Dedicated to the men who lost their lives in the Thornhill Colliery Disaster, September 9th. 1947.
Profits from the sale of this poem will be given to the Mayor's Disaster Fund. Price 2d.
The Price of Coal.
Though black I am hidden away
From millions and millions of years,
I have my price, and some must pay
In blood and sweat and tears.
When the coal man has been his round,
And left your usual share,
maybe the miner underground
May have paid for the coal down there.
On a winter's night have every thought,
When the warmth of your fire feels good,
That your privilege may have been dearly bought,
And on your coal there may be blood.
And when the wind howls and it's cold outside,
And you've got settled down for the night,
Do you think of the miner who doth provide
For your comfort with fuel and light.
Maybe when you're snug and warm in bed,
And sleep had come to you all -
The miner, 'ere the night has fled,
May have paid the price of coal.
These are not words at random spoken,
As Thornhill men again have proved;
The link with life once more id broken,
Snatched by death from those who loved.
Despite the best laid plans of men,
The mine again has taken its toll,
And we are reminded once again
What is meant by the price of coal.
We read of disaster in some distant place,
And maybe we'll shed a silent tear:
But harder it seems when we do face
A disaster when it is here.
They left their homes on that fateful night,
Light of heart and spirit gay:
They little thought 'ere the morning's light,
That they in death would lay.
How loud and thunderous was the crash,
And fearful must have been the cry,
And what a terrible place was that,
Therein to be doomed to die.
Our thoughts go back to ninety three,
When our heads were then bent low:
For some who lost a loved one then,
Again have lost one now.
"O God of mercy! will it ever be
That safety for the miner we shall see?
Will he be wholly free from dread,
Whilst down the mine to earn his bread?"
Though black I am hidden away
From millions and millions of years,
I have my price, and some must pay
In blood and sweat and tears.
When the coal man has been his round,
And left your usual share,
maybe the miner underground
May have paid for the coal down there.
On a winter's night have every thought,
When the warmth of your fire feels good,
That your privilege may have been dearly bought,
And on your coal there may be blood.
And when the wind howls and it's cold outside,
And you've got settled down for the night,
Do you think of the miner who doth provide
For your comfort with fuel and light.
Maybe when you're snug and warm in bed,
And sleep had come to you all -
The miner, 'ere the night has fled,
May have paid the price of coal.
These are not words at random spoken,
As Thornhill men again have proved;
The link with life once more id broken,
Snatched by death from those who loved.
Despite the best laid plans of men,
The mine again has taken its toll,
And we are reminded once again
What is meant by the price of coal.
We read of disaster in some distant place,
And maybe we'll shed a silent tear:
But harder it seems when we do face
A disaster when it is here.
They left their homes on that fateful night,
Light of heart and spirit gay:
They little thought 'ere the morning's light,
That they in death would lay.
How loud and thunderous was the crash,
And fearful must have been the cry,
And what a terrible place was that,
Therein to be doomed to die.
Our thoughts go back to ninety three,
When our heads were then bent low:
For some who lost a loved one then,
Again have lost one now.
"O God of mercy! will it ever be
That safety for the miner we shall see?
Will he be wholly free from dread,
Whilst down the mine to earn his bread?"
