(This might come across as a bit dewy-eyed.  In fact, although I made a good living out of it for more than 20 years, for the sake of the planet and my grandchildren, I don't mourn the loss of the coal industry)

 

Around the town of Barnsley there were 30,000 men

In hey-days of their glory; that was when

They worked the local mines for coal,

Descending down a half mile hole

To scrabble like a human mole;

Life was so simple then.

 

At Grimethorpe and at Houghton Main, South Kirkby, Bullcliffe Wood

The graft was hard, conditions never good

Where no-one ever made their wealth

But dust and danger stole your health;

At best Death called for someone else

To claim their breath and blood.

 

I’ve heard it said the mining industry’s been decimated

But this descriptions truly under-stated

To “decimate” meant 1 in 10

Were killed by Roman generals when

Their legions had not fought like men;

For 9, though, Hope awaited,

 

But mining’s loss is 10 in 10, the “legion” all wiped out

And after’84 defeat a rout;

The mines would close not one by one

But by the dozens, on and on

Till Kellingley, the last, was gone;

The nation now without.

 

Around the town of Barnsley there’s no rippers any more

Nor chockmen, or coal prep lads like before;

They say that nothing ever lasts

That only old men live the past

And like pit ponies put to grass

They dream when once they’d roar.