Poverty

Coal mines

The land of hardship and forgotten times

Hardship, poverty, dark, dirty coal mines

it’s a no man’s land, the death rate high

Not knowing whether you will return

When you bid your loved one's goodbye

Working deep down the crust of the Earth

Your doing a job but have no real worth

It's dark down there, the dust fills your chest

Conditions so poor but you do your best

You come home tired skin Dirty and black

No time down there to rest no time to slack

Disaster strike at every possible chance

It's just hard work with no job romance

Life so hard It is worthless and so dull

Never any money, pockets never full

So many perished underground over time. Sometimes when tragedy struck, four five or more would be lost from the same family. My uncle Jack, my dad's brother, died in the pits. He was so young, 18 years old I was told. The pain my grandmother went through. I know she kept his handkerchief dark sage green, my dad said, with a few pennies inside. The handkerchief was tired of all four corners together. Grandmother Hurst, had a few of her children cross over too soon, at very young ages. All her sons worked the coal yet strangely, not her daughters. My grandfather did not work in the coal mines either. Grandfather James Hurst was a bookies runner. Maybe that's why I love horses. Although I never met any of them, they all died except my Dad before I was born.