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One of many poems by a miner who worked and was tragically killed working near me at Oxcroft colliery.
His brother Fred Fokinther was a well known whippet racer in the sixties.
Mining terms and their meanings
A tatooist nightmare = Black scars
NCB = National coal board
Shearer and Trepanner = mechanical tools for excavating coal
Twist = chewing tobacco
Siscol and sylvester = Hoisting tools
[SIZE=14pt]A POEM BY THE LATE HARRY FOKINTHER[/SIZE]
In memory of both Harry and Fred Fokinther
The Ancient Miner.
Over four score years and ten,
This beauteous earth I've trod,
And for this wondrous span of life,
I humbly thank my god.
He gave me health and kept me safe,
In him I'll put my trust,
For fifty years with scarce a break,
Ive toiled within earths crust.
l did not come through this unscathed,
Of knocks I ve had my share,
Through hewing coal my backs become
A tattoists nightmare.
At early sobbing of the morn,
My pick i'd swiftly weild,
Till pearly shades of eventide,
Shrouded lane and field.
Long and ardous were the hours,
To earn a meagre pay
In winter time for weeks on end,
I scarce saw light of day.
To supplement our frugal fare,
I'd go with dog and gun,
And poach the game from anywhere,
To get both food and fun,
Oft times our fruits of toil upheld,
Some rich mans grand retreat,
Yet we were called the social scum,
And names I won't repeat.
Enough of my unholy past,
Let's to the future fine
For there's splendid opportunities,
For young men in the mine.
I must confess I am confused,
By machinery I see,
Being taken to out local mines
On the wagon of N.C.B.
How they worked these monstrous things,
I could never understand,
Or how they got them down below,
To me it beats the band
My sons explained and gave them names,
Of shearer and trepanner,
It seems to me there getting coal,
By button, key and spanner
What a contrast From my day,
No shot firer to pester
For the sole devices that I knew
Were siscol and sylvester
You do not have to work so hard,
But you must go to school,
To make these titans cut and load,
Needs no blundering fool.
I must accept this modern age,
Of juke box and guitar,
Though tolerant l try to be,
It gives my ears a jar
I watch my grandsons do the twist,
It needs energy I'd say,
I can also do the twist,
Just half an ounce a day
They sing of girls with fancy names,
Like Jezebel and Selina,
I still prefer sweet Nellie Dean
And my old concertina.
I do not grudge them their gay time,
Or criticize their ways,
I'm only thankful I've been spared,
To see these brighter days.
If the Lord who gave me this long life,
Would my youth return to me,
I'd go and train with all the lads,
For a miner I would be
Possessed once more with radiant youth,
With prospects bright and clearer,
Down the pit I'd go again,
And learn to drive a shearer.
His brother Fred Fokinther was a well known whippet racer in the sixties.
Mining terms and their meanings
A tatooist nightmare = Black scars
NCB = National coal board
Shearer and Trepanner = mechanical tools for excavating coal
Twist = chewing tobacco
Siscol and sylvester = Hoisting tools
[SIZE=14pt]A POEM BY THE LATE HARRY FOKINTHER[/SIZE]
In memory of both Harry and Fred Fokinther
The Ancient Miner.
Over four score years and ten,
This beauteous earth I've trod,
And for this wondrous span of life,
I humbly thank my god.
He gave me health and kept me safe,
In him I'll put my trust,
For fifty years with scarce a break,
Ive toiled within earths crust.
l did not come through this unscathed,
Of knocks I ve had my share,
Through hewing coal my backs become
A tattoists nightmare.
At early sobbing of the morn,
My pick i'd swiftly weild,
Till pearly shades of eventide,
Shrouded lane and field.
Long and ardous were the hours,
To earn a meagre pay
In winter time for weeks on end,
I scarce saw light of day.
To supplement our frugal fare,
I'd go with dog and gun,
And poach the game from anywhere,
To get both food and fun,
Oft times our fruits of toil upheld,
Some rich mans grand retreat,
Yet we were called the social scum,
And names I won't repeat.
Enough of my unholy past,
Let's to the future fine
For there's splendid opportunities,
For young men in the mine.
I must confess I am confused,
By machinery I see,
Being taken to out local mines
On the wagon of N.C.B.
How they worked these monstrous things,
I could never understand,
Or how they got them down below,
To me it beats the band
My sons explained and gave them names,
Of shearer and trepanner,
It seems to me there getting coal,
By button, key and spanner
What a contrast From my day,
No shot firer to pester
For the sole devices that I knew
Were siscol and sylvester
You do not have to work so hard,
But you must go to school,
To make these titans cut and load,
Needs no blundering fool.
I must accept this modern age,
Of juke box and guitar,
Though tolerant l try to be,
It gives my ears a jar
I watch my grandsons do the twist,
It needs energy I'd say,
I can also do the twist,
Just half an ounce a day
They sing of girls with fancy names,
Like Jezebel and Selina,
I still prefer sweet Nellie Dean
And my old concertina.
I do not grudge them their gay time,
Or criticize their ways,
I'm only thankful I've been spared,
To see these brighter days.
If the Lord who gave me this long life,
Would my youth return to me,
I'd go and train with all the lads,
For a miner I would be
Possessed once more with radiant youth,
With prospects bright and clearer,
Down the pit I'd go again,
And learn to drive a shearer.
