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