Introduction

Northumberland and Durham Coalfield. Area, 460 square miles; length from north to south, 50 miles; breadth, 23 miles at widest part; thickness of workable coal, 46 feet; number of seams, 16 to 20; probable available quantity of coal, 2,867,307,000 tons.

This old and important coalfield stretches over the greater portion of the counties of Northumberland and Durham. It extends from the River Coquet in the north to Staindrop (on the north of the Tees) in the south; and from Ponteland and Wolsingham in the west to the North Sea on the east.

James Tonge, The Principles and Practice of Coal Mining, 1906

Initial impressions on first day at work were a little frightening. Dirt, noise and strange smells assaulted the senses.

Once you were kitted out with your overalls, belt, boots and hard hat, you were introduced to your new marras. Everyone made you feel at home straight away, humour played a major part of this process. If you showed a weakness or had a physical feature out of the ordinary, this was seized upon and many lifelong nicknames were bestowed in this manner. You learned to give as well as you got.

This was no place for being ‘precious’ or being overly sensitive. The language was of the ‘industrial’ variety interspersed with a thousand dialect or slang terms – and this wasn’t confined to the labour force by any means, most colliery managers and their officials could express themselves most colourfully.

Working ‘at bank’ was no less arduous than conditions underground in that the dirt and noise was a constant factor. Seaham Colliery Washery would not have been out of place in Dante’s worst nightmares. You worked with the incessant racket of the belts moving the coal through the washing process. One of the main tasks was shifting the never-ending streams of slurry on the floors, with water dripping down your neck.

All these sensations continued unabated 24 hours a day and, during the peak times of coal production, all weekend too. However, overtime or a bit dot, was usually well subscribed, the money was pretty good compared to other local industries. A standing joke was aimed at colleagues who worked seven days a week as being in the SAS – Saturdays And Sundays! Sometimes arguments broke out if it was perceived that somebody may have been getting more than their fair share of overtime.

A few of the lads were what would be called ‘Special Needs’ these days, but there were no major problems because the stronger lads would look after these guys like big brothers. When the pit shut, I saw one or two of these fellas who had gone to pieces because they had lost that support from their marras.

A good barter system went on at most pits, based on mutual favours. If a brickie wanted some wiring done at home one of the leckys would come out and sort it in return for some pointing or similar. If someone couldn’t offer a trade off, then the job would be done for a minimum rate – usually covering the cost of materials.

Practical jokes weren’t uncommon at Seaham either, ranging from bricking up the inside of a locker to picking up a small car and turning it 180 degrees in the car park. A skeleton sat on the rafters in the fitting shops for a long time.

The locos used on bank to move the coal wagons down to the British Rail sidings, or the shale trucks to the harbour, were involved in many hair-raising incidents. Getting ‘amain’ was the term for a runaway train. This usually happened with a greasy rail and entailed the whole train careering down the incline until either the shunters on board managed to jump off and wedge some brakes on, or the driver regained control (usually with the help of copious amounts of sand). Now and again though the trucks ended the experience themselves by parting company with the tracks.

Mining was always a high-risk industry, it was a lucky man who never suffered some form of injury and many paid the ultimate price, though in the latter years of North East mining fatalities were mercifully fewer as safety became the priority. Unfortunately, there were a couple of fatalities at Seaham Colliery through the Eighties, one on bank the other underground.

One Onsetter knew the old workings by heart and used to go off exploring alone, a highly risky business – not to mention eerie! However, he could tell you stories that would keep you riveted for hours.

Ghosts? Yes, there were a few, inevitable for a pit the age of Seaham. The boy on the landing, the man with no features who rode the cage with lone miners, the sounds of the ‘dreg’ on the way and no trace on investigation, the apparition seen outside Christchurch gate from two different angles by separate people, the list goes on. Real phenomena, or the imaginings of tired and stressed workers? Including the two explosions, there must have been about 300 deaths during Seaham’s span so who knows.

The last years were painful to watch. First the Board spent a lot of money on the Colliery, re-painted the car park, installed security cameras and imported lots of new equipment, all tried and tested methods of ensuring the balance sheet showed red! Then the trickle of transfers to the Vane Tempest Colliery grew larger until only a maintenance staff were left as custodians. Then the fateful day when they blew up the winding gear and killed ‘The Nack’ for ever.

Steve Barnett

You went down?

I went down, yes, I went down the pit. I was down for about three hours.

Of course, knowing a lot of the men [from their] coming to the pay window, when I was going round the pit people I met said “Oh, nice to see you Miss Turner”, [and] dabbed my face. I was in such a state. I went down with Mr. Hardy, the Engineer, his daughter and her young man, and Mr. Jefferson, he was the foreman plumber. I had to go to Hardy’s house and have a bath before I could come home. I was in such a state.

Oh, when we got into the cage; talk about lifts. It’s a wonder my heart didn’t come out of me mouth. Mr. Hardy said “just step into this, step in here and just wait here for a little while”. And...