I managed to wake up[4.45 am] in time to make my way to Lowca Colliery for a 6am start in my new job as weighman. It turned out to be an incredibly monotonous job. I was required to keep a paper record of the weight of all the individual coal tubs that past by my little cabin, by reference to a big scale, and then total them for submission to the Colliery Manager’s Clerk. I did that for twelve hours a day, five days a week [excluding breaks for lunch]. The money was good but the job was way beneath the potential of any human being. I respected a man called Pat – he had lost the sight of one eye, probably in a mining accident. Part of his job was to ensure that the coal tubs, which were freshly drawn from underground, got to me from the pit top without coming off the rails - and he did it in a very vigorous and efficient manner. I remember another strongly built lad who appeared quite fresh in the morning but always took on a gaunt and haunted look by late afternoon. I sometimes spotted him in the street after work; with the benefit of a shower and smart clean clothing he looked almost a different person. Even in 1964 ‘screen lasses’ were employed at the pit to extract metals and stone from coal. They got tired and dirty but again I admired the fact that they put so much effort in for such low wages.
On the 7th of April 1964 I got out of bed at 4.45 am - Groundhog Day – I guess that you have seen the film - and eventually got to the bus stop to wait for the Lowca Colliery works bus. Two policemen approached me and one of them said to me “good morning sir, may I ask you what you are doing at a bus stop at quarter past five in the morning?” I replied that I was waiting for a bus. He expressed surprise and said ‘waiting for a bus – at this time – what is the number of the bus sir?” I explained that being a works bus, with Lowca Colliery as its destination, it did not have a number. He looked at his colleague – thanked me – and they both walked on. When I got home I told my mother about the incident and she replied that a man, John Alan West, had been brutally murdered, in his home, at about 4am. His house was not much more than thirty yards from the bus stop I used to wait for the bus. What had happened was that Peter Anthony Allen and his wife, together with their lodger Gwynne Owen Evans, had travelled from Preston to Seaton that morning. While Mrs Allen stayed in the car [thinking that the men were seeking a loan from Mr West] they went into his house and stabbed and battered him to death. They stole two bank books and a watch. Evans left his raincoat behind and within it was a medallion - which was inscribed with his name! Needless to say they were soon arrested and charged with Capital murder. They pleaded not guilty but the jury took only three hours to find them both guilty. They were hanged a few months later. It is notable that no further judicial hangings have taken place in the United Kingdom. So I had been interviewed in a murder enquiry!
I have already hinted that my first few years in Workington were miserable. I have often lambasted Workington whereas it would be a fair generalization to say that its people were hard working and honourable. As you know Workington is near the magnificent lakes so it was a missed opportunity. I was rudderless, clueless, unimaginative and going nowhere fast. I cannot recall receiving any advice from anyone about how to grow up and I seemed unable to fall back on a role model or rewarding education to help me think it through. The education I received at Ushaw Moor, County and Secondary Modern, was third rate – and I was one of the lucky ones in the A form! I am sure that many of the A formers could have done well in the GCE and enjoyed the employment opportunities and further education possibilities that came with it. I reckon that many of them would have done better than the bottom quarter of the grammar school pupils and gone on to better things – on reflection several of them did, sooner or later.Of course I was a teenager during this period: there comes a time when the moaning had to stop and the child has to make his/her way as an adult without blaming others. The likes of Lorna Bone, Edith Smith, Arthur Snaith and several others did very well in making sense of life and carving something out for themselves and their families.
I remember one Saturday night, when I was about 16, standing outside the Princess Hall in Workington after attending a dance. Most of the people at the dance seemed to be between 18 and 25 and were knocking the drink back and inhaling the tobacco like it was going out of fashion – In trying to relate to that world I might as well have been on the Moon without oxygen. As I stood there I can recall that it was pouring down; the next thing I did was close my eyes and prayed for instant transportation back to Ushaw Moor .That was perhaps the ultimate sign of desperation, on several levels. On opening my eyes I was of course outside the Princess Hall in the rain and not caring how wet I got. On one occasion I remember making a date with some Cumbrian girl but I did not bother to turn up. My emotional intelligence had hit rock bottom and it would get worse before it got better – but it did get better eventually.
In the weeks ahead I began looking for a youth club – there must have been some but my search was haphazard. I did manage to find a Toc H but that did not help! You may know that Toc H is a Christian Service Club that is committed to building a fairer society - very laudable but not a youth club!
One rainy day, on my way back from work, I forgot to change gear going around a corner and was left with two stark choices: hit a car parked on the opposite side of the road, or hit the wall to its right. I chose the wall and fortunately it was my Lambretta that got damaged rather than me or the car.
Circumstances began to improve thanks to my befriending of some grand lads and the beginning of my support for Workington Football Club. That club came close to Derby County in my affections but of course it never quite achieved that. I remember Keith Burkinshaw stopping to give me a lift to the ground on match day and offering me a free ticket to get in. I thanked Keith, expressed my hope that he had a good game, and then said that I would pay to get in because of Workington FC’s financial problems!
I still had my copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover – I had bought that a few years earlier. The shop assistant gave it to me in a plain brown bag. Sadly I did not find D H Lawrence to be very good or particularly helpful! Mind you the celebrated Thomas Hardy sent me to sleep as well. It was the time of films based upon social commentary and deprivation like “Saturday Night and Sunday Morning”. I also remember the film “A Kind Of Loving”. There is little doubt that I was a self obsessed teenager struggling to be an adult; although I was far from alone with that - others have clearly coped with it so much better.
Now you might think that the article is self indulgent – Wilfie writing about himself again. Yes there is a bit of that but the overriding purpose is to keep the articles flowing to Paul. I am hoping that I have kept the site warm while some keen contributors are incubating! Come on lads and lasses your incubation is just about over - let’s have an article. I am impressed with the trickle of photos that have made it to the site. Thank you very much for sight of them and thank you Paul for the existence of the site.
Wilf Bell
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