THORNHILL
COLLIERY DISASTER
September
9th. 1947.
Profits
from the sale of this poem will be given to the Mayor's Disaster Fund.
Price 2d.
The
Price of Coal.
Though
black I am hidden away
From
millions and millions of years,
I
have my price, and some must pay
In
blood and sweat and tears.
When
the coal man has been his round,
And
left your usual share,
maybe
the miner underground
May
have paid for the coal down there.
On
a winter's night have every thought,
When
the warmth of your fire feels good,
hat
your privilege may have been dearly bought,
And
on your coal there may be blood.
And
when the wind howls and it's cold outside,
And
you've got settled down for the night,
Do
you think of the miner who doth provide
For
your comfort with fuel and light.
Maybe
when you're snug and warm in bed,
And
sleep had come to you all -
The
miner, 'ere the night has fled,
May
have paid the price of coal.
These
are not words at random spoken,
As
Thornhill men again have proved;
The
link with life once more is broken,
Snatched
by death from those who loved.
Despite
the best laid plans of men,
The
mine again has taken its toll,
And
we are reminded once again
What
is meant by the price of coal.
We
read of disaster in some distant place,
And
maybe we'll shed a silent tear:
But
harder it seems when we do face
A
disaster when it is here.
They
left their homes on that fateful night,
Light
of heart and spirit gay:
They
little thought 'ere the morning's light,
That
they in death would lay.
How
loud and thunderous was the crash,
And
fearful must have been the cry,
And
what a terrible place was that,
Therein
to be doomed to die.
Our
thoughts go back to ninety three,
When
our heads were then bent low:
For
some who lost a loved one then,
Again
have lost one now.
"O
God of mercy! will it ever be
That
safety for the miner we shall see?
Will
he be wholly free from dread,
Whilst
down the mine to earn his bread?"
J. Rusby
The British Coal
industry - killed off by Capitalism