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CollectionsBob Williamson - Page 8

Thirty Years Man And Boy - When I started to write this account I did not consider who the readership might be

Chapter 15. Pete's Tale.

Pete was an electrician from Pye Bridge Pit who came to join our happy band. Pye Hill and Pye Bridge were old worked out pits in Derbyshire.

Anyway our Pete came with the name of Shotgun and would never tell us why. That is until another renegade joined us from Pye Bridge. It appears that he would see a lady friend every Friday evening at the Hardwick Inn, back car park. This isolated car park was ideal for what Pete had in mind - a rumble in the back seat of her car.

This lady was married and lived with her husband in Chesterfield. He went off to play darts every Friday and five minutes later she left to play a different game with Pete. This cosy arrangement lasted quite a while. Then the husband got suspicious after a cancelled darts match, he found himself at home, alone. The bird had flown to the Hardwick Inn and Pete.

He went back to his local and hatched a plan to find out what was going on. Where was she? Why she was always flushed and excited on darts match Fridays? He had assumed that the excitement was in retelling how he got the winning double top. In truth Pete always got the bulls eye two or three times on Fridays.

She drove to the Hardwick Inn, ever ready Pete was already there. She got into the backseat where Pete joined her. They were going at it like it was going out of fashion when suddenly the boot flew open and out jumped the dart player. He was brandishing a 12 bore shotgun and raving like a madman, punching Pete through the open window. Meanwhile the wife clambered out of the other side of her car and ran for her life. There came a shot but he missed and out of the gun smoke emerged Pete. His keys were fortunately still in his car and off they sped, hotly pursued by the gunman. They finally shook him off and Pete slowly drove home wondering what to do, as they were both naked.

Now Pete lived at home with his parents and he had to drive around until they went to bed. They could then sneak in unseen.

She stopped with Pete for several days, then went home to face the music. She now goes to the dart matches on Fridays, with a secret smile. I would like to add that Pete is now happily married with three daughters, his exploits on Friday nights are firmly in the past AND Pete is not his real name of course, but if he should read this he will surely recognise himself.

Chapter 16. Chips Tale

When Roy went to the surface it left a gap in the electrical department. I stepped into Roy's shoes as lead electrician on K9's coalface and as a mate it was to be Mick known by everyone as Chips.

How did he come by this name? Walking home in the evening after a shift he had to pass four fish and chip shops and had a variety of meals in each. In the last one he took home a further fish and chip meal in case he got peckish, when he got in. As you might imagine he was twenty two stones in weight.

The fitters on K9's used to call him TFC, my often-heard anguished cry was, 'Where has that fat c**t got to now'. If he really made me angry the fitters would say 'Where's TFC now', and I would explode with, 'I've no idea where the fat idle b*****d is'. The fitters would collapse in gales of laughter, but it was not funny when I had a breakdown and he was asleep somewhere.

At £300 a minute in an electrical stand the stress levels tend to rise. It was simply not fair but we didn't report each other to the management.

On nights after our shift we would all congregate in the pit bottom electrician's office then ride the shaft together. Not Chips, we used to leave him asleep and the dayshift had to wake him.

We had Chips on our shift as an apprentice and we got to know his idle ways. Now he was on full wages it just wasn't on, he was part of a team. I tried all I could but I just couldn't get through. He used to get a lot of ragging from the cutting teams, but it never bothered him.

Mick was the lead guitarist in a group called Rough Cut. 'More like Rough C * *t if you ask me', one disgruntled audience member was heard to remark. This was in Ollerton, which was more like Dodge City, after dark. If you were an Ollerton miner you were classed as OK, Chips was from Hucknall.

Outside the group was ambushed and beaten up. They take their music seriously in Ollerton. Poor old Chips.

When we were finished at Hucknall, Chips decided to have a long rest. Why was no one surprised? The last I heard, he was a driving instructor. So that fat sod had come good in the end. One thing that I will say in Mick’s defence was that he was a gentle giant without a nasty bone in his body. He had the biggest hands of anyone that I have met and could have easily taken apart those who mocked him.

Most of us had transfers. Me, I got the booby prize and ended up Ollerton.

Ollerton Pit
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