COAL SLAVES

The miners went on strike to get more pay,

Pit life was dire in Queen Victoria's day,

Hour after weary hour with pick and spade,

Industrial slaves, no harder job was made.

It was work or starve, no social justice then,

The pit was the only hope for starving men,

Shut away from the sun, the flowers, the cooling breeze,

Dust filled their lungs, brought terrible disease.

They lived in hovels warmed by the coal they'd won,

A haven of rest when the hard night's shift was done,

Those were the times when Britain ruled the waves,

When British pitmen worked and lived as slaves.

Their sons in the First World War would serve their King,

But was is a messy game, a dreadful thing,

Their sons in the trenches existing in slime and mud,

For King and Country sent to shed their blood.

Rev John Stephenson, East Herrington.

PITTANCE

When you worked down the pit, in the old days:

Digging coal in the dirt and the dark

For ten hours, at an eighteen inch coal face

All your life; the ordeal left its mark.

Your lungs were in danger from doses

of ubiquitous coal-dust, which bred

Those infirmities ending in -osis

Which, eventually, killed you stone dead.

There was gas, which included suffocation;

With the risk of explosion, and fire

While, a sudden immense inundation

Could mean drowning, or choking in mire.

It was ever a menace for miners;

Coal came first, their well-being behind

But, those wiry old workers weren't whiners;

They set to and got on with the grind.

No, those pit men weren't in it for prizes

As they gambled their lives every day,

Since the mean-minded mine owning misers

Proffered only a pittance for day.

Ken Orton, Ferryhill Station

OVER

Somewhere I dream - lost to reality,

Perfection over the rainbow

Where thoughts are wishes,

Where I never cry

Hopes fly,

But like that perfect moment

It cannot be held.

Alison Carr, Bishop Auckland.

BEACHCOMBER

I rose up in the morning and looked out across the sea,

And I wandered on my way along the beach;

I was feeling so excited as the sand ran round my feet,

The breezes blew a magical embrace

And the sun, with all it's brightness, was so warm upon my face,

And the sparkling sea just whispered peace to me,

For I'm just a comber of the beach am I,

A beachcomber.

I find so many things as I walk along my way,

I'm so happy that I chose this way of life.

I really think I could tread the ocean shore all day,

And go home and dream about it every night.

For I'm a beachcomber, I'm as happy as can be,

Yes I'll walk the beaches right from dawn till dusk,

I'm a beachcomber, and I like it, 'cos I'm free.

With only the seagulls and the voice of the waves

I find that they are all good company.

I'm never really lonely for I always have a friend,

And I'll walk and walk for miles just to reach my journey's end,

For I'm a beachcomber and I'm happy as can be;

I'm a beachcomber, and I am living free.

Yes, I'm a beachcomber - a beachcomber, that's me!

Michael J Stewart, Romanby

OUR READING GROUP

Our reading group consists of ten,

We are all women, don't allow men,

We meet each month on a Thursday night,

And discuss a book with great delight.

Sometimes the book is a great success,

But other times, well the least said the best.

We are a mixed group with different ideas,

Of what makes a good read, and what bores us to tears.

In November it's time to choose the books for the year,

December - celebration, prize-giving and cheer.

January it starts all over again,

Will this book bring pleasure, or be doomed to bring pain?

Whatever the outcome, I know what a delight,

It is for me to be there on our reading group night.

All too soon, it is time to go hone,

And reflect on the evening whilst sitting along,

Prepare for the next month with eager delight,

When Ann reads the minutes that start off the night.

Caroline Pick, Barnard Castle.

THE GLADIATORS

The truth shall set you free,

If only you will find,

Search for it, and open up your mind.

Being still and silent,

Will never get you anywhere,

But open up your mind and heart

And learn to show you care.

Learn to give and one day you will find,

All your cares and worries you will leave behind.

V Wilson, Heighington.