Colliery

Kenart

Joined January 2008

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Except from The Long Slow Death of my Grandfather. By Ken Simm.
Each bar would be crowded with coal dust covered men drinking their wages away on brown splits before going home to beat wives and bathe away the dirt in tin baths in front of the fire.
David now walked home from the Britannia warmed by his intangibles. It was an officer during David’s army time that had first applied the word. David had then taken it as his own. He liked the unlikelihood of it all. His intangibles.
Food would be on the table cooked by one of the daughters as soon as he walked in. Another girl would be starching a clean collar for tomorrow. David was a stickler for cleanness when not working. Where other miners would make do with flat cap, muffler and thick belt under an old waistcoat. David had a full suit, a homburg hat and most importantly a clean freshly starched collar every day.
He would eat the food presented; have a cup of tea; pay his respects to the wife, for what it was worth; get changed and be out again before the lamp lighters had finished their miserable rounds.
He would begin his one man route at the Correction the nearest of the pubs to the terraced house in Talbot road. Opposite the new railway being built by German prisoners of war. He would then move across to the Grey Horse before finishing once again at the Britannia. Three of the five pubs in the immediate vicinity of the pit yard.
He knew whilst he was out the younger miners would come sniffing around his daughters. Normally they would be sent packing with a flea in coal black ears. But he almost wished them luck whilst Mother was laid up. So many dogs sniffing around so many bitches. Not that the daughters would have much time for billing and cooing. All he knew was that his bloody tea had better be piping hot on the table as soon as he loosened his collar and sat down or someone’s arse would be due for a tanning. It was bad enough with those bloody POW’s come across mithering for bottles of nettle beer all day. Wouldn’t have happened when he was in the army. Letting the enemy out on his own with good girls not a couple of yards away.
David’s thoughts and intangibles floated around this pleasant near future as he walked past the penny shop and chippy at the end of Talbot road.
The first thing he noticed was the cart outside his house half way down the street. The second was the amount of people around. Soldiers supposedly guarding the Hun, the POW’s themselves. Women from further down the street, standing around in canvas pinnies all with one hand on chin the other tucked under usually ample bosom. Looking for all the world as they belonged there.

Artwork Comments

  • Sean Farragher
  • Marilyn Harris
  • Kenart
  • Joanne  Bradley
  • Kenart
  • sticky
  • Kenart
  • BeckyJean
  • Kenart
  • whisperingruth
  • Kenart
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