Alarm clocks bring Seaside Lane back to life,

Tired eyes blink away the nightly sleep,
Aching shoulders, weary legs, enervate arms
Slowly gather themselves, becoming man.

At the pit-head, lamps are gathered, matches stored.
To the cage, crowding in, bodies touching
Bodies, prepared for the gut-wrenching drop.
Another shift starting at Easington.

Riding a tub to the Five Quarter seam.
Blacker than the darkest realms of Pluto.
Trundling along he reaches his Hades,
Springs to the ground and prepares for labour.

The black seam shines, glistening and dripping.
Pneumatic drill digs and fights in his hands.
Hot, dry, dusty, foetid, dank, dark tunnels,
Stretching forever under the North Sea

He listens to tide shifted boulders move;
Rolling about in their beds, his ceiling.
Time for his bait - bread and cheese - with cold tea
Swilling the dust from his dry thirsty throat.

End of shift comes - the cage is ascending

Back to the land of green trees and grey skies

Pit-head baths echo with laughter and shouts,
Happy men now; their shift is completed.

His body shows signs of his years down the pit;
Scars that have healed, and scars that are fresh.
Each the colour of a dark blue ocean.
Each scar he wears as a blue badge of courage.

Early next day the earth gave a rumble,
A violent explosion shook the coal face.
Eighty-three killed or trapped at their work,
Five Quarter seam became tomb to them all.

Our miner was spared in May, fifty-one.
Alive, he sits with his oxygen mask.
Clutching his face with his unfeeling hands.
White Finger, Black Lung, but still – he was saved!