Meeting one day with a
friend of ours who boast’s a most extensive knowledge of the coal district of
Northumberland, we entered into conversation with him. In the course of our conversation, he invited us to join him in paying a visit to an old friend of his, who resides in one of the villages not very far from Newcastle. Thinking to pass an agreeable afternoon in this way, and intending also to lay under contribution our friend’s knowledge of Northumbrian pit lore, for the furnishing forth of material for this article, we accepted his invitation. The appointed day arrived, but unfortunately brought with it a few smart showers of rain. Nothing daunted; however, we booked ourselves for Seghill, which was the appointed rendezvous.
_He came not, however. But the pony cart of our host was in attendance at the Station for us, so mounting it contentedly, and knowing we could trust implicitly to the well- known hospitality of the pit district, we were driven off towards Dudley, past the old fads and squares of Seghill, looking much as they did when we saw them six months ago. Indeed, the old thatched house of which we then spoke still stared at us blankly with the big round hole in the thatch, of which the housewife then so roundly complained.
Many a colliery village has been, within the last few months, going through the throes and agonies of alteration and improvement, but Seghill continues in its chronic condition of unhealthy dilapidation. So much we noticed as we passed, but we have since been informed that improvements are actually contemplated, so that there is a faint glimmering of hope for the old place yet. A co-operative store is In course of erection, and it is really quite a treat to see the colour of new bricks in the village.
Fortunately, for the pleasure of the drive from Seghill to Dudley, .the last shower had fallen before we had left the shelter of the railway carriage, and all nature seemed fresh and cheerful as the now victorious sun dried up with his rays the rain tears which had fallen upon flower and bush. The scenery of the roads between Seghill and Dudley is not superlatively lovely, yet it has its points of wild moorland beauty, which ever and anon strike the eye of the traveller and fill his mind with a sense of quiet pleasure, even after the disappointment of a broken tryst. The picturesque little village of Annitsford, from its appearance at a distance, took our fancy very much, but a closer view of the place later in the afternoon convinced us of the truth conveyed in the copy book head line, “Appearances are deceitful,” and showed us that distance is indeed a great enchanter.
Now that summer has come with its leaves and flowers, colliery villages look much more inviting than they did a few months ago, when black and muddy with the rains and snows of winter. Dudley we suppose, is no exception to the rule, though it does lose somewhat by the sudden transition from green lanes, with occasional glimpses of snug farm homesteads, their heavy horses taking their Sunday rest, their ducks dabbling leisurely in their muddy ponds, and old mother goose strutting proudly about with her attendant goslings, unsuspicious of Michaelmas, and knowing nothing of sage and onions, to the somewhat grimy greyness of a pit village, the majority of whose houses are of stone.
As a colliery Dudley has been in existence some eighteen or twenty years, derived its name from one of the principal owners, for a considerable part of the time has been noted for the good quality of its coal, and for the very infrequent occurrence of serious accidents in its workings. Geographically it is situated about eight miles to the north of Newcastle, and stands in the centre of a fine open country district, commanding a magnificent view of the greater portion of the great Northumberland coal field.
Looking to the westward, the eye rests upon Seaton Burn, and the model colliery of Dinnington; to the north, the view is stopped by the Cramlington, and its grand old country church; to the eastward is Earsdon Church, with its old and well-filled graveyard, studded with gravestones, conspicuous among which, even so far away as Dudley, is the monument erected to the memory of the two hundred and four men and boys who perished in the ever to be remembered Hartley calamity.
To the southward, however, the view is more extensive, and the eye may travel unchecked over a vast expanse of country, until the hills of Durham interpose, Gateshead Fell standing boldly out, its pointed church spire clearly and sharply defined against the background of blue sky beyond. Dudley, as we have said, is celebrated for the quality of its coal; indeed Dudley men insist that the very best steam coal in the trade is hewed there, and the close proximity of the pit to the North Eastern Railway, which passes within a stone throw of the shaft, renders transport easy by rail to any part of the country. Though the greater part of the coal is whirled away down the company's own waggon way past Seghill to the Howdon Docks, there to be shipped off to any part of the world.
Still it must be confessed Dudley is but a small colliery to be thus distinguished. It tasks the energy of 170 stalwarts to produce an average of 450 tons per day, but then hitherto it has only worked the yard seam, whereas in future it is intended, if indeed operations have not already commenced, to work the thicker seam below, and a drift has been put down from the upper seam for that purpose. Turning from the industrial to the social life of the village, we find a population of a little over one thousand men, women, and children, who live in houses which, a few years ago, would have been considered very fair specimens of colliery cottages, but have now been distanced by the improved dwellings of many modern pit villages.
The houses are principally built of stone, and though many of the “raws” belong to the colliery owners, many are the property of private individuals who have leased them to the owners. These houses are mostly too small for the requirements of men who have large or even moderate families, for the day has now gone by when two small rooms kitchen and attic - can be considered sufficient to enable the heads of mixed families to bring up their sons and daughters as they should wish to do. In the course or our rambles among the colliery villages, we have often been struck with the fact that there is invariably one row of cottages much larger and more commodious than any of the others, and it is always named Sinkers’ Row, but why colliery owners should think it necessary to put up the Sinkers’ Row in so much better fashion that the other rows we are at a loss to imagine. This remark is not intended to convey the idea that the sinkers' houses are too large, but rather that the other houses are too small, and that it would be much better if every row in a colliery village were a sinkers’ row, so that miners who are not sinkers,' but who can equally appreciate good quarters, might live in three or four roomed houses, instead of being “cribbed, cabined, and confined” in much smaller domiciles.
The worst feature in the social life of Dudley is the entire absence of those outdoor conveniences which sanitary reformers tell us are among absolute necessities of modern life. Ash-pits are also unknown, and, as a consequence, we have the disagreeable, dusty heap piled up within a few yards of the houses; in dry, windy weather scattering their clouds of dirty dust in all directions into the open doors of houses, spoiling the polish on the good wife’s mahogany drawers, or dulling the gloss of her magnificent eight-day clock, into the eyes and mouths of the children who play about the village, or coming like gigantic pinches of pungent snuff up the nostrils of the unwary stranger.
The household wants of Dudley are provided for by a branch of the omnipresent Cramlington Co-operative Society, and by the lesser establishments of two private tradesmen, who, despite the presence of their formidable co-operative rival, manage to do a very fair stroke of business. One of these tradesmen, we may mention in passing, is a man of note among the miners, having been a miner himself for a great number of years. He was employed at Burradon when the disastrous explosion took place there by which so many lives were lost, and the shock of the explosion shook into him the conviction that the life of a miner was too dangerous for a man who wished to bring up his family and stand a decent chance of dying in his bed.
On the first opportunity, therefore, he left the pits, and by dint of hard struggling has made himself a business in Dudley, where he may be found dealing in all sorts of wares. Intelligent, honest, brimful of humour and quotation, an honour to the class from which he sprang, and in whose behalf he still sometimes takes up his pen when calumny or misrepresentation shall have done them wrong. Such is Thomas Gascoign, the shopkeeper of Dudley, and hundreds of old pitmen will rejoice to hear that he is alive and doing well.
The Primitives have a chapel in Dudley, and so have the Wesleyans, and it is greatly to the credit of both denominations that they are very active in the place. They do much good, and their Sunday schools are well attended, Dudley boasts of an excellent colliery school, under the equally excellent management of Mr. George Duncan, who not only “teaches the young idea how to shoot,” but also discharges the duties of village postmaster, issuing post-office orders, selling stamps, and receiving deposits for the savings bank.
Many of the men of Dudley are great pigeon fanciers. They hold poultry show every year, which is gradually increasing in importance, and the spirit of emulation thereby engendered is raising up quite a high standard of excellence in poultry in and about Dudley. Cochin Chinas are to be seen among the rows, holding themselves aloof from the meaner fowls; prize bantams strut proudly about conscious of greatness. Dorkings of distinguished merit are abroad in the village; and there is danger to the weak legged of being knocked down and cruelly trodden under foot by gigantic Brahma Pootras, who belie the greatness of their pretensions by the size of the eggs they lay. This is an excellent hobby, and the miners of Dudley seem to have taken to ride it with all their might just, in fact, as the Northumbrian pitman does ride a hobby, driving furiously until he overtakes the object of his pursuit or falls off on the way.
Not only is Dudley famous for its coal, its poultry, and its kitchen gardens, but it also claims to be great in the world of sport, sending out noted pedestrians to do battle for the honour of the village at Fenham Park, of Gateshead Borough Gardens, and defying all competitors to a match across the mile at Newcastle, or Newbiggin, with heavyweight bowls. For Gledson the champion bowler, resides at Dudley, and on the day of my visit he was to be seen moving about the village towering head and shoulders above a small knot of admirers, who followed him about, revolving round him like lesser stars round a planet. Next to Gledson in bowling circles is Arthur Tempest, also a Dudley man, so that Dudley is really the champion bowling village of the North.
The thirst of Dudley is quenched by a very good water supply, and those who require something stronger are provided for at the Clayton Arms or the Dudley Hotel, where good liquor is retailed to all who need it and are in a position to pay for it. Before leaving Dudley, we must not forget to mention Jimmy Pringle, the character of the village, without whom no account of Dudley would be complete. For Jimmy is the village barber, has but one leg, is full of quips and oddities, is fond of his beer, and having no shop of his own, circulates round the village with his lather box and razors, shaving his customers in such a jocose fashion, that his work is much complicated by the irrepressible laughter of his victims.
From Dudley to Annitsford through the fields is a very pleasant walk, and is a path much affected by the lovers of both places, who can saunter along under trees and hedgerows, uttering their passionate pledges of never ceasing devotion to the rippling accompaniment of old Seaton Burn, who at this part of his course rattles merrily amid small coals and pebbles on his way to the sea.
When I say that Annitsford cannot be entered from the south without crossing the burn, the etymology of the place is quite evident, though I was unable to learn anything about the man who gave his name to the ford. Anit has gone, a substantial stone bridge now spans the stream, and the ford has gone, but the brook still murmurs the refrain “Men may come and men may go, but I flow on for ever.”
The greater part of Annitsford is owned by a person, who, from the condition of most of the houses, seems much more solicitous about the receipt of his rents than the comfort and convenience of his tenants, who are housed in miserable little cribs, with well-worn brick floors, pigeon cotes of attics, and little peep-hole windows.
A few of the houses are of a somewhat better class than these diminutive cottages, and after the Catholic Chapel and Schools (which are elegantly and substantially built) Clarke Villa is the most conspicuous building in the place. Very Irish in appearance is Annitsford. A few gaunt porkers and discontented looking cocks and hens roam at large near the place, so that it is not difficult by a slight stretch of imagination to idealise the place into Goldsmith's
“Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the laws,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn,
One only master grasps the whole domain,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain.”
As a general rule, the coal owners are the owners of the cottages in which their workmen dwell, and, as a matter of course, they are blamed for the bad condition of many of the villages in the pit district. But our experience tends to show that where property of this sort is owned by landlords who have built for speculation as at Annitsford, Choppington, and elsewhere – it is allowed to deteriorate and sink into a far worse condition than any belonging the adjoining collieries.
In conclusion, we have a few words to say about the prevailing vice of Dudley, pitch and toss. The vice is not peculiar to Dudley, but it seems to have a very firm hold in the village, and all attempts to dislodge it seem vain. Now, most men have some respect for Sunday as a day of rest; but here, at Dudley and again Dudley is not singular - Sunday is not at all held sacred by the pitchers and tossers who, on that day, hold high carnival, and coins may be seen spinning aloft among the hedge rows to the accompaniment of “Heads a croon,” or “Tails a shilling.”
Gambling in itself is bad, and the gambling of the pitman is no worse than the gambling of others who indulge in its excitement; but to bet on the spinning of two pennies seems so ridiculously absurd that, making all due allowances for the passion of Englishmen to back their opinion, we cannot help wondering at the folly of men who are content to form an opinion and hazard money on the whirl of a coin.
It is a game at which the man with the least brains has the best chance to win, where no skill or muscular exertion is required, and where no faculty of passion is called into action save the craving, sordid desire to possess the money of another. If the Northumberland pitman who gambles in this fashion has money to spare and superfluous energy to work off, let him in God’s name, throw away this senseless amusement, and turn his energy into other channels. Let him play at ball, at quoits, or cricket; let him row, or dance, or swim, and even back his opinion in these matters in his hours of leisure; but as a first step to nobler sports and pastimes, let him abjure the stupid game of pitch and toss.
What is wanted to check the vice is the formation and expression of a sound public opinion among the miners against this folly, which is only patronised by a small minority. Let the majority, who detest it, set their faces hard against both the game and its players, and they will do more to abolish it entirely than whole statute books of repressive legislation.
19th July 1873
_
_He came not, however. But the pony cart of our host was in attendance at the Station for us, so mounting it contentedly, and knowing we could trust implicitly to the well- known hospitality of the pit district, we were driven off towards Dudley, past the old fads and squares of Seghill, looking much as they did when we saw them six months ago. Indeed, the old thatched house of which we then spoke still stared at us blankly with the big round hole in the thatch, of which the housewife then so roundly complained.
Many a colliery village has been, within the last few months, going through the throes and agonies of alteration and improvement, but Seghill continues in its chronic condition of unhealthy dilapidation. So much we noticed as we passed, but we have since been informed that improvements are actually contemplated, so that there is a faint glimmering of hope for the old place yet. A co-operative store is In course of erection, and it is really quite a treat to see the colour of new bricks in the village.
Fortunately, for the pleasure of the drive from Seghill to Dudley, .the last shower had fallen before we had left the shelter of the railway carriage, and all nature seemed fresh and cheerful as the now victorious sun dried up with his rays the rain tears which had fallen upon flower and bush. The scenery of the roads between Seghill and Dudley is not superlatively lovely, yet it has its points of wild moorland beauty, which ever and anon strike the eye of the traveller and fill his mind with a sense of quiet pleasure, even after the disappointment of a broken tryst. The picturesque little village of Annitsford, from its appearance at a distance, took our fancy very much, but a closer view of the place later in the afternoon convinced us of the truth conveyed in the copy book head line, “Appearances are deceitful,” and showed us that distance is indeed a great enchanter.
Now that summer has come with its leaves and flowers, colliery villages look much more inviting than they did a few months ago, when black and muddy with the rains and snows of winter. Dudley we suppose, is no exception to the rule, though it does lose somewhat by the sudden transition from green lanes, with occasional glimpses of snug farm homesteads, their heavy horses taking their Sunday rest, their ducks dabbling leisurely in their muddy ponds, and old mother goose strutting proudly about with her attendant goslings, unsuspicious of Michaelmas, and knowing nothing of sage and onions, to the somewhat grimy greyness of a pit village, the majority of whose houses are of stone.
As a colliery Dudley has been in existence some eighteen or twenty years, derived its name from one of the principal owners, for a considerable part of the time has been noted for the good quality of its coal, and for the very infrequent occurrence of serious accidents in its workings. Geographically it is situated about eight miles to the north of Newcastle, and stands in the centre of a fine open country district, commanding a magnificent view of the greater portion of the great Northumberland coal field.
Looking to the westward, the eye rests upon Seaton Burn, and the model colliery of Dinnington; to the north, the view is stopped by the Cramlington, and its grand old country church; to the eastward is Earsdon Church, with its old and well-filled graveyard, studded with gravestones, conspicuous among which, even so far away as Dudley, is the monument erected to the memory of the two hundred and four men and boys who perished in the ever to be remembered Hartley calamity.
To the southward, however, the view is more extensive, and the eye may travel unchecked over a vast expanse of country, until the hills of Durham interpose, Gateshead Fell standing boldly out, its pointed church spire clearly and sharply defined against the background of blue sky beyond. Dudley, as we have said, is celebrated for the quality of its coal; indeed Dudley men insist that the very best steam coal in the trade is hewed there, and the close proximity of the pit to the North Eastern Railway, which passes within a stone throw of the shaft, renders transport easy by rail to any part of the country. Though the greater part of the coal is whirled away down the company's own waggon way past Seghill to the Howdon Docks, there to be shipped off to any part of the world.
Still it must be confessed Dudley is but a small colliery to be thus distinguished. It tasks the energy of 170 stalwarts to produce an average of 450 tons per day, but then hitherto it has only worked the yard seam, whereas in future it is intended, if indeed operations have not already commenced, to work the thicker seam below, and a drift has been put down from the upper seam for that purpose. Turning from the industrial to the social life of the village, we find a population of a little over one thousand men, women, and children, who live in houses which, a few years ago, would have been considered very fair specimens of colliery cottages, but have now been distanced by the improved dwellings of many modern pit villages.
The houses are principally built of stone, and though many of the “raws” belong to the colliery owners, many are the property of private individuals who have leased them to the owners. These houses are mostly too small for the requirements of men who have large or even moderate families, for the day has now gone by when two small rooms kitchen and attic - can be considered sufficient to enable the heads of mixed families to bring up their sons and daughters as they should wish to do. In the course or our rambles among the colliery villages, we have often been struck with the fact that there is invariably one row of cottages much larger and more commodious than any of the others, and it is always named Sinkers’ Row, but why colliery owners should think it necessary to put up the Sinkers’ Row in so much better fashion that the other rows we are at a loss to imagine. This remark is not intended to convey the idea that the sinkers' houses are too large, but rather that the other houses are too small, and that it would be much better if every row in a colliery village were a sinkers’ row, so that miners who are not sinkers,' but who can equally appreciate good quarters, might live in three or four roomed houses, instead of being “cribbed, cabined, and confined” in much smaller domiciles.
The worst feature in the social life of Dudley is the entire absence of those outdoor conveniences which sanitary reformers tell us are among absolute necessities of modern life. Ash-pits are also unknown, and, as a consequence, we have the disagreeable, dusty heap piled up within a few yards of the houses; in dry, windy weather scattering their clouds of dirty dust in all directions into the open doors of houses, spoiling the polish on the good wife’s mahogany drawers, or dulling the gloss of her magnificent eight-day clock, into the eyes and mouths of the children who play about the village, or coming like gigantic pinches of pungent snuff up the nostrils of the unwary stranger.
The household wants of Dudley are provided for by a branch of the omnipresent Cramlington Co-operative Society, and by the lesser establishments of two private tradesmen, who, despite the presence of their formidable co-operative rival, manage to do a very fair stroke of business. One of these tradesmen, we may mention in passing, is a man of note among the miners, having been a miner himself for a great number of years. He was employed at Burradon when the disastrous explosion took place there by which so many lives were lost, and the shock of the explosion shook into him the conviction that the life of a miner was too dangerous for a man who wished to bring up his family and stand a decent chance of dying in his bed.
On the first opportunity, therefore, he left the pits, and by dint of hard struggling has made himself a business in Dudley, where he may be found dealing in all sorts of wares. Intelligent, honest, brimful of humour and quotation, an honour to the class from which he sprang, and in whose behalf he still sometimes takes up his pen when calumny or misrepresentation shall have done them wrong. Such is Thomas Gascoign, the shopkeeper of Dudley, and hundreds of old pitmen will rejoice to hear that he is alive and doing well.
The Primitives have a chapel in Dudley, and so have the Wesleyans, and it is greatly to the credit of both denominations that they are very active in the place. They do much good, and their Sunday schools are well attended, Dudley boasts of an excellent colliery school, under the equally excellent management of Mr. George Duncan, who not only “teaches the young idea how to shoot,” but also discharges the duties of village postmaster, issuing post-office orders, selling stamps, and receiving deposits for the savings bank.
Many of the men of Dudley are great pigeon fanciers. They hold poultry show every year, which is gradually increasing in importance, and the spirit of emulation thereby engendered is raising up quite a high standard of excellence in poultry in and about Dudley. Cochin Chinas are to be seen among the rows, holding themselves aloof from the meaner fowls; prize bantams strut proudly about conscious of greatness. Dorkings of distinguished merit are abroad in the village; and there is danger to the weak legged of being knocked down and cruelly trodden under foot by gigantic Brahma Pootras, who belie the greatness of their pretensions by the size of the eggs they lay. This is an excellent hobby, and the miners of Dudley seem to have taken to ride it with all their might just, in fact, as the Northumbrian pitman does ride a hobby, driving furiously until he overtakes the object of his pursuit or falls off on the way.
Not only is Dudley famous for its coal, its poultry, and its kitchen gardens, but it also claims to be great in the world of sport, sending out noted pedestrians to do battle for the honour of the village at Fenham Park, of Gateshead Borough Gardens, and defying all competitors to a match across the mile at Newcastle, or Newbiggin, with heavyweight bowls. For Gledson the champion bowler, resides at Dudley, and on the day of my visit he was to be seen moving about the village towering head and shoulders above a small knot of admirers, who followed him about, revolving round him like lesser stars round a planet. Next to Gledson in bowling circles is Arthur Tempest, also a Dudley man, so that Dudley is really the champion bowling village of the North.
The thirst of Dudley is quenched by a very good water supply, and those who require something stronger are provided for at the Clayton Arms or the Dudley Hotel, where good liquor is retailed to all who need it and are in a position to pay for it. Before leaving Dudley, we must not forget to mention Jimmy Pringle, the character of the village, without whom no account of Dudley would be complete. For Jimmy is the village barber, has but one leg, is full of quips and oddities, is fond of his beer, and having no shop of his own, circulates round the village with his lather box and razors, shaving his customers in such a jocose fashion, that his work is much complicated by the irrepressible laughter of his victims.
From Dudley to Annitsford through the fields is a very pleasant walk, and is a path much affected by the lovers of both places, who can saunter along under trees and hedgerows, uttering their passionate pledges of never ceasing devotion to the rippling accompaniment of old Seaton Burn, who at this part of his course rattles merrily amid small coals and pebbles on his way to the sea.
When I say that Annitsford cannot be entered from the south without crossing the burn, the etymology of the place is quite evident, though I was unable to learn anything about the man who gave his name to the ford. Anit has gone, a substantial stone bridge now spans the stream, and the ford has gone, but the brook still murmurs the refrain “Men may come and men may go, but I flow on for ever.”
The greater part of Annitsford is owned by a person, who, from the condition of most of the houses, seems much more solicitous about the receipt of his rents than the comfort and convenience of his tenants, who are housed in miserable little cribs, with well-worn brick floors, pigeon cotes of attics, and little peep-hole windows.
A few of the houses are of a somewhat better class than these diminutive cottages, and after the Catholic Chapel and Schools (which are elegantly and substantially built) Clarke Villa is the most conspicuous building in the place. Very Irish in appearance is Annitsford. A few gaunt porkers and discontented looking cocks and hens roam at large near the place, so that it is not difficult by a slight stretch of imagination to idealise the place into Goldsmith's
“Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the laws,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn,
One only master grasps the whole domain,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain.”
As a general rule, the coal owners are the owners of the cottages in which their workmen dwell, and, as a matter of course, they are blamed for the bad condition of many of the villages in the pit district. But our experience tends to show that where property of this sort is owned by landlords who have built for speculation as at Annitsford, Choppington, and elsewhere – it is allowed to deteriorate and sink into a far worse condition than any belonging the adjoining collieries.
In conclusion, we have a few words to say about the prevailing vice of Dudley, pitch and toss. The vice is not peculiar to Dudley, but it seems to have a very firm hold in the village, and all attempts to dislodge it seem vain. Now, most men have some respect for Sunday as a day of rest; but here, at Dudley and again Dudley is not singular - Sunday is not at all held sacred by the pitchers and tossers who, on that day, hold high carnival, and coins may be seen spinning aloft among the hedge rows to the accompaniment of “Heads a croon,” or “Tails a shilling.”
Gambling in itself is bad, and the gambling of the pitman is no worse than the gambling of others who indulge in its excitement; but to bet on the spinning of two pennies seems so ridiculously absurd that, making all due allowances for the passion of Englishmen to back their opinion, we cannot help wondering at the folly of men who are content to form an opinion and hazard money on the whirl of a coin.
It is a game at which the man with the least brains has the best chance to win, where no skill or muscular exertion is required, and where no faculty of passion is called into action save the craving, sordid desire to possess the money of another. If the Northumberland pitman who gambles in this fashion has money to spare and superfluous energy to work off, let him in God’s name, throw away this senseless amusement, and turn his energy into other channels. Let him play at ball, at quoits, or cricket; let him row, or dance, or swim, and even back his opinion in these matters in his hours of leisure; but as a first step to nobler sports and pastimes, let him abjure the stupid game of pitch and toss.
What is wanted to check the vice is the formation and expression of a sound public opinion among the miners against this folly, which is only patronised by a small minority. Let the majority, who detest it, set their faces hard against both the game and its players, and they will do more to abolish it entirely than whole statute books of repressive legislation.
19th July 1873
_
