(The reader is asked that an “OLD and WORN OUT” pit pony is telling the storey of its life Underground)
Life stories of famous men are published far and wide
And life stories of Heroes who for their country died
My life may interest you, as ever since my birth
My life’s been spent, deep down below, in the bowls of the earth
For years and years I have worked and done my duty faithfully
And tried my very best to serve the Colliery Company
But now my “Working” days are done. I am old and worn out too
So my adventures down the pit I’ll just relate to you.
My homes is as near the pit bottom as it is possible to be.
And when my shift is done that’s the place I long to see
But many times when I’ve reach home, and my tasks been none too light,
They’ve fetched me out again, before I’ve hardly had a bite.
I’ve had all sorts of drivers, some were very, very kind.
I’ve also had some drivers, the worst brutes you could find
For instance No1 I had, he’d treat me like a hog
And if a tub “got off the road” he’d kick me with his ‘clogg’
His orders were my run of tubs were limited to “four”
But when there was no one about, he’d hang on many more
Sometimes he’d put on “twenty tubs” which made my legs fair “totter”
And if I could not “pull” them he’d bash me with a “Locker”
Driver No 2 I had was a pal to me.
He’d often bring a carrot or a turnip for my tea
A lump of sugar now and then when my shift was completed
And best of all he would always see, that I was not ill treated
He used to drive a mate of mine, Old Tony was his name
And Tony often told me that he served him just the same,
And when my mates at weekends had extra work to do
They hoped the lad who fetched them out was driver No 2.
One day, with colliers on the face, for water he was tapping
It flooded out the stalls while I was in the Pass By Snapping
He waded through, waste deep to me, released and sent me home
And then was carried back by the awful rising foam.
Alas poor driver No 2 he is in eternity
And what is more I feel quite sure he gave his life for me.
And when he gets to Heavens Gates, if the good old Bible’s true
The King of Kings will say to him; “Pass Driver No 2.”
Driver No 3 I had was very hard to please
He’d never try to see that I was working at my ease
And when thro’ Roofing Down a Gate, my back was rubbed red raw
He’d merrily put some tub grease on and some coal dust on the sore
Driver No 4 I had was a football lad
T’was “Football” this and “Football” that, aye he was “Football” mad
He’d back 3 homes and 3 aways, won the sweepstake I’ll be bound
And nearly got his coupon right to win £1000
Each “Run” onto “Main Level” he didn’t half use the “Chin”
And with the other drivers he’d been filling “Coupons” in
He’d then discuss the “Sweepstake” held at several of the clubs
And then he’d tell the colliers that he’d had to write for tubs.
I had a pall named Jerry once who used to “Run” a “Drift”
He lost his life thro’ carelessness while working out his shift
And when he passed me in a tub he looked an awful wreck
The “Door Trapper” had fallen asleep and Jerry broke his neck
I have some happy memories as well as sad ones too
The happiest is that 13 weeks from April 22
The “Pit Ponies St Lesser” the field beside the Dyke
I told you all about it, in my memory of the strike
There’s one thing that I think the public ought to know
Thats how they treat us ponies who work deep down below
Our miners work one shift per day and what I fail to see
Is why we sometimes work 2 shifts, and very often three.
They say that for the coal we draw there’s royalties for the Knobs
The royalties we usually get are sticks and whips and clogg
No doubt they feel quite flattered as, they at their mansions gaze
But scores of times I’ve never seen my home for several days
We’re only “poor dumb animals” Don’t think I’ve got a day’s check
We cannot say when tired or ill because we cannot speak
But all you drivers down the pit, a word I’ll say to you
Be kind and treat your pony, as Driver No 2
There’s one thing I’d like to see, I’ll tell you if I may
And that’s a weekly visit from the RSPCA
A daily record of our work for inspectors to survey
Also to see that we are not worked above 8 hours per day
Another thing concerning us, that I would recommend
Is that we are brought up in our turns to daylight each weekend
And now dear reader will you help to let the country know
There’s still room for improvement in our treatment down below.
(All the drivers in the poem are fictitious and I do not refer to any living person or persons)
(Pit Pony at Clay Cross With Surface Gaffer)
