EPISODE 205 MANURE SPREADER AND SOME SKEOCH BOYS

EPISODE  205     MANURE SPREADER AND SOME SKEOCH BOYS


alan skeoch
Dec.  2020

EARTHY is the best word I can you to describe those visits to the Skeoch farm on
the southwest corner of Fergus.  Earthy for sure.  “Would you fancy a beer, Alan?”
And Uncle Norman would lead the way to the barn stable where he kept a case
of Molson’s Golden tucked  under the hay of the first manger.  Why there?

Because Norman’s sisters had ‘taken the pledge’ so to speak.   Temperance
people.   Nice people…warm, hearty, educated, informed, leaders.  All of  this
including  the deep belief that beer and  other alcohols were a blight on the
country.   

That was a good thing.  Kept visitors out in the barn where stories always
seemed richer than  around the kitchen table.


Left to Right:   The  Skeoch Manure spreader, long retired but still admired,  then  Uncle Norman Skeoch (my Dad’s youngest brother),
the Jake Raison (first husband of cousin Jean Skeoch…Jake played box Lacrosse), Bruce Skeoch, Hubert Jim Skeoch (brothers from
the Skeoch farm on the North east side of Fergus), and finally Long John Skeoch … possible  to play dominoes  on his pants.

HOTTER THAN A PEPPER SPROUT

Jake and cousin Jean got married in Mimico.  One of the best weddings I ever attended.  All the Skeoch men were there in the back rows
of the church while the Skeoch women were attentively listening to the minister at the front.   My brother, Eric, sat  beside me for
a  while then he just disappeared.  Uncle Archie or Uncle Norman had reached under the pew, grabbed him by the ankle and
hauled  him in a game of  ‘pass the kid’  to other uncles and hangers on until Eric  got close to the women when he was released.

What a wedding.  Uncle Art and Aunt Mary and the Rawsons had rented a hall not far from the church.  It had a  kitchen 
walled  off from the main hall using thick paper board.  I know it was paper  board because Uncle Ernest (who  was really a cousin)
came smashing through the wall … pushed  hard by Dad (Arnold  Skeoch)  as they argued  about politics, or sports, or anything
worth arguing about.  In my mind I still see  his body as a kind of ‘cut out in paper board’ which made  a new door to the kitchen.

Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Greta,  Aunt Lena and  mom  acted  like mother ducks protecting ducklings.  They were determined that
the children  should  not enter the kitchen while the discussion was happening.  Someone had got beer into the hall.

Uncle Ernest’s wife, Aunt Ayleen, had the warmest laugh  of anyone I had ever met.  She was an Arawak
from the Caribbean…loved us…she was a  hugger.   I don’t know how she
reacted when her husband smashed through the wall.  I do remember, however, that Ernest and Ayleen drove
mom, dad and us home that night.  Laughing. No hard  feelings.  No.  I do  not know who paid  for the wall.

What a  great wedding…”Hotter than a pepper sprout” but eventually ‘the fire went out.”

See Hubert Skeoch next to long John.  he was in the air force in  World War II.  Somehow he
got his teeth knocked out and they were replaced with some kind of plate.  He would swirl 
the plate around  in his mouth for the Amusement of Eric  and me when he lived with
us at 18 Sylvan  Avenue.  He hated the name Hubert…wanted us to call him Jim…which
we never did.

Long  John Skeoch and I  got the unpleasant job of being the executors of the Norman  Skeoch estate.  
We presided over the selling of the Skeoch farm and  all the equipment.  Norman  left the farm to all
his brothers and sisters  which was the death knell of the farm.  Had to be sold.  Sad  ending.  Wish I had the sense
to buy that manure spreader.  

Bruce Skeoch  was the historian of the bunch.  Father to Lloyd and Vernon.  He Kept the records as best he could.   The Skeoch women kept
a lot of the records as well.  When i showed an interest Aunt Elizabeth loaned  me the letters sent back
and forth to Scotland  in the 1840’s .  I laboured  long and hard transcribing them.  Maybe I got a little to 
close to the truth behind the Skeoch  migration.  Aunt Elizabeth got them them back.

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020

EPISODE 204 TTC AUCTION OF LOST ARTICLES and RED SKEOCH


EPISODE 204    TTC LOST ARTICLES  AUCTION SALE

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020

Dad did  not buy presents.  Well, not quite true, one year he bought Eric  and me
a Red Rider BB gun and a long-playing portable record player.  We got them 
unwrapped and later discovered he was  able to persuade some store to sell
them if he put a dollar downpayment.  The rest of the costs was up to us…actually
up to mom as usual.  

That probably sounds terrible to readers who had a more normal family if such
ever really existed.   We took it in our stride.  You already know that the BB gun
only existed  for 1 day and  was then smashed against the Manitoba  Maple tree
in our backyard to the relief of us  all.  We sat the records player on the cedar
chest in the only bedroom in our house.  We had a nice stack  of old 78 rpm records
to feed the machine.  These also only lasted  a short time.  Eric sat on them…smashed
them all to hell.  Or maybe I sat on them.  Forget who but remember the shards
of broken records.

No one ever bought mom a  Christmas  present.  Never occurred to us.  She wrapped
presents  for us though which  was expected.  One year she got upset at this
one way  gift giving. “Does  no one ever buy a gift for me?”  That made Eric and
I suddenly think about reciprocal  giving and  we tore up to the furniture store
and bought her an electric table lamp with a base full of curves.  She was touched.
Put the lamp on the little  table beside her bed couch in the living room.  Rather garish
but she treasured it.  We felt justified in taking her gifts after that.  I think it cost
Eric  and I about $7….all our spare cash from the Toronto Star paper route which
paid us  half a cent per 3 cent paper.


No one really felt bad about this one way gift giving.  Even mom was  not disturbed except that one time.  Our big Christmas presents
for a couple of years was  the TTC lost goods auction sale at a run down store on Queen Street West.  All year long
the TTC  conductors  turned in lost articles to the transport officials.  Piles of them.  Then, sometime around
mid  December, the unclaimed  articles were dumped into huge cardboard boxes and auctioned off to whoever
attended the auction.  

Dad, Eric and  I were enthusiastic bidders.  Limited funds though.  But eventually we were able to get a big box
of things nobody wanted.   We kept the box closed until Christmas Eve or near that day.   Then dad  sat on the
couch that mom slept on…adjusted  his glasses…and opened  the box.  The box was so big that it would fit
a kitchen sink.  This was no tiny box holding a pair of socks.   This  was an immense box  of lost articles.
A Treasure trove.

What do you suppose people forget on the streetcar?   Take a guess.  You are right.  There were usually a
few umbrellas…some working, others bent so badly they would  not unfurl.  The umbrellas were the first
thing pulled from the box.   Dad looked up…amused with each treasure.  Then there were gloves…lots
of gloves.  Most of them female.  Some in pairs…others singles. “These are for you Methusalum.” And mom
began to collect a pile of gloves.   Next were the scarves.  Again most of them were women’s apparel but
a few were suitable for Dad.  He wrapped them around his  neck.

In this  picture, however, Dad  had reached the near bottom of the box and he pulled  out a pair of
pants.   How could anyone lose their pants in the street car?  “Someone got off the street with his
bare ass to the wind,” said Dad  with his amused expression.  Deadpan expression. Not laughing out loud but an  expression
that made the rest of us howl.

There were other things…empty purses,  wallets,  hats…but that pair of pants took the cake that
one year.

A lot of  Christmases  have gone by now.  Lots of  presents have been exchanged.  Sometimes
the pile of presents make the Christmas tree seem  small.   Some great presents.

But to my mind this Christmas  of  the year 2020 could never compare with the Christmas
of 1953 or 1954 when Dad, Eric and I hauled that huge five or ten dollar box of umbrellas
and mismatched socks home to 455 Annette Street on the TTC streetcar and trolley bus.

Mom got most of the stuff…gloves, scarves, purses.   But dad got the pants which he never 
wore but held  up for us to see.   We could imagine some poor sucker getting  off the
streetcar with his “bare ass to the wind” as dad said in his usual colourful language.

alan skeoch
Dec. 24, 2020

EPISODE 203 ELSIE AND RED SKEOCH ,,, SO VERY HUMAN

EPISODE 203     ELSIE AND RED  SKEOCH…PARENTS

alan skeoch
DEc. 2020

If you are easily offended stop reading now…wait for another episode…avoid this episode


“NOW,  Kevin, let me tell you how to smoke a good cigar.
First you nibble the round end…bite off a small chunk and spit it out…anywhere.
Next  you remove the label…White Owl  Invincible…expensive cigars.
Next  you lick the cigar like  it is a popsicle…get the taste of the cigar leaves…moisten  the cigar.
Next  you get a good wood match, strike it on your Jeans and  put the flame to the open end.
Next  you take a puff..couple of  puffs…not so much that you choke.
Next  you breathe out the cigar smoke before it gets too deep in your lungs.
Next  you now know how to smoke a fine cigar.”
A fine  cigar is a showpiece.”

(*Avoid getting judgmental.  Both boys do not smoke  ,..except for a cigar in memory of  Dad on rare occasions…very rare)
And neither do they  drink very much.  Now men with their own families.)



“Grandpa,  why does grandma insist  you smoke in the back yard or up at the corner of the street?”
“I do not rightly know Kevin.   Women…your Grandmother in particular..are very hard to understand.”
“AND why does grandma put your Limberger Cheese in the clothespin bag and reel it to the back pole?”
“As I said before, women  are hard to understand…as you will discover in due time.”

“And why do you call Grandma  “Methusalum” ?
“Now that I can answer.  Methusalah was the oldest person in the Bible.  And “Methooz” is older than me.  I like to remind
her of that.  Why do you say Methusalum rather than Mefhusalah? “
“Sound better…has a nice  ring to it.  I have improved the Bible.”  The short
 form is even better….”Methooz”
“Does she  like that name?”
“She has never objected.   You want to know something interesting Kevin?”
“Yes.”
“Your Dad and your uncle…Alan and Eric…did not know her real name was Elsie  for the longest time.”





Life can be very strange.  We thought everyone had a mother snd father
similar to ours when we  were small.  The older we  got the more we
realized the Skeoch – Freeman  sets of grandparents were very different.
Both sets marvellous.

But the one thing we never appreciated was the way Mom held everything
together.  We took her for granted.  Being taken for granted is a rather backhanded
compliment.  She  seemed to like it that way.  No hugging  and  kissing.   Just the
warm  feeling that no matter what went wrong in our lives our home was
the safest, most forgiving, place.   

Mom, as I have mentioned, was a seamstress.   She could make  a sewing machine
do wondrous things. Her income came  from the sweatshops of Toronto.  For Eaton’s
she  made dresses as advertised in the Eaton’s catalogue and was  told “make the  front
look nice…do not worry about the back.”  

So mom worked with other women.  Lots of them.  Eric and I felt we had dozens of mothers
because mom made sure we met all her friends who seemed to love  us…like Joyce Bannon
and Annie Smith in the picture with Mom and  Dad.  Her friends all gave  us boxes of chocolates
each Christmas.   So we  lived in a circle of women.  Not men.   Dad was the only man.
Which leads me to one  of the most endearing stories about him.  I may have told this
story before but it is worth hearing again and  again.

Mom and dad lived in a rooming  house at the time…house full of women machine operators.  Dad was
the only man.  Which he did not particularly like.  “Too many goddamn women.”   Goddamn
was one  of  his favourite words as was ‘son of a bitch’ and ‘bastard”.   Manly, right?

Well  dad arrived home one night and found Joyce in the apartment with mom…I was
a baby in the crib.   Dad did not like this.  He had to do something to assert his
manly nature.  Ahah!   The radio…a big floor model.  Dad went over to the radio
and said loudly.  “Look at this Mathooz, I can write my name in the dust.”

Then Joyce piped up with one of the best Zingers I have every heard.  “Oh, Red,
isn’t it wonderful to have an education?”   

We have told that story over and over in our family.  So many times that 
even Dad gets a grin on his face.

A weird thing happened a few years ago when  I was asked to be the
guest speaker at the University of Toronto Women’s club.  I thought the women
would enjoy stories about Dad.  I was wrong.  There was a dead silence
most of the time.  A silence that got deeper and deeper with each
story.  At the end, my high school French teacher whispered to me.
“You poor boy!”

She missed the point completely.  Mom and dad were terrific people who
kept Eric and i feeling lucky to have such interesting  parents.

Here is the opening of that speech.

“Ladies, my father, Red Skeoch, loved nicknames.  He  never called us Alan
or Eric.  Most often  he referred to us this way.  “I have two sons, one is
a gutsy bugger and the other is as stupid Joe’s dog.”   This was flattery.
Dad spoke in opposites a lot of the time.  He called me a ‘goddamn fool’
most of the time which meant he like me.  I knew that.  Was I the gutsy
bugger or the son that was stupid as Joe’s dog?   My brother when
he became a teen ager called Dad up on that term.

“Dad, that expression ‘stupid as Joe’s dog’ makes no sense.  Just how
stupid was Joe’s dog?”

Dad got a gun on his face that was a mile wide. He  had been waiting years
for that question.

“Eric,  Joe’s dog was so stupid  he jumped over nine bitches to screw his own shadow.”

That was the introduction to my speech.  No one laughed.   And I still had 40 or 60
minutes to speak.  So I kept the stories flowing.  And the silenced deepened.
Hence the term “You poor boy”.  

Marjorie commented that it was unlikely  I would be asked back to speak again.
And I have not.

Some of you have heard these stories before.  They are worth repeating.
Mom and dad were so goddamn human.  Makes me cry.

So many more stories.  Outlandish  But, oh, so human.



I only ever brought one of my girlfriends home.  That was Marjorie.  She and dad got along perfectly.  His
extremes of behaviour were accepted.  Once he knew that there was nothing Marjorie  could do wrong.
She had  to give up trying to breast feed our boys because dad showed up at our house every day… it seemed.
I think Dad  liked  Marjorie more than he liked the horses where he blew all his money.  And when
Marjorie showed an interest in the racetracks  of southern Ontario, dad thought she was a perfect
person.   

alan skeoch
Dec 2020

P.S/  “Should I send this or not, Marjorie?”
“The only part I do not like is that definition of Joe’s dog…crude”
“Dad would never have said that in your presence.”
“I guess Joe’s dog cannot be avoided…certainly removes
you from the Speakers Club.”
“I am not sure about that…look at what Trump has said.”

EPISODE 202 RED SKEOCH WAS NOT THE BEST BABYSITTER

EPISODE  202    RED SKEOCH WAS NOT THE BEST BABYSITTER


alan skeoch
Dec.2020

“Dad, would  you look after Andrew and Kevin, today?”
“Harumpf….Why?”
“Marjorie, mom and I have a meeting…”
“Harumpf…Where must I do the babysitting?”
“At the farm.”
“Suppose I could do that…might be able to teach
the kids a few tricks…lesson in life as it were.”


And  so  he did.   We arrived to find both boys smoking cigars…White Owl  Invincibles.  Kevin
removed his stogie for the picture.  Andrew persisted with his.

Arnold Red Skeoch was unconventional in all that he did.  Memorable as a result.

How  would  you react if these were your kids?

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020

EPISODE 200 YES, DEAR, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS AND HE IS COMING UP OUR STREET NOW

EPISODE 200    YES, DEAR, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS AND HE IS  COMING UP OUR STREET TODAY

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020

“ALAN, Sunny and Elizabeth and the kids are sitting on the street.”
“Why?”
“Because Santa  is  coming….get a chair.”


“Now these are dire days.  Nothing good seems to be happening.  Dreams are being dashed. Hard to believe that
Santa Claus would have the time or the energy to pay us a special visit.  


The street, Glenburnie Road, looks empty to me.  But if I look way up the street at the stop sign there
seems to be a bunch  of kids waiting  for something.



And Thomas and Serena Kim, our neighbours, seem to believe Santa  Claus will come up the street.   Hard to 
believe he would have time for us.   But the kids see something strange moving towards them.


“Santa Claus is  coming…he  is really coming up the street…with two horses because there is no snow today.
He is  coming…He is really coming.”















Now  that is the closest thing to a miracle I have ever seen.  Santa Claus took the time to come and see Thomas  And  Serena
even though his reindeer were not available.  He really came…came up our street.   He really did.

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020

EPISODE 199 ICE SKATING ON THE CREDIT RIVER…THEN DISASTER

EPISODE  199   SKATING ON THE CREDIT RIVER…THEN DISASTER

alan skeoch
Dec. 2020

Global warming has made free skating on Lakes and rivers less and less common.   There  was a
time when  our river, the Credit River, was strung with coloured lights and the ice strengthened with
flooding.  Ice so strong that a tractor with snow blade could clear long stretches of the river 
from the Port Credit Bridge north into  the wilderness beyond the railway bridge where the 
Go Train thunders by.

Was it global warming that ended the river skating?  Or was it some insurance executive who
pointed our the City liability?  

Good news.  There are still chances to skate up the Credit River in certain
years when the temperature drops  and the snow does  not drop.  Marjorie,
the Kids and I have grabbed these moments for they are ephemeral.




Now that is real skating.  An adventure.  Unlimited  solid ice that seems to have no end.   


A hockey game with no boundaries.


I am not the best skater.  Not a Gretsky/  More a dreamer…loving the open ice with no need to stop.



My last time on the river ice was not so pleasant.   I was  not as alert as others.  I revved up my speed
and was just flying over the ice.. No speed limit posted.

Then,  WHAM!…I DID A HEAD FIRST DIVE AND LET MY NOSE BE  A RUDDER AND A BRAKE.   What happened? The wind  had blown 
sand on piece of ice.  Enough to stop my skates … Dead stop.  My body flew  parallel to the ice for a bit then
my head  angled down and  my nose got the worst of  it.






There have been a few days when the Fifth Line of Erin Township has become one long
skating rink…as Marjorie and  Kevin enjoyed one winter day before the plows arrived.


Glare ice on the Fifth line is less and  less  likely these days.  Sand and gravel is spread
as soon as  the road  gets  icy.  And the snow plows stir it all up.   Must be so, I Guess.

FOND MEMORY:  Suppose you are  Given the chance to skate on a river or lake.  Make sure the ice is solid of course.  But grab
the chance.   Long long ago Russ Vanstone invited a bunch  of  us  loving couples to his Georgian Bay
cottage when the weather was bitingly cold.  We could  hold hands  and  skate into the blackness of the night.
“From here to Eternity,  Marjorie.”   We  had that moment.  We did not let it slip through our fingers.

alan skeoch
Dec.2020







EPISODE 198: Spare Bed for Andrew



Begin forwarded message:


From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Subject: Spare Bed for Andrew
Date: December 19, 2020 at 2:26:09 PM EST
To: Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, askeoch@bellnet.ca, Julie Skeoch <julieskeoch@yahoo.ca>, Kevin Skeoch <kevinskeoch@hotmail.com>


EPISODE 198     THE DAY WE DISCOVERED OUR SON ANDREW HAD GROWN UP

  alan  skeoch

 Dec.  2020


ROSE  COTTAGE , BED  AND BREAKFAST,  HEREFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND

“Could we rent a room for the night…with a spare bed  for our son?:
“yes, we have a room with a cot for children.”
“Perfect.”

That  was the night we realized that Andrew had grown up.

alan skeoch
dec. 2020

Fwd: EPISODE 197 NICE THING … KATE AND JIM MCCARTNEY…RECIPROCATION



Begin forwarded message:


From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Subject: EPISODE 197 NICE THING … KATE AND JIM MCCARTNEY…RECIPROCATION
Date: December 18, 2020 at 9:24:11 AM EST
To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, John Wardle <john.t.wardle@gmail.com>


EPISODE  197    NICE THINGS HAPPEN….KATE AND JIM MCCARTNEY AUCTIONEERS

alan  skeoch
Dec.  2020



I was startled one  day last year when registering for another Jim Mccartney auction sale.  His wife,

Kate, said. “Just a  minute, I have a surprise for you.”  And she gave me this charcoal drawing of  myself.  Framed.



So here  is my return picture of  Jim McCartney in action with Marjorie modelling some pretty hats.
Sometimes auctions  go exceedingly well for everyone…owners, auctioneers, bidders.   Jim and  Kate
try to make every auction go smoothly.   



EPISODE 196 WELSH MINER’S LANTERNS IN ONTARIO BARN… MCARTNEY SALE



NOTE:  THIS STORY IS TOO LONG, I KNOW THAT, BUT JUST DO NOT
HAVE TIME TO EDIT IT AND STILL MEET MY DEADLINE OF  1 STORY
EVERY DAY.  SORRY.  THE NEXT STORY WILL BE MUCH SHORTER.


EPISODE  196:  WELSH MINER’S LANTERNS FOUND IN AN ONTARIO BARN

alan skeoch
oct. 2018

         updated  Dec.  2020


Earlier I related  the heart warming story of Jack the Clydesdale whose home in Dr. Richardson’s barn is secure in spite of the auction sale. The new owner
of the farm wanted  Jack as much as she wanted the farm.

There was another unusual facet of the Richardson auction…which  is the subject of this  story.






TWO WELSH MINERS LAMPS:  WHAT WERE THEY DOING IN AN  ONTARO BARN IN 2018?

ALAN SKEOCH
OCT. 2018




Seemed out of place.  Two heavy  copper cylinders sat on a table outside the Richardson Barn at their Sept. 8, 2018 auction sale.   Something  clicked

in  my mind  when I noticed them so I took a quick  picture and hustled to the other auctioneer who was selling a coyote pelt and  a  horse trough that looked better than
those cylinders.

“Marjorie, you might throw a bid at those cylinders if the  price is right.”
“What are they?”
“Not sure but those  cylinders are out of place…not something found in Ontario barns…wish
I could  remember what it is about them.  Important.  But don’t go crazy in your bidding.”

“Here they are, Alan, Happy  Birthday.”
“ Now I remember…  These two copper cylinders are…
“Jim McCartney, the auctioneer called them ship’s lanterns.”
“Well he is wrong.  These  are miner’s lanterns…designed to give a very little bit
of light in the dismal  darkness of  coal mines  in South Wales.”
“Why so  big and so heavy…allow just a flicker of  light.”
“The real purpose is  to detect dangerous coal gas…explosive.  These lanterns 
were invented  after hundreds  of British  coal miners had  died from gas ignitions
underground.  A spark. A candle.  A  match.  Enough to blow a coal  mine  into a
mass graveyard..  In the 19th century these underground detonations in coal  mines
were regular events.”
“What gas are you talking about?
“Lots  of  different gas in coal  mines…I suppose the  worst was  methane trapped  
in pockets in the  coal…ignites easily,”
“How did  methane get into coal?”
“Coal was once ferns, trees, plants of  all  kinds…most once grew in the Carboniferous Era 359 million of years  ago to 299 million years  ago in
the  Paleozoic period when the earth was  really swampy and oceans were  hundreds of  feet
lower because so much water was trapped in arctic and  antarctic polar ice.  Plants  lived and
died, their  bodies  forming thick blankets  of decaying matter.  Gas was  part of he process of  decay.
These thick beds of plants eventually got covered with sediment in later  eras forming coal which 
is  a sedimentary rock formed by pressure and the absence of oxygen.   Thick  beds of coal are 
found in pockets all over the world…lots  in Canada and  the United Staes and  Britain and a massive
amount in China.”
“Slow down, Alan…do you mean this coal which  we  can buy in the store is 300 million years  old?”
“Correct…ancient as time…measured  in millions of years…that one chunk of coal.”
“So coal is plentiful but not infinite…what happens when we use all  the coal?”
“Good thinking…dreadful thinking really.  It took millions of years to press those ancient plants  into coal.  Yet
we  have  only been burning  coal for about 300 years…consumption big time.   When the coal is gone there will beNo more coal made
unless a catastrophic even happens and our trees and plants are once again covered with sediment and pressed into new coal.”
“You scare me  at times.  Get back to that methane…where does it come from?”
“Methane was  identified  back  in  18th century by  a scientist who  noticed  ‘swamp gas”
bubbled up and smelled bad.   Produced by rotting vegetation.   Deep coal mines trap
methane  pockets of  CH4 (Methane) that is released by miners. Mix methane with oxygen
and the chance of  explosion occurs.”
“Has that ever happened?”
“Don’t play around  with me…of course coal mine explosions have happened…lots  of times.
Some truly devastating.”
“Name one.”
“Universal  Colliery, Sengheydd, Wales…massive underground explosion on October 14, 1913, killed 439 miners
of the 1,000 underground at the time…and 100 horses…worst mining disaster in British  history.

Black and white photograph of the Universal Colliery, taken from a raised position, and showing crowds waiting for news
Families waiting for announcement of deaths in the Universal Colliery, Wales.  Nearly 
half  of the 1,000 coal  miners died  in the  explosion…and 100 horses.

“You mean there were 1,000 men digging coal deep  in the bowels of Wales and nearly half were killed.”
“Right.  And that is  just one example.  Coal miner was killed or maimed  every  six hours. Mining
is a dangerous business.
“Did you say there were 200 horses  down there as well.
“I did.  So  many stories…where to begin?”
“And  what about those copper cylinders…how  do  they fit into the story?”
“Good comment…let’s deal with those things.  Look at the pictures below.





Pit Ponies, Pit Horses, pit pony history, miner Ceri Thompson, Canadian Coal Mining history, Sable Island, underground stables, Underground haulage, Coal Mining Canada

Pit Ponies, Pit Horses, pit pony history, miner Ceri Thompson, Canadian Coal Mining history, Sable Island, underground stables, Underground haulage, Coal Mining Canada

“Your lamps…I see them in those miners hands…same thing”
“Designed  to sample the air…lamp gets brighter if explosive air in the stope…gives  miners warning to get the hell out fast.”
“What about those horses?  Just leave them to get killed?”
“Most miners loved their horses…living company for them in the near absolute darkness of the mine stopes  and alleyways.”
“You said  ‘most’ which means some miners were not so kind.”
“Correct.  Just like any collection of human beings there are always ‘not so nice’ miners  who abused  the horses.”
“How?”
“Beat them.   There is  an amusing story about one miner who abused his horse.  The horses bolted and ran through the mine
tunnels while the miner chased after him.  Eventually the horse just disappeared much to the chagrin and anger of the miner.
“How could  a grown horse disappear in a coal mine?”
“That’s what the miner said.”
“Was the horse ever found?”
“Yes, a while later.  The horse had jogged into a side tunnel where a coal cart had been parked.  He hid  behind the cart while 
the angry miner ran back and forth cursing no doubt.”
‘How   could a horse hide in a coal mine?”
“Easy.  You have forgotten that coal mines were pitch dark most places.  The horse knew every twist and turn in the mine even
though he could not see.  Amazing.  If horses  could only laugh and whinny softly, ‘You son of a bitch, you won’t find  me here no
battery how you yell and  swear.’”
“God, must have been awful down  there in the darkness.”
“No one knows really except for the men deep in the pits.”
“Some of those coal seams were not very thick…no room for horses for sure…I saw pictures  of men pick axing coal seams while 
lying of their sides…maybe only three feet of clearance.  Horse no help there.”
“That’s where the miners kids  proved useful…small people needed.”
“Children in coal mines?”
“:Sure, some as young as six years old.  Some children spent their lives deep in those pits.  A lot of them died  in explosions and roof collapse 
and accidents…and then there was black lung…dreaded killer when sharp bits of coal dust builds up in the lung.  Terrible death.

“You exagerate, Alan, little children were not miners.”
“Sure as hell were…as a matter of fact children were used in coal mines before horses.  The horses, most of them, replaced the
children when child abuse scandals became general knowledge in the 1840’s in Britain.  Children were prohibited in mines.
“Saved?”
“Not completely.  Who would know if a kid was deep in the mine.  Absolute darkness except for slivers of light from these lamps.
Miners were poorly paid…needed the extra cash from their children.  Many payed rent for company houses and  had  to shop in
company stores…wages barely covered expenses.  Mine owners were not always humane…they wanted  profits like any
capitalist.
Note re: Miner’s lamps/  left: kind of lamp given to foremen and mine execs
right: kind  of lamp given to miners and children, obvious wear, has number
which was checked off as  miners  left shift…a  way of checking who was still below.
In mine collapses and explosions this system gave identity of men still in
mine, either dead or alive.


CHILDREN, DOWN IN THE COAL MINES


“The first coal seems were found  on the seacoasts…thin bands  of coal…this led to problems.”
“Problems?”
“yes, the  deeper the coal was  mined  the smaller the tunnel?”
“So?”
“So , small people were best as miners…and agile people who could easily crawl on hands and  knees.”
“So?”
“So, who are the smallest people?”
“Children!”
“Right.  Children were very useful as miners.  They did  what they were told.  They were small.  They were cheap. And they were
expendable.  Who cared what happened deep in the dark of a coal mine?”
“Surely , you exaggerate, “
“Nope, check the records.”
“I do  not have time to do  that.”
“OK, here are some comments by child miners in the 1840’s…part of a British government  investigation after a  mine
accident that killed children deep in a coal mine.”


In the 1840’s the Welsh coal  mines were investigated by a British Commission and  child labour was reduced as a result.  Some  of the  reports sent the 
government authorities were very graphic.   “I got my head crushed…by a piece of  roof falling.” (William Skidmore, aged 9)…”I got my legs crushed some
tme snce, which threw  me off work some weeks.” (John Reece,  aged 14)…”Nearly a year ago there was  an accident and  most of us were burned. I was 
carried  home by a man.  it hurt very much  because the skin was  burnt of my face.  I couldn’t work for six months.” (Philip Phillips, aged 9)
Philip Davies had a horse for company. He was pale and undernourished in appearance. His clothing was worn and ragged. He could not read:-‘I have been driving horses since I was seven but for one year before that I looked after an air door. I would like to go to school but I am too tired as I work for twelve hours.’ Philip Davies, aged 10, Dinas Colliery, RhonddaDrammers pulled their carts by a chain attached at their waist. They worked in the low tunnels between the coal faces and the higher main roadways where horses might be used. The carts weighed about 1½cwt. of coal and had to be dragged a distance of about 50 yards in a height of about 3 feet.

“We are doorkeepers in the four-foot level. We leave the house before six each morning and are in the level until seven o’clock and sometimes later. We get 2p a day and our light costs us 2½p a week. Rachel was in a day school and she can read a little. She was run over by a dram a while ago and was home ill a long time, but she has got over it.”Elizabeth Williams, aged 10 and Mary and Rachel Enoch, 11 and 12 respectively, Dowlais Pits, Merthyr
HORSES
Some horses were abused, more   often though horses were loved and  well cared for…but all the horses used in coal  mines led a  trouble filled life.  Mine ceilings collapsed  on them, picks  and shovels cut them, some miners beat them, horses suffered from black lung like the miners, explosions  killed them…In 1876, the RSPCA (Royal Society for the prevention of cruelty to animals) urged protection be provided by law.  In that year alone  there were 71,396 horses working in British mines, 2,999 of them were killed, 10,878 were injured.  “
Pit Ponies, Pit Horses, pit pony history, miner Ceri Thompson, Canadian Coal Mining history, Sable Island, underground stables, Underground haulage, Coal Mining Canada
“That’  not a horse, Alan…you said horses worked deep  int he cola mines…that’s  a pony, small one at that
“Pit ponies, often Shetlands, and full draught horses  such as Clydesdales worked underground…all sizes.  Low ceilings favoured small ponies such  as that one above.  The  animal  does not look abused…looks loved  by those teen age boys. “
“Imagine the terror felt by that horse being lowered deep into the cola mine.  Folded into a ball and lowered as much as 1,000 feet in mines that had the besthard  anthracite coal.  Miners tried to rescue the horses in mine disasters  but often could not do much
(I wish this picture was  larger.  Here is a boy, perhaps nine  or ten years old, sitting in the darkness beside a ventilation door which he had to open and  close as cartloads  of coal  drawn  by horses came by   Lonely?  Scared?) “Not a tough job, right?”
“Not tough, I guess, but would  you want to sit all alone in the darkness for twelve hours opening and closing the curtain when a horse camp by with a cartload of coal.  Lonely, perhaps frightened, perhaps proud to be part of this strange world of adults.”  The passageways  were not lit.  Pit horses soon got to know their way through the mind  passage in the absolute darkness.  Horses even knew when an eight hour shift was over and then made their way to the underground stables for their supper.  
“Lots of girls were sent underground in the early years.   Working class kids.  Pulling cartloads of coal from the coal face where men hacked at the coal or set small explosive charges in hand drilled holes.  Some girls pulled big boxes of coal using carts that had no wheels.  The use of girls in the mines ended before the use of boys ended.  Law eventually prohibited children.  “
“Any mine owners  cheat and  use children despite the law.”“Sad to say…many kids  still worked underground.  Hard for mine owners to resist the attraction of cheap labour…payed  children  a couple of pence a day…two cents a day.  Of course a  cent had a lot higher value then.  But the pay was  never enough for a working man and his children to ever treat the poverty cycle.  As the song Sixteen Tons said they ‘owed their soul to the company store’.

(Source 25) 12 year-old John Davies at work in the Rhondda (1909)
12 year old John Davies comes  up from Rhonda mine carrying his miner’s lantern, lunch  bag and jug of water.



More than  a  century later, in 1960, I had an opportunity to visit the Welsh coal fields near Aberdare.  I had read ‘How  Green  Was  My Valley’* so had  some
idea of the  difficult life coal miners faced  n the past.  Only in 1960, however, did I become  aware that my great uncle Frank Freeman lived there in a 
place called  Ysgeborwen.    He  was a butcher and our meeting was brief, perhaps an hour, but the ambience of that coal valley cannot be forgotten.  Some of the
coal ‘pits’ were still operating and  I distinctly remember miners coming off shift singing.  Singing!  Really singing.    And  I also remember
being given a  brokeN clay pipe that had  been excavated when an old  1840  era coal seam was  being converted to an open pit mine. “The old carts
were still down there…scooped them up…that’s where this  pipe  stem came from.  Odd.  Pipes and  matches were dangerous things to
have in an underground coal  mine.”


*How  Green  Was  My  Valley” made  the Welsh coal fields famous.   Even became moron picture.  The  book was thought to 
be an accurate history of the  brutality of coal mining.  years later the book was determined to be fiction.  Based  on overheard
conversations of Welsh families living in  London.  

ALAN SKEOCH
OCT. 2018
 

 



WHAT IS  COAL…WHRE DOES COAL ORIGINATE?

“Did you ever wonder where coal came from?”
“Plants … millions of plants I think…sort of hard  to believe.”
“Really hard  to believe…
“But true…millions of  dead plants over millions  of years…plants, mostly giant ferns, from the Carboniferous 
Era when the earth was warmer and the atmosphere had lots of carbon dioxide….plants love CO2.  By chance
thick beds of dead plants got trapped under water that was eventually covered with thick bands of mud.   Piles  of mud
which became slate and other sedimentary stone…heavy…the heavier the overburden the more those bands of
plants  were pressed…pressure so great that the plants became beds of  coal.  Anthracite coal was the best 
kind of hard  coal…also buried  the deepest …anthracite coal mines are often more than 1,000 feet below the surface.


SONGS THEY SANG


Ahhh. I’m so tired. How long can this go on?
Said if you see me comin’ better step aside
A lot of men didn’t and a lot of men died
I got one fist of iron, and the other of steel
If the right one don’t a get ya then the left one will
I was born one morning when the sun didn’t shine
Picked up my shovel and walked to the line
I hauled 16 tons of number 9 coal
And the straw boss said “Well bless my soul.”
(Melody 2)
Sixteen tons what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt.
Saint Peter don’t you call me cuz I can’t go.
I owe my soul to the company store.


Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.
Nobody knows my sorrow.


Dark As A Dungeon, song lyrics

Song: Dark As A Dungeon
Lyrics: Merle Travis(1)

Music: Merle Travis
Year: 1946
Genre: 
Country: USA


Come all you young fellers, so young and so fine, 
And seek not your fortune in the dark, dreary mine. 
It will form as a habit and seep in your soul, 
‘Til the blood of your veins runs black as the coal.
This song was originally posted on protestsonglyrics.net 
(CHORUS:)
Where it’s dark as a dungeon and damp as the dew, 
Where the dangers are many and the pleasures are few, 
Where the rain never falls and the sun never shines, 
It’s dark as a dungeon way down in the mines.

It’s many a man I have seen in my day, 
Who lived just to labor his whole life away. 
Like a fiend with his dope or a drunkard his wine, 
A man must have lust for the lure of the mine.

(CHORUS)

I hope when I’m gone and the ages do roll, 
My body will blacken and form into coal. 
Then I’ll look down from the door of my Heavenly home, 
And pity the miner a diggin’ my bones.
This song was originally posted on protestsonglyrics.net 
(CHORUS)

The midnight, the morning, the breaking of the day, 
Are the same to the miner who labors away. 
Where the demons of death often come by surprise, 
One slip of the slate and you’re buried alive.