A rainy miners picnic

Saturday 11.06.11

Another grey sky full of leaden clouds hung over South-East Northumberland and this was the day of the miners picnic at Woodhorn. It is one of those occassions that is indelibly imprinted in my mind for ever, I remember when the Backworth Colliery’s (there where 2 the Maud and the Eccles pits) Band marched home from the railway station, banners flying

No one marches behind these4 silent banners anymore

and the band playing wonderful march music as they took the first place cup to the Labour Hall. Us kids fell in behind and marched with our dads (many the worse for wear). It was a great occasion and I do believe the local MP(labour of course) made a speech and everyone was cock-a-hoop. The kids where then sent home and the grown ups went to the local workingmen’s clubs to have an evening of more getting the worse for ware.



They had even dug Wor Jackie out for the day (Jackie Milburn being "The Toons" most famous son and had started life as a miner in Ashington Colliery)



In later years I did attend a couple of the picnics, these took place at Bedlington and I must say I did have a good day out. Alas today’s affair is a poor reflection of those heady days when the mines where in full production, though I do believe that the organisers should be given a medal for the effort. There were a few stalls and some tented areas (they needed it). I had decided to have a look around and then go to the research centre to a bit more family delving. I took Linda so that she could be my goffer, as it is always tedious getting to a record and then it sends you into another direction that needs some more information. But I think she got bored looking for Smiths and said she was going to watch the sword and clog dancers. At about 14:00 I packed up my things and went down to have a spot of lunch with Linda. They have a very nice but very badly organised, no I should say disorganised cafeteria. It is funny how well meaning volunteers can cause bedlam when not supervised, I have never seen such a chaotic set up in my life as this. Each of the behind counter staff (in the main teenagers) took an order and then went away to heat or prepare it, then came back to take the money at the till. The cue of disgruntled customers just got longer and longer.

A couple of sandwiches later we went out and had a final look around, I had a chat with one chap from the wildlife tent, he had noticed I was interested in certain areas and asked if I was interested in wild life, I said “oh! yes very” he then enquired what in particular I said “shooting them”. I think I heard him splutter a little.

I then explained to him that without us the hunters, there would be very little or no wild mammals and birds in the country side, as it is we that make sure that there is a healthy breeding population for next years game. Now let me say here and now, I only shoot for the pot, either mine or for friends, I believe it wrong to harry and chase animals, either on horse back or on foot with or without the aid of other animals (ferreting being the only exception). I pride myself with being a good shot and will never take a shot that will be unlikely to have a clean kill. I am able to say 100% how it was killed and butchered and where my meat came from. I don’t think many that shop for their meat in a supermarket can make that claim. The wild animal has lived a good life and eaten when and what it wishes. It is shot with a high powered rifle and death is instantaneous. The pleasure is the clean shot, not the killing.
If I want sport or to keep my eye in during the closed season then I go to the clay pigeon club and shoot at clay discs.
It is the same with fishing I refuse to take part in course angling as I want to eat (and do) my catch.
So Nuff said.

Linda had been out to take  a few photos of the clog dancers

I suppose I left that museum with a bit of a heavy heart, with  memories of a by gone industry, it, like all of the heavy industries is gone from the NE, never to return, on reflection it may have been a blessing in disguise, No more reliance on coal and all its dangers. But some how sad never the less.






No more coal for this tub







This forced draught fan has sent its last breath of air down then shaft to the toiling miners.



But the stinking pit pond no longer full of slurry pumped from "doon by" but a new life for nature, a rebirth!









As I left this palce of memories I cast a glance upwards at the statue of a pitman, proud, erect in memory of all those that gave their lives so that the likes of Maggie Thatcher could become Politicians and kick them in the balls.



But we shall not forget them