大象传媒

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At the beginning of the Second World War I was fifteen years of age and living in Ewell, Surrey.
I am now eighty-one and living at the same address.

The headline in the Daily Express on the first ballot for the call-up of Bevin Boys read;
鈥淗as your Johnny got a Zero? 鈥� the last number on your National Service card, example 12460.
If he has, the mines will get him鈥�.

My number was 10361. I was later called to the National Service Officer at Epsom to be informed that somewhere along the line there had been a clerical error and my number should be 10360. The result of this mistake left me two weeks behind the main group and caused problems wherever I was directed.

My first stop was Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and Heaton, a short distance from the City centre, the location of my lodgings; and Cramlington, approximately ten miles away, the location of the Training Pit.

After four weeks I was posted to Cambois Colliery, situated on the coast near Blyth, Northumberland, where all workings were under the sea bed. There was no slag heap as all rubble was emptied into the sea via overhead cable tracks.

I was taken to my lodgings in the colliery village and introduced to my landlady who greeted me with the announcement, 鈥淲e are Reckabites鈥� 鈥� total abstainers of alcoholic drink.

On reporting to the pit, which was a working mine drawing coal throughout the day, I was assigned to the colliery Mechanics Section, having had a brief experience of the engineering industry.

The pithead was a busy marshalling yard with its own railway junction, steam locomotives and wagons, transporting coal to ships in Blyth harbour.

My first job was assisting a colliery mechanic with repairs to a coalcutter, requiring a trek of about a mile into the pit with toolbags. Alighting from the cage at the bottom of the shaft (no blaspheming during transit) a large bowed girder confronts you with the words 鈥淎bandon Hope all Ye who Enter Here鈥�. As we approach the coalcutter in the heat and claustrophobic conditions, my colleague advises 鈥淜eep your head down mon, the mice have bow legs down here鈥�.

The confined spaces, cramped conditions, the humidity, the dust, the ever-present danger of a roof fall and serious accidents make one realise that pitmen are very brave men.

Lasting Memories

Miners singing 鈥淕uide Me O Thou Great Redeemer鈥� in the pithead baths after changing shifts,
a most moving sound of a choir worthy of a concert platform.

Albert Hudspith who lost an eye in an accident, and popped his glass eye in and out to remove dust while working in the pit on machinery.

The Shaft Man clad in his thick leathers on head and shoulders as he rode on top of the cage to inspect the walls of the shaft as it descended.

Billy Wilson the blacksmith who, despite his years, replied to any question regarding his age and health 鈥渕ad fresh mon鈥�.

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