Woodhorn Colliery.

© Copyright Rachel Melissa Robson



Aad Joe lifts eez Geordie lamp
up 'gainst tha encroaching gloom,
hankering doon he enters
tha tiny, shallaw tomb;
wor Bill his marra
whinnies an' nips at 'is hand,
neitha wurn leading tha otha
arund corridors unplanned.
Fer these two creatures
tho hidden in tha dark
seem te be quite at home 'ere,
tha in nay need of eny bonny spark;
these halls ar weel remembered
upon tha hearts which shine
as if they wa themselves
a beacon frem upern tha Tyne.
The werk in clarse proximity,
sweat 'nd eat as wurn,
when wun has food tha otha shares
or both may end up wi nurn;
withoot tha otha, wan may end up lanly,
it wud be easy in tha caald 'nd dark
but togitha they become as clarse as
bruffas, all covered in hacky claarts.
An' when tha day is nearly owa
still togitha they rise ootta tha earth,
but man nuw blinking in tha sunlight
must rely ern tha beasts worth;
as blinded fer a moment
tha pony mit seek te brek free
wreakin 'avoc aal arund tha yard
afore being captured agin as ee should be.

- Rachel Melissa Robson