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my grandad with a kessy and thurnscoe pit in background!

Wednesday February 12 2014

From the photo gallery Barnsley - Blast From The Past

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Reply Posted by Phil Jagger on Sunday February 23 2014 at 19:01
Here's a story I wrote about Barnsley. It's called My Home Town.
you can publish it on your site if you wish.

My old town was a mucky place,
with tell tale signs on huers face,
ingrained scars of yesteryear,
turned coal dust blue his souvenir.

Young silver birch trees tried to hide,
the greyness of their new hillside,
vast monuments from down the hole,
unwanted gifts from old king coal.

My old town had it’s dirty streets,
where coal dust swirled and coal tar wreaks,
when market days on May Day Green,
left piles of waste for men to clean.

And when the market stalls were down,
the fair from Tubys’ came to town,
‘win a goldfish, hook a duck,’
where litter louts discard their muck.

My old house midst a terraced row,
neat crafted gardens made to grow,
by hardened fingers never clean,
black all week, come Sundays' green.

And when the clock rang out at four,
before he locked the old back door,
he riddled ashes, laid dried sticks,
made the kitchen warm by six.

Some tired bones in pinafore,
rose to scrub the lino floor,
kneeling with clean rags to wipe,
were black again with just one swipe.

Then just to add to all the muck,
our childhood fields ran out of luck,
where summer days drawn out to last,
soon ended with the opencast,

They skimmed our grass and piled it high,
new reminders in the sky,
that towns like mine need coal and coke,
to fill our lungs with acrid smoke.

But is it so much different now,
the silver birch with bigger bough,
defends it’s home, though not as stark,
upgraded to a country park.

The pits are gone, our air is cleaner,
no dust on grass, the meadows greener,
no market stalls in open air,
no more room for Tubys’ fair.

But in this home town where I live,
new dangers lurk, coal did not give,
pollutants caught in clouds above,
pour acid in the Dearne and Dove.

And like the hearth rug worn threadbare,
we have a tatty ozone layer,
born of gas called C.F.C.’s,
mines were not the cause of these.

Although my town was mucky then,
where terraced rows housed crooked men,
these modern times, though clean, deceive,
I love this town I cannot leave.

A (revive) Storytelling Co. Production.

Phil Jagger.
159, Armroyd Lane,
Barnsley. S74 9BZ
01226 744124.

Reply Posted by Marilyn Good on Monday February 24 2014 at 17:08
A beautiful story of years gone by in Barnsley bring back memories of my Father a miner.

Reply Posted by Kelly Scholey on Saturday November 15 2014 at 09:23
My wonderful grandad Alan Scholey miss him so much xxx