be careful with my Grampa, with that knife

even though he’s come to the end of his life

give him the dignity that he has earned

a man once strong, stubborn and determined

at the age of fourteen he went to the mines

taken by his father, to a place of no sunshine

getting up in the morning, before the larks

and not coming home until it was dark

slogged all his life, in the evil of the coal face

a place that would beat hell into second place

in seams that were low, dusty and damp

with only the light of a flickering lamp

where the horrors of methane, lay in wait

one spark, and it would be too late

too many lives had been lost before

as methane lay in wait, to claim many more

I remember my Grampa taking me as a child

holding hands we walked the hill side

at the top of the hill, on the bench we’d stop

and look over the valley’s, at the flower tops

each flower he would say, was for the lives

of every good collier, taken from their wives

I didn’t understand it at the time

as he told me stories of the dust and slime

the dust, that once it got into you lungs

would make you old, before you were young

and the slime from the water, in the coal face

dripping down your back, in that hellish place

I remember my Grampa’s hands, once so strong

now his fingers twisted and arthritic, the strength gone

hands riddled with scars, look like a blue glove

pain in his eyes, for the lost friends he loved

men who were taken in their prime

men who lost their lives, before their time

names the paymasters, would soon forget

like the dust they had no mercy, no regrets

sympathy cards sent, printed by the thousand

but none are written by a caring hand

widows, who to their hats they would doff

while planing how much money to take off

I remember my Grampa taking me for a walk

to a place, of which he would often talk

a place, where fighters we would watch them

up two flights of stairs, into a gymnasium

a place also dark, sweaty and damp

he used to say,“I should have brought my lamp”

then down to the welfare, for a game of cards

and a pint with his butty’s, all old and scarred

Nana would ask, “Have you had a drink”

“No he would say”, and give me a wink

ruffle my hair, and give me a sweet

or a mint, bought from the shop in the street

when I would stay in his house overnight

Nana would put me to bed, kiss me goodnight

in between Nana and Grampa, I’d squeeze

lay my head on his chest, and hear it wheeze

I was there, when Grampa took his last breath

in my teens, the first time I’d witness a death

holding his hand, as his life ebbed away

gasping, as the dust took another life away

I remember his funeral, a day we all cried

a guard of honour, on the hill to the grave side

his grave overlooking the old colliery gates

the place he loved, which sealed his fate

old colleagues, themselves short of breath

numbers now declining, wondering who’s next

as they look at each other, standing in line

wondering who will next to be walked behind

I am now a grown man, with a son of my own

l’lI take him to the places that I was shown

to where my Grampa sat me on his knee

on the same bench where Grampa took me

ask him to look across the landscape

now the colliery is gone, I’ve had a lucky escape

remembering Grampa’s last words

“don’t go down that mine,” was all I heard

look over the horizon, the wheels are no more

on the hills are sheep, a hundred or more

but as we sit and watch the sheep graze

beyond in the mist, there’s a greyish haze

if the direction of the wind, your way will come

you can hear a slight and gentle hum

the wheels which we hoped were the last

have been replaced, by an open cast

money men and engineers, have now found

the coal can now be mined above the ground

the sites that councils said was common land

has been given out, with permission planned

permission to mine the tons of coal

that is lying under the surface so low

and as the local people protest

the lawyers protect the men who invest

as the coal is mined, they compensate

those who complained, tell them it’s too late

they’ve hired the best legal brains

so the misery starts over again

so once again the coal dust will cause misery

but the money men have no sympathy

and the dust, they all thought was in the past

will now float in from the opencast

dust will now continue to float in from the tips

landing on the washing lines, taste it on your lips

and they know if it goes to a courtroom fight

the fancy lawyers will give no respite

a court case will be delayed

as long as it’s put off, money will be made

by rich executives, never been below ground

money rules over all, the power of the pound

suddenly, a noise comes from the pram

and as I jump up startled, I realise where I am

I look at my baby, in him Grampa’s eyes I see

Grampa’s now in heaven, but he meant so much to me

looking over at the cemetery, memories flood back

as I see a procession, on it’s way up the track

strong men lining the hill, I can see beneath

and by the grave side, a family, united in grief

a family going through remorse and turmoil

as a loved one is lowered down into the soil

grieving for a loved one who has lost his life

please be careful with Grampa, with that knife

updated by @ralph-jones: 06/20/16 02:38:04AM