East End Town West Side Face

This is a short story by Wakefield Word Group writer Jasmine King. It is inspired by historic mining disasters and stories told to the author by her grandfather, who was a coal miner. It is written in the style of a letter from a miner to his son.

Jasmine dedicates the story to his memory, to victims of mining disasters and to all West Yorkshire coal miners.

It also links to the mining lamps in our collection, such as this miner's safety helmet with Edison clip-on light:

Content warnings:

This story includes fictionalised accounts of mining disasters.

The characters in the story use some strong language. 

Dated 29th May 1951

Dear Frankie Lad,

Hope everything is doing well for you at college, And yeh part time job works out alreight 

All’s Good an well at home, Mother sends her love and your brothers and sisters. 

I wanted to share something with yeh different from the usual stuff, So here’s a story for ya, to share wi yeh mates over a nice cold beer.

It was a cold November morning, the sun, was a cold pale yellow disk in the sky. Last week I was on nieghts, but today I was on early shift. I kissed mother before I left, she was up early sorting the kids, and the sound of the washing machine jarred against the melodic sound of our local milkman’s whistling a current tune from radio two. We still have one in our village, as you know. 

I put the milk on the table and then I slammed the door shut and went to the bottom of our street, to get a lift with Jackson from Sandy Lane, to go to where we work at Bull Cliff Pit.

It was cold, our hot breath, forming huge grey mists every time we breathed out, in the cool crisp air. No chance of that once we hit the pit face, the air down there was always tainted with the tang of acid and coal dust and it ‘Hits yeh lungs’ with the same effect of a drag on several woodbines, all at the same time. 

And It killed me dad, Thomas. Pneumoconiosis the Doctors said, he ended up breathing from a huge Oxygen cylinder in the small front living room. He’d sit watching the world pass by, through that small living room window. It was a good view, fields, trees, birds, neighbours, the small grey cottages in a long line, of back to back houses. The white washing lines, stretching out with clothes like festive bunting, waving in the breeze. One particular black cat used to climb on the window sill, and they’d sit Dad in his chair Cat on the sill, watching the world.

Some days better than others, we used to laugh at Mum, putting lace cloths over the ugly

cylinder, trying to make them like part of the bric a- brac, in the rest of the room. The three

flying Birds on the main wall, reminiscent of an old book cover we had of Anton Chekhov’s

play The Seagull. Their miserable grey- black seemed to reflect the way dad felt, as he

said “on his bad days.”

I thought about when I was younger, memories of me Dad coming home, black hands,

black face, black clothes. Then off with his clothes, into the tin bath Mum had ready

waiting, steaming heat burning on the fire side, an freezing from the draft of the door on

the other. Me and me brother Teddy ad filled it carrying the big buckets of water to help

mum out. Besides it meant we got tea that bit more early, an at that age we was always

starving.

When Dad died, he still had blue lumps of coal in his arms and knees, where as a kid of

eleven he crawled on all fours, in long, dark, damp, water filled tunnels. Where the older

Miners couldn’t go. He always had plenty of stories to tell about jokes Miners played on

one another, the booze ups, between the disasters, tunnel cave ins, when the old timbers

rotted away and rock falls and a few ghost stories that went with them.

Back in your Grandad's day they used canaries to test for Firedamp, always dangerous

due to when they were blowing the coal face, ‘Pockets of Bituminous coal’ it were called.

It could trigger an explosion and many Miners lost his life over the year’s cos of it, me

Grandad called it a “bag of foulness”.

They used pit ponies when yeh Great Grandad was a lad back then and wagons, no

conveyer belts like today. When war came he had joined up and gone to France, he got

blown up in the battle of the Somme. Me Dad was 18 months old when Great Grandad

died. They lived and and worked in Wales, a small mining community first in Tin Mines,

then in coal mines. But then all the Mines closed and he and his young family had come to

West Yorkshire looking for work. He’d survived the ravages of war and lost many of the

new, good friends he’d made and gone back down the Pit. He always said “From one Hell

back to another.”

Me Dad had half his left little finger missing, as kids growing up, he’d make up various

stories about it, and none of us ever knew if one story or any or any them was ever true. 

I stopped reminiscing, as the cage came to shuddering stop. 

I looked up as men with faces black as coal waited to climb in. “Eh up Colin” me old mucker Harry said, then added grimly, “The’s bin a bit of a rock fall, last neight, blasting that old West face” he added “A close thing tho three -a -four blokes got knocked sideways, cuts and bruises a broken arm”. He went on “Some New D********, planting charges high up, didn’t check for gas pockets” He spat a mixture of spittle and coal dust.

“Tek it easy as tha goes today Colin, its med everybody a bit twitchy ” He went on “ the’s

bin stuff going wrong all shift, a funny feeling like, among everybody ,Yeh know.” And he

smiled and slapped me on the back. And climbed into the cage and he was gone.

It rattled and wheezed upward, chasing that narrow beam of light at the top of the lift shaft.

Once you stepped out onto the coal face it was the only link to the outside world, until end

of yeh shift.

The rest of the morning shift seemed eerily quiet in the wake of the rock fall. Men were

been that bit more careful, as we worked, talked. Carpenters made small talk and banter.

And the automated machines clanged and the conveyer belts grinding rocks, and hammer

drills knocking and banging. And the constant thickening of the air in the thick black coal

dust.

And the sirens sound ‘Of All Clear’ so we all knew to move out of the area for a blast. Me

mate Jeff, lost his sight in one such accidental blast, it happens, sad but true, its what we

face every day we come down here, “yeh just pray that today it won’t be you or any on ya

yeh mates.”

About four in the afternoon Gaffer says "Reight lads, Colin, Danny, Johno, Jackson, Pete,

Norm, av got a job for yeh on West face." We exchange looks, “I see yev heard about

the rock fall, look accidents happen down here lads.” He went on “You all know that, that

why it doesn’t pay to get complacent down here does it! ” We all nod.

“Any way its opened up an old tunnel and somebody has to go down there with some gear

and check it out, I reckon a crew of six should do” He stopped talking and smiled and

pointing went on “That el be you, you and all of you.” As he turned to leave he added “Best take that new sniffer gear, masks, the full works, and plenty of light, its bit dark down

there lads, no electrics, no sense taking chances! ” and he left. 

"Cheers Boss" we all said, Jackson snarled “ F******* Inspectors." 

And Danny spat and said “Yeh know some days I hate that ****.” 

I said “Na he’s just doing his job, And we’d best be doing ours, shifts up soon and I want home, bath and tea.”

An hour later, “Bit of Water here lads, watch it."  Tell yeh truth young Briggsy seemed a bit spooked so I said, "let’s tek it easy eh lads. Any sign of water gushing from a seam,

don’t forget to run." an I grinned. And Danny swore and spat like he always did. 

So off we set making small talk at first, checking the air and for any water flow, as we walked. But the deeper we got down that old West face tunnel, the darker it became and the quieter we got, I don’t think it was intentional, it just happened natural you might say.

It was hard going, as we cut left into the old shaft, the cloying hot air seemed to cool right

down, and the stale air hit our nostrils, at least that’s what the gages reading said, “Time to

use the masks lads“ I said. And about half of the way in, we’d been taking samples, an

kicking old rotten timbers that had never seen light of any kind for hundred year or more.

And the noise of everybody else, on the coal face above and all the machinery noise

dulled, like having cotton wool in yeh ears.

“Reckon Briggsy was rieght” John said shivering, “felt like a ghost walked over me grave.” 

I kept silent, nodded my head. The shaft suddenly narrowed and curved up at a steep

angle, there was the sound of water. We all looked intensely and listened, holding the

extra lamps high in the air in the pitch black, we all knew what we were feeling. “All reight

lads easy does it” I said. 

But the hairs on the back of me neck were on end and ad goose flesh under the thick work jacket, and gloves. The younger lads were brick-in it, en no wonder.

There was a sudden loud thundering crack to the right, and a huge beam split and fell, and

rocks fell every which direction. 

Pelted with rocks, we stood close together taking shelter in the narrow-left shaft,” Watch out Jackson” I cried as the ground shuddered and seemed to cave in beneath our feet. “Well at least there’s no sign of gas, just ground shakes” I said trying to sound brave, you know for the younger lad’s sake, which I wasn’t feeling by the way. And don’t mind admitting it.

Johno gasped spitting coal dust, “Do we go on?” “Well Boss man needs a recky, if we

don’t some other poor sods are gonna at-a to do it", I said, “we'll go steady.” As we turned

the next narrow bend, the right shaft was completely closed off now, so we had no choice

but to keep following the left tunnel. “Ive a bad feeling about this, ” I said, as ice cold water

gushed and swirled round our feet, best get ……” 

But I never got a chance to finish me sentence.

Suddenly out of the darkness and the stale - hot - air, there came a screaming, whining

sound, a noise of terror that struck home in every man’s heart, as we stood entranced.

By the sight of an old Mine wagon from the last century, and two black pit ponies rearing

and screaming, its hooves kicking up coal dust, as it moved toward us. And perched up on

top of the cart, was an Old Forty Niner, as they were once called.

His flaming yellow eyes, peering out at us, from billowing, long silver-grey hair and a

beard, speckled with coal dust. His old wheezing mouth gaped open as he yelled “Best run

for it lads, seams gone, floods coming save yeh selves!” and the screaming spectre ran

right thru us disappearing in the darkness of the tunnel on the right and vanished into the

water and wood and dust and the coal

WE…didn’t hesitate each man turned and we ran for our lives. 

All the way back thru the left tunnel, all the time, we heard the cracking of old beams as the water felled them at the rusty hinges and they buckled and broke. WE… ran hard and fast as we could, in the dust and the water and the coal. Stumbling on fallen rocks, all the way back to the top of the West face.

Danny bent double with stitch “Jeese“ he said "Did, did we just see, did you see,” he

couldn’t speak, he tried to breathe, the younger lads, had pale faces, were physically

shaking. An I think young Pete ****** his self, an no wonder. I took a deep breath an i said

“OH yeh we saw it “

Johno, technically speaking our Team Leader looked across, “Back to main face and cage,

Now” he said. An I agreed and we legged it, just in time. 

As we turned up and out onto the main face above, we heard the water behind us gushing up from the left shaft. The other men had come running at the noise. They said they had heard a loud blast from where we were, but it must have been the main support timbers cracking? 

And every man on that shift, still swears, he heard somebody raise the alarm. But no one could say to this day who it was.

They got us all six of us out, cold damp, and bloody, covered in coal dust. Shoved us in the

pit cage and we rattled back to the surface pretty quick, and the Inspector closed the Mine

face for the rest of the day, until the water situation could be checked out and conditions

made safe for us men to go back down. Hours later up top, having been checked out, an

treated for the shock, cold and badly bruised cuts, that we never even knew we had, while

we were down there, stumbling and running thru the darkness.

Later over a warm cuppa, we sat silent except for a few comments, between mouthfuls of

a bacon, egg and tomata scuffler. Our aching bones enjoying the warmth and comfort of

the canteen. And we started talking again in low voices, for the second time that day I

said, “Oh yeh we saw it, alright, me Dad told me this story years ago when I was a bairn.”

I said, “About the turn of the century, one hundred years ago, there’s an old Mine, below

the west face. The West face was the old shaft opening to the original old Mine and he

said there’s been rumours of sightings, of a ghostly old silvery long haired bearded Miner,

who occasionally appears, every once in a while, to save Miners from disasters.”

It’s not talked about much, Well yeh can understand why, owners don’t like to get the men

spooked, “It’s not good for morale”. But me dad said, “When they were blasting all them

years ago, on the original face. 900 feet deep below ground, down that left tunnel. Like

they were, last night on the old West face, when they broke through and opened the old

seam up.

Well there wer eighty one Miners down that old shaft, that day. working in the coal dust

grime and Firedamp, yeh know lads conditions back then, nothing like we have today, and

some days it’s bad enough for us eh.” I winked “So yeh can imagine the heat, sweat ,coal

dust, choking your every breath, I wouldn’t want to work it. Any way, they hit a pocket of

Firedamp, blasting deep down in that old West Face, and it blew right up in their faces.

unknown to all, an underwater river must ave been hidden behind that seam.”

I paused to gulp my hot sweet tea, and said “when they blasted the face, it flooded in

minutes, so they never stood a chance, poor souls…the timbers all collapsed and there

was so much rock, well they had to leave em buried down there to this very day. They do

say only there were only two survivors and they were rescue crew."

A third man, an Old Forty Niner made it to the top entrance of the left shaft but died due to

injuries caused by the rock fall. 

Well that’s my story for you Frankie Lad, oh and by the way, the date of that original disaster. Believe it or not son it was today 29th May 1851.

Take care Lad, hope you enjoyed my story.

PS. Mother sends love, and your sisters, and brothers, Terry starts down Mine next week,

and your uncle Arthur’s got married again! Looking forward to see you at home for

Christmas. Xxx 

Love DAD x