We never said a word to anyone but as soon as the hooter blew, we were gone.
Those colliery officials were a comical breed
Every time I see that wheel going around I think about the last time my father came up.
I've seen men rolling on the floor - out like a light.
The colliers would make their own pit props - collar and arms.
I can remember going along to the hatch and getting my first pair of boots and my helmet.
The clothes he was wearing looked as if they had been cut with a knife from his neck to the base of his spine.
I always envied my father when he came home from work, black as anything.
My other son called him a coward so when he came of age I took him down too and his response was similar. "I'm not going down there!"
What amazed me, even when I was young, was that some of these men we worked with were poets.
