frontier town at night when it took on a weird sort of beer fuelled violent air. As a pit electrician I was safe because I was one of them and they looked after their own. In the daytime it was just like any normal small town, with the Miners Welfare at one end, and the pit at the other.

It's never easy starting at somewhere new and Ollerton was not the best choice that I could have made. Not many, in fact none from Hucknall appeared at Ollerton, so I stood alone.

It was not long after the '84 Strike and Ollerton was fiercely NUM seething with a kind of smouldering anger. Jimmy Bond ran the Union, he was a card carrying Communist Party member and the concept of democracy was alien to him and his cronies. I dare not tell them that I worked during the strike, which would have been suicide.

We had other miners from the Yorkshire pits who worked during the strike and it wasn't possible, or safe, to continue to carry on at their original job. They were ostracised and treated in the most disgraceful way that most of them didn't stay. The ones who did were, in the main, odd balls.

When challenged whether or not I worked in the strike, I just lied and they were happy in their ignorance.

It was obvious that I had been vetted before I was set on at Ollerton. At Hucknall I was proud of the name and reputation that I had built up. The respect earned the hard way over the years, all gone overnight.

I started on John Parkin's shift, days, afternoons and nights. The same shift pattern as it had been since the age of eighteen when they could legally put me on nights. As I expected I was a spare man covering for holidays and absenteeism.

When you have worked at the same place for years, you get to know your way about. At a new pit it seems most confusing and it is all too easy to get lost. In those first few weeks I was like a fish out of water, as I tried to make sense of the tangle of roadways, snickets, bob holes and cross cuts. Which set of air doors led where, was it the main return or was it the loco road? Was it the main intake or the main belt road? Could you get to the main gate from here or did you have to go up the tailgate and through the face?

Confused? I certainly was!

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