Miner diaries

1790 – The Steam engine
Picture of
Grandpa’s miningcolleagues, it wasa good day and theyearned more thanthe usual
Citation:!
Image: "Welcome to Rhondda Heritage Park." Rhondda Heritage Park Experience. Rhondda Cynon
Taf, n.d. Web. 14 May 2013. <http://www.rhonddaheritagepark.com/>. !
Information: Côté, Evelyne, Lauren Ness, Inn Li, and Jono Layton. "Industrial Revolution." Epad.
James Fidler, 6 May 2013. Web. 6 May 2013. <http://jfidler.epad.isb.bj.edu.cn/31>.

More and more our people were being turned from farmers working in sunshine
and air to miners that work in pits of Hell. My father comes home every night
blackened; whenever it’s washing day, I try to make Father wash first but
Mam says that if he washed first the water wouldn’t be able to wash us
clean. The mines are hard; long hours on the side or crouching, in filth and
the constant tap-tap-tapping of men trying to chip out a living. “It’s hard”, my
father says, “We walk and waste time trying to find a good part of the
treasure to get out. We are only paid in big pieces and for that we must find a
good part of coal”. Father told me the story of Grandpa, first part was when
the steam work engine was invented. He remembered it word for word:!
“The year was 1781. My first day to start working the colliery, the pit, at 13. I
remember each day because it was the first of a time of repetitive events –
mine, lunch, mine. To have methane explosions was something that broke the
cycle temporarily. I wore my thick trousers tied at the knee, to stop rats the
size of cats climbing up, with boots and my old jacket and cap. Breakfast was
somber and Mam wore an unhappy expression the whole time. She wanted
nothing more than for me to be free of child labor. But work was the only
way to survive. We went out and the elevator awaited us. But before we went,
one of our supervisors had an announcement. !
“Miners, a change has happened. An invention has been innovated to great use!

The steam engine by James Watt!” He cried. This invention was apparently
faster than an ox or horse cart, it never tired. It was faster than the boats
going by paddles or wind and was much stronger cause it could carry more
iron and coal. “The best part,” the supervisor told us, “the steam-powered
locomotive will make our British Navy stronger and army stronger! The British
Empire shall be the best in the world with this invention! No longer shall we
be reliant on wind and currents, we can travel through these” I smoldered. No
Welsh liked to constantly told of the “Great British Empire”. But then he told
us the bad part for us. “Of course every great thing relies something. The
invention relies on coal, thus the quota has been put up.” Angry cries filled
the space but the supervisor ended with “Go and work now.” and left. I was
silent and numb. I simply proceeded to the mine.”!
!
That had been the start of the craze for coal and the increasing death rate of
the Welsh miners-so many workers of the steam engine fall under and are run
over. Leave it to the British to make the Welsh suffer and strain to produce
what they needed for their Empire with little in return.!

1805 – The Ironworks
Blaenavon Ironworks,
where Great
Granduncle Arian
worked, the place of
Hell’s fire, when the
mines are Hell’s pit

It was not just the mines where sorrow inhabited. Father told me about
Grandpa’s uncle Arian:!
!
“Today in 1805, my uncle Arian arrived for a short time because he was
delivering some iron to somewhere nearby. We were all very happy to see him;
it was rare a time when we could see family.!
Uncle Arian works at Blaenavon Ironworks, I was very interested in ironworks
to see how the coal I put my life and soul into mining ends up in. Uncle Arian
explained how coal, ironstone and limestone was used to make pig iron. I was
confused. How did those three rocks make iron and why was the iron called
pig iron? I doubted that that the iron had anything to do with pigs. When I
asked him, Uncle Arian thought my question “Why is it called pig iron?” was
so funny that he fell off the chair. It wasn’t often that we had something
to laugh about so we joined in.!
!
After Uncle Arian wiped his tears away he proceeded to tell us of Blaenavon
Ironworks. “To get the iron,” he said, “It needs a enormous amount of heat
to get it. The iron is in the ironstone, once you get the stone hot enough the
iron flows out like a river. We used to just heat the ironstone but not
everything would get out. Now we use coal, limestone and ironstone. All of it
comes out with the amount of heat all three stones generate.”!
!
“To answer your question, William,” Uncle Arian turned to me, the laughter !

still lingering in his eyes, “when most of the iron is out we lift the door to
the furnace and the iron pours out.” The laughter abruptly left his eyes and
he was silent. Then he said quietly “There is many a time when the iron spits
and lands on the workers themselves.” Mam gasps. “Many of them don’t survive
and their corpses are in an appalling state.” We are all silent for a long time. !
!
Uncle Arian answers my question. “It’s called pig iron of the way the iron
flows into the molds. There’s a big stream in the middle and little ways break
off parts of the molten iron and it flows into a box where it cools, like
piglets sucking milk from the mother. Then we load the blocks on a steam
engine and it gets sent off to the factories.” Uncle Arian looks at each of us,
his eyes full of sorrow. “”No matter how technological the process is, it’s
hazardous work. There is not a single job where people suffer in Wales.” And
with that he bid us goodbye and left for Blaenavon.”!
!
I had thought that mining was the bleakest job ever to exist. Men in tunnels
far into the ground, in horrible health and sanitation conditions, mining away
their living and life. But I was wrong, ironworking was just as bad. Constantly
working in Hell’s temperatures, always in danger of iron spitting and ending you
life. But what I feel is not sorrow or fear for my life. It’s anger. The Welsh
people suffer to bring these treasures of coal and iron, yet the British take it
for themselves and give us little back.

1842 – Mines Act
Grandpa’s street,
after the Mines Act.
They gathered to
show their sad
faces from the
sorrow the Mines
Act brought them
Citation:!

There could be nothing worse for the miner families than the Mines Act. My
father had actually been there at age 5. But he still knows the story, the third
part:!
!
“It was the start of a hard time for the Evans family. It all started with a
queer mine accident in Huskar Colliery, Silkstone in 1838. Oddly enough it
wasn’t an explosion or mine collapse, it was a flood from a thunderstorm
through the ventilation shaft. It caused the death of 26 children. A horrible
loss, but more sadness and hardship was to come. !
!
Her British Majesty Queen Victoria launched an inquiry of the accident. We
were all confused, why was she doing this? Many miners and child laborers
died in the mines. Admittedly not by drowning, but so many of us Welsh have
died in the mines and the British never cared. Were they finally stopping the
hardship and pain they cause us and finally give us more employment benefits?
I highly doubted that.!
!
Two years later the aftermath of the Huskar Colliery accident would happen.
Lord Anthony Ashley-Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury, lead the inquiry about the
death of children. Why now? Thousands of children working to feed the
families died in the mines. Just because a queer accident killed some children
doesn’t mean the Parliament has to go all “Oh, the poor little darlings!” !

They went complete extreme, so much so that they set the Mines Act,
which had three clauses; no female should work underground, no boy under
the age of ten was to work underground and finally, apprentices could go
underground from ages 10-18. This was a serious problem for the family, we
all worked in the mines. Me, my wife Brenda, my boy Arian and my two girls
Elin and Seren all worked in the collieries. Gareth had just been starting earn
money for food. If no females or young boys could work, that meant only
Arian and I would be able to get food on the table…how were we to survive
on our measly pay?”!
!
What has become of our beloved Wales? We were agrarian farmers, still
dependent on many things for a good meal and life, but no horrid death was
caused. Nothing like this urban lifestyle. Death at the door almost everyday,
grey and full of hardship. Why was the world changed? Why do us Welsh
have to pay the price for the benefit of others?!

1876 - Tylorstown
Tylorstown, my hometown,Rhondda Valley!
It was always grey andstreaks of black coal dustgives it a sense of Hell
Citation:!

The year 1876 had been a busy one for my father. He married my mother, Mary
Hier, and they moved to Tylorstown. A few months later I was born. !
!
“It was a stressful time.” My father remembered, “Your mother Mam was
swollen and large with you and you did not give her a minute of peace. We
waited at the station, crowed with people like us, in hope of a better life. Our
train was to Tylorstown, Rhondda Valley, a new town with a mine that needed
workers. We hoped that we would get jobs as miner and servant. The train was
an old steam engine, probably over 50 years old and looked like it would die
right on the way but it was cheap. The ride itself was a constant jostle and
bumping. Your mother was holding her stomach with you so tightly I thought
it would burst. After a long seven hours we arrive in urban Tylorstown.”!
!
But life in Tylorstown was not better than the life they had before. Mr.
Alfred Tyler was not a kind mine owner, no surprise there, but he didn’t even
live in Tylorstown! He lives in London! And he has a huge mansion here,
Daffryn House, that he doesn’t even live in! How can he waste so much
money on that? How can he know what goes on in Tylorstown? !
!
But even without Mr. Tyler it was still a hard place to live in. The miners
didn’t get any employment benefits. The mine was rich in coal and many miners
got good stuff out but Mr. Tyler was cunning. He didn’t want to pay the

miners the money they earned for the coal. Instead he paid in tokens, the
tokens could only be used in his shops. With only a pay in tokens, the miner
families have no choice but to buy things in Mr. Tyler’s shops, where he
controlled all the prices. Almost everything in there is expensive but what
other choice do we have? There is no other way but to fill Mr. Tyler’s wallet
more to feed ourselves.!
!
My father comes home every night blackened with the dust of Hell. He
coughs regularly and it sounds like it comes from the very bottom of his
lungs. I worry for his health, he works his life and soul in the mine to feed
me and my brother Idris. There are many cases of miners dying with the dust
of coal from their lungs. What if Father were to die from that? I still have
three more years to go. God, please spare my father.!

1896 – Mine Accident
Me and my littlegirl, Seren, onwashing day,Seren’s helping me
wash my back
Citation:!

Today Death touched me, almost bringing me into it's lifeless embrace. Today a
ball of fire flew down the mine, scorching the fleeing men. I usually ignore
dates but this is day I will never lose from my memory, ingrained like coal
dust in a miner’s callous. Monday, January 28th, 1896.!
!
I started my first day in the mines in 1886, knowing that everyday I could die.
I thought I’d accepted it then, but today I realized I never did. Today
started as the usual. I got up at four a.m., ate my meager breakfast (times
were hard) and kissed my wife Jane and my little girl, Seren. She looked up at
me with her bright green eyes, the only green in urban Tylortown. I get
through each day because of her.!
!
At around 5 am I crawl into my space at No 8 mine. I could feel the remains
that lay on the ground seep into my clothes. For the thousandth time I wish
we had better sanitation conditions. But mine owners only care about coal, not
about the people who get it out. Tap-tap-tap. I wish we got better pay, but
Mr. Tyler only pays in tokens. Tap-tap-tap. I wish we had more employment
benefits, but why would mine owners spend precious money on us? Tap-tap…
Something wasn’t right. I glanced down and saw that my canary had fallen. I
slowly looked at my Davy lamp and stared in shock. The flame was blue. And
when it was blue, it was time to get out. “Men!” I yelled “this bit-” !
!

BOOM!! Suddenly, a man raced past yelling “Run!” and raced towards the
elevator. I turned and raced after him, no question, because whenever someone
yells run, it’s an gas explosion about to happen. I could hear men stumbling
and cries as the pieces coal fell on them and the timber supports crumbled. I
leapt into the already filling elevator. The elevator rose to the square of sky
high up. !
!
I staggered out of the elevator, coughing. Men behind me seemed to sag with
relief of being alive. I leaned on a metal framework tower and sagged against it.
I lived one more day, one more day with Jane and Seren. In the distance, I
could see elevators spitting men out of the mines. We all huddled together,
shivering with from the icy touch Death left behind. I counted everyone, 57
men were missing, which meant that those 57 died in the mines. I’d barely
known them but I still felt sadness.!
!
Many miners die in mines, from gas explosions to cave-ins. But to have
actually experienced an accident has left not with horror, but with anger. Why
do we let the British force us in the mines to give them coal that powers
their empire? We should we work in horrible conditions with the constant
danger of suffocation, explosion and cave-in? We are Welsh, not British. This
is our coal and minerals. We need to claim what is ours.!

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