He Dreamed of Flying

Tug on anything in the universe..... 

There's a quote like that; tug on anything in the universe and you find it is connected to everything else...

Ring of stones thru eastern door

So feel this; I write about dad and his coal mine days unbeknown to my sister who resides 6,000 miles away in the old country.. And 'out of the blue' she "decides" she wants/needs to go check out that piece of history. I open her email this morning, begin to read.. and; like a hand arresting me in the dark..., I am suddenly breathless, choked, feeling dad, feeling that young man who dreamed of flying up into the wide blue yonder, sent 'down-the-pit'.

Tom scribner statue

Maggi writes:

"I decided I wanted to go check out the place Dad stayed during the war; Tudor Street, with Mrs Proudly, his kind landlady.. I met an older guy across the road who had worked in the mine Dad worked in from 1952 till it closed in 1988. Amazing to learn how it was; he gave me a photograph from the 1940's. Talk about grim, dad must of felt like he'd been sent to hell; four years of 6 day weeks down in that pit, for £3 and a bit. Mum insists Dad used to speak about Hebden Bridge and actually I realized he probably would have cycled here on his days off, as it's about 40 mile north west from Thurnscoe.

Small wonder he looked so grim on his 1945 travel permit card.  Went to the museum of national coal mining to find out a bit more about the Bevin Boys.

The pit where he most likely worked was called HICKLETON MAIN, 800ft deep; one of the deepest in Yorkshire and therefore very warm down there; guys used to work virtually naked it was so hot!  This neighbour across the street, he showed me the metal chits they used to have to carry, as a check-in/check-out system, so they knew who was down the mine and who was out. Little brass tags with a number on them and with the name of the mine. Apparently when Dad worked there it was owned privately by the landowner of the area; Lord Halifax! That was before coal was nationalised.

Anyway, it made me wonder if that is one of the reasons i was drawn to take a place at Hebden for a while, to connect with this piece of history. Thurnscoe now is a horribly depressed ex-mining town with those working mens clubs and boarded up shops, not dissimilar to Kilsyth. I could imagine for Dad to get out of there in 1947 and move to London and work in Uncle Jimmie's factory, would have been sweet relief in comparison.

Maggi xxx

Oh what shall we do
with this parched Spirit
whose wild beauty was blackened 
with fossil fuel?

What shall we say to this wild beauty
this youth
this manhood of Scotland
of England?

What shall we say
to terra firma
We have so pitted and scarred

Deep deep aquifer
May we drink now
of your fountain
May we herald in
together
A Day
that tastes
of Sunshine

300px-Humanitarian_aid_OCPA-2005-10-28-090517a

. The tender kindness of a young solider
raising water to the parched lips of a young girl
in our day and age
in Iraq

MAY ALL BE HEALED, MAY ALL BE FED, MAY ALL BE LOVED