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My headlamp, a feeble attempt to pierce the veil of obscurity, had long been tormented by malevolent short-circuits. It was on that fateful day, a day seemingly ordained by the sinister forces of the abyss, that my headlamp surrendered to its own internal demons, plunging me into a realm of impenetrable darkness.

The ground beneath me was a treacherous mix of mud and water, a sinister concoction that seemed to ooze with a life of its own. It clawed at my ankles, threatening to ensnare me within its icy grip.
The rails and sleepers, hidden beneath the mire, served as the only lifeline—a chilling reminder that escape, if it existed at all, was a path fraught with peril.

In the heart of this Stygian void, a grim realization gripped me—a solitary escape route lay before me, a path shrouded in uncertainty. The crosscut, a twisted labyrinth etched in my mind’s eye, stretched out like a macabre corridor to salvation. Imaginations of lights in the distance, the only semblance of hope in this malevolent abyss, beckoned like false beacons in the night, luring me toward their distant glow.

But hesitation gnawed at me like a sinister whisper, echoing with the weight of dread. The prospect of crawling through the clinging morass, of becoming one with the filth that surrounded me, clawed at my resolve. A wave of repulsion washed over me, the image of my own degradation haunting my thoughts. Yet, the alternative-a maddening journey through the murk and muck, bereft of any guiding light—promised a fate more harrowing than the filth itself. And so, with a heart heavy with foreboding, I made my choice. But the path was treacherous, the rusted wire mesh that clung to the walls a cruel tormentor. It scraped and gnawed, each step an agonizing reminder of my descent into this murky abyss. The very walls that should have offered solace became my nemesis, the embodiment of a hostile environment that sought to consume me.

As I stumbled forward, the inky blackness wrapped around me like a sinister shroud, suffocating and all-encompassing. My progress was agonizingly slow, a relentless battle against the forces of darkness and despair. The minutes stretched into an eternity as the ordeal continued, my very existence reduced to a torturous struggle to escape this dark muddy hellhole.

In the heart of this Stygian realm, my resolve wavered, my spirit teetering on the precipice of despair. The distant glimmer of a cap lamp, a distant echo of life within the void, beckoned like a mirage imagined—a fleeting beacon of hope. With a voice ravaged by desperation, I cried out for help, my pleas reverberating through the darkness in a haunting chorus.

But fate, it seemed, reveled in cruelty. The light that had promised rescue drew near, only to betray me in the end. It danced and flickered, an elusive specter that tantalizingly drew closer before veering away, leaving me to the clutches of the abyss once more.

As the echoes of my cries faded into the ether, a chilling realization settled upon me. Alone, submerged in darkness and despair, I stood at the precipice of oblivion. And yet, within the recesses of my battered soul, a spark of determination ignited—an ember of defiance against the encroaching void.

With each torturous crawl, each grating step, I inched forward.

Then, crosscut lights, imagined again? No, dim and distant, emerged as a lifeline, a tenuous thread of hope that pulled me from the abyss. Exhaustion gnawed at my bones, but the renewed specter of survival propelled me onward.

And so, after what felt like an eternity of struggle, I emerged from the abyss, battered and broken but unbroken in spirit. The presence of fellow miners, a semblance of humanity in this malevolent landscape, marked my return to reality.

The tales from one of them sounded familiar, of a phantom’s call, a ghostly summons, a cry for help, from the depths within, were met with my own account—an unimpressed response!

The miner who shared his tale, was embarrassed, and his companions chuckled at his folly. Avoiding looking back, I pressed on toward the shaft station with prospects of a sunbathed surface and a beckoning warm shower.

In the aftermath, amidst the embracing camaraderie of fellow shift bosses, laughter mingled with the echoes of terror that had gripped me. The confrontation with the lamp room, where my ordeal had taken root, was met with strained tension, but it bore unexpected fruit—a new lamp, a symbol of my endurance in the face of the abyss.

And as the dawn of a new day broke, casting a feeble light upon the terrors that had transpired, my experience, stood triumphantly as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit—a survivor of the darkness, forever marked by the ordeal that had unfolded in the depths of the unknown.

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It’s about 20 odd years since the last ponies came out of the pits in England, Ellington had the last ones, and I think a pit in Wales brought theirs out just before. I used to work with them quite often, we had over 100, that varied in size from 8.5 hands to 14 hands, I believe at 14.5 hands, a pony becomes a horse. At Ashington Colliery where I did my training, I was told they had over 600, but they had 4.500 men underground too.

The saddest story I ever heard about them was detailed in a book, by a chap called Thompson, an ex colliery manager, who taught at the local Mining School, it was called ‘How Long Did The Ponies Live’. It tells of the time when at a mine just north of Newcastle, a shaft collapsed, and the men underground were very lucky to get out. They left all the ‘Choppy’ out for the ponies to eat, and as much water as they could find, and had to leave them and run. They were never able to get back.

The horseshoes were special ones made of beryllium, a copper alloy that doesn’t create sparks. If a pony was required to work in an area where gas may be a problem, the farrier used to fit these beryllium shoes, which were very expensive, then put steel ones back on when the job was done. The small ones, (and they are very small!) came from Scotland, and the larger ones came from, I was told, the deepest pit in Lancashire, which was, I believe, Parsonage Colliery.

Beryllium was also used in place of steel for tools that had to be used in return airways, hammers, chisels, spanners and all bricklayers tools. They had to be handed back after each job.

In the gallery below you’ll see pit ponies, from my early days. I knew the horse keeper with the soft cap on, holding a small piebald pony in the last image.

– Information provided by Bosuns Mate.

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Who remembers the first phone below, the Davis of Derby speech powered handset, carried tucked in your shirt on the early power loading faces, you were always talking when you should be listening. They plugged into a socket on the lock-out boxes.
The GEC phone, next to the speech powered handset, was unbelievably still in use when I started at the mine, all of the pit on one party line.

The third phone below, came from Ireland Colliery in Derbyshire I was informed by the seller, it didn’t look like that when I got it!
The fourth phone is a surface phone, but it was intrinsically safe, and was connected to the underground system. The label reads MH direct, which would have been Managers House direct.

The last one below came from Bedlington in Northumberland. The seller said it belonged to an uncle, who was an electrician at Ashington Colliery during WW2. It’s a field telephone, used to tap into the lines when fault finding.

– Information provided by Bosuns Mate.

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As far as I know, there were 9 different colour bezels for the lamps and a variety of coloured helmets. Some collieries I believe, tried to introduce a colour code, made up of a combination of the colours of lamps and helmets to identify the workforce, with regard to who and what they were. I never heard of one that was successful.

– Information provided by Bosuns Mate.

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The brass Teale is a radiator/sump heater, and. I suspect the steel lamp with the circular lock was used as one too. The steel lamp had had the locking ring and the lug for the lead slug ground off, very rough job, and the fuel cell was badly marked too. Also, the porcelain burner was missing. As I said before, it’s amazing what you can do with basic tools, but there is a limit. A good and very talented friend of mine made a new locking ring for me, and I was able to make a template from another lamp to drill the holes in it. I also had to make a new locking lug, and solder it on. So far so good, then I saw this wreck of the brass one, which had a porcelain burner. I bought it, and the end result was one nicely restored Teale.

It was then that I decided to conduct an exercise in futility. The brass Teale had been exposed to so much long term intense heat, the brass around the inlet air holes was disintegrating, and was only just attached. I removed it, drilled out the old rivets, made some small brass right-angled brackets, and used small brass nuts and bolts to attach them back to the bonnet lid, filed the slots off the screw heads, then soldered the top back on. I had to make a new burner, just plain brass, but it doesn’t look too bad!

See also a good example of Teales trademark ‘ Star of David ‘, often these have been polished off.

– Information provided by Bosuns Mate.

The post When is a Miners Lamp not a Miners Lamp, Part 2 appeared first on Old Flames.

Included are pictures of lamps hardly distinguishable from miners’ lamps, in most cases made by mining lamp manufacturers. The image below shows three Radiator lamps all with different burners.

The one with the three wicks I found in an antique shop in Tavistock, Devon, many years ago, when I first got into collecting. I was sceptical about it, three wicks and no lock, and the gauze burnt out? but I bought it for £30. Not a bad price you may say, but this was 1988! I do have some genuine underground bi-folds, and a couple of times I’ve had to make the wick adjusters for them. First time I made one, I couldn’t for the life of me, match the threads 1/4” 20 tpi, but I found eventually, that the thread on the screw has a different angle, it was an Admiralty spec. and I had to buy a special tap to finish it.

The below picture is of a Premier, a Teale, and a Primo. All nice looking lamps, and should find a space in anybody’s collection. The Teale is a separate story on it’s own so, more to come!

– Information provided by Bosuns Mate.

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To soften the blow of parting with the lamps, I sent her a small imitation brass Protector, as in the picture, and, I’m pleased to say, she sounded overjoyed to receive it!

– Information provided by Bosuns Mate.

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Through time this crack grew slowly, till it was nearly the full circumference. By this time, I had decided to try and get a relighter type from India, as I believe they are probably the last company to make approved miners lamps. Albeit approved by the Indian Government, I don’t know to what extent this approval would be recognised worldwide. I immediately met a problem, yes I could purchase a lamp and replacement glass, but I couldn’t pay by credit card or PayPal. It had to be a bank transfer to the required amount in Indian Rupees. I contacted an Indian Bank that had offices in Sydney and was told no, I couldn’t open an account, and no, they didn’t deal in cash. That left me scratching my head, wondering why it was called a bank? Back to JK Dey, could I leave it till I visited the UK? Doing it from Australia meant the money was going through a bank in Syria of all places. Yes, that was OK, so I eventually managed a transaction through Barclays. It didn’t go smoothly though, the bank did the transfer leaving JK Dey to pay the transfer costs. By this time I was back in Australia, so I offered to send them some cash to the value of £20 in Sterling or US$. Fortunately, they took pity on me and waived the deficit.

So that left me with a cracked glass, which I thought I might be able to repair with a windscreen repair kit. See the pictures for the result – not bad I thought! As another acquaintance once told me, a cracked glass is better than no glass at all!

– Information provided by Bosuns Mate.

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