Easington Pit Disaster 1951

By Mary N. Bell

Head bowed at the foot of the mass grave.
Atmosphere serene and quiet,
My mind zoomed instantly back to the past,
Imagination running riot.  

May, twenty ninth, nineteen fifty one,
Can you hear the clash of a gate,
As an unsuspecting pit lad checks,
He has his water bottle and bait.  

He glances back at his home,
Unaware of what lies ahead,
Not knowing that the echoing sound,
Is his swan song, unsung, unread.  

Pit baths, change clothes, catch cage,
Travel rocky underground hills,
Eighty one ill-fated coal getters,
Walk to death in the North Pit Duck Bills.  

The explosion rocked the pit,
Black killer dust, white hot hell,
To add to the anguish of Easington,
Two rescuers perished as well.  

Jim, Jack, Tom, Bill, Joe,
Jesse, Peter, Bert and John,
George, Mattie, Steve, Fred, Hughie,
A few of the names that we mourn.  

Names written on the memorial,
On the hill overlooking the sea,
Ensuring the disaster of Easington,
Is forever preserved in history.  

Accountants are able to reckon,
Politicians fight to control,
Argue prices, rates and profits,
Easington knows the cost of coal.

The Pit Disaster 

It must’ve been hard in the pit,
Having to crouch, kneel or sit.
Digging hard to find the coal,
Everyday, that your only goal.

Everyday, down in the shaft,
Then one day a mighty blast.
The pit it went up in smoke
An eerie silence, no-one spoke.

The rescuers came and saved so many,
Of the missing they couldn’t save any.
Eighty one men and two rescuers dead.
All brave men the people said.

All the families are now grieving.
The funeral cars are all leaving.
Hopefully another disaster will not happen’
Not this year, next year or ever.

Trapped

I’m trapped,
I need help,
An explosion has trapped me,
Won’t someone help me?

Men around me are dead,
Another explosion could happen,
Coal dust is everywhere,
Am I the only one alive?  

I can’t move,
I need air,
The lights have gone out,
Will I ever reach the surface?  

I can hear rescuers coming,
They are really near,
I can’t wait to get out,
But can they see me?  

Shall I shout?
Or shall I call Help?
What can I do?
I need their help!  

I’ve been rescued,
I’m now on the surface,
Thanks to the Lord
I can see my family again!

The Phone Call

It’s six o clock, the phone rings but I’m still in bed,
I answer it to hear news about the possible dead.
I rush down to the pit gates where police are standing by,
The haunting sounds still ring in my ear of a worried mothers’ cry.

A miner crawls out on his hands and knees gasping for breath,
He was one of the few lucky ones not to come to his death.
My friend has gone and so has his brother
How am I going to tell his mother?

The police drag out more bodies, kids no older than sixteen,
A woman turns around to see her sons and gives a scream.
Things aren’t looking good for the men and boys down there,
If only they knew how many of us care.

Devastation will never leave us it will always be in our minds,
We will always remember those terrible times.
Widows look back with rage,
Their husbands will never age.

Remember

Let us not forget them,
As we pass along life’s way,
The men of Easington Colliery
Who died that fatal day.

Let us remember all of them,
Their sweethearts and their wives.
Remember when you’re burning the coal,
That cost these men their lives.

Remember also the rescue team,
Who went into that black hell.
Let us not forget the few’
Who braved the gas and the smell.  

Remember yes remember,
At the closing of the day,
Remember that they died for you,
Remember kneel and pray.  

To say goodbye and let them go,
A funeral is so sad a show,
Upset and crying we let them know,
We remember what we owe.

The Miner

It’s a Monday morn,
As a new day dawns,
We climb out of bed,
And wind our way to the pit head.

The pit baths smell,
Of sweat and grime,
I must hurry on,
It’s time to go down the mine.

The big wheel turns,
Oh how I yearn,
For the soft comfort,
Of my bed again.

Eight hours to go to,
To the end of my shift,
30 tonnes of coal,
is what I have to lift.

The pit ponies live,
from day to day,
In this black hole,
Working without pay.

The dust and dark,
I don’t like this lark,
I long to retire,
Just to sit in the park.

My dream is over,
It’s back to real life,
It’s time to go home now,
To the arms of my wife,
Until a new day dawns.

The Disaster

Deep under the ground,
Came the alarming sound,
Of the great explosion.
Men scurried around and around,
Dodging the corpse that lay on the ground.

In came the rescuers,
Brave and so courageous,
Saving those men,
Who had been there for ages.

Meanwhile above the ground,
Relatives stood looking around,
Watching, waiting,
And commiserating.

Friends and families,
Gathered around,
To see their beloved,
Placed in the ground.

The village of Easington,
Will never be the same,
Because of that tragic day,
Of the twenty ninth of May.