The Vanished Pit Village

Down by the canal and Ecclestone Street

Where the souls of the dead colliers meet

Between the Salem chapel and the Lord Nelson Inn

A man on a racing cycle waits

By the level crossing gates

Waits for a line of shunted coal waggons to pass

Among wreaths of steam and small of gas

Watched by a man, shaking a tin

To fetch his homing pigeons in

Fan tails and tipplers and youths playing cards

At the back of the old knackers yard

Down by the doors of the dole

Or some other God forsaken hole

Where old men cough in the betting shops

And huge fat women queue in the Co-op

And gangs of screaming kids

Banging on ash-bin lids

Run down the damp and sour streets

Between the lines of drying sheets

To get a place in the fish and chip shop queue

Before it’s time to go back to school

Six chips and a jar of peas

And put salt and vinegar on, will you please

Th aerial ropeways are delicate and clear

And so are the fan row the chain row and

The pit head gear.