Before the miners’ strike—telling the miners’ story in songs, jokes and sketches
March 13, 2024
Andrew Curry writes: Reading Colin’s piece on the 1984-85 miners’ strike reminded me of the far longer history of strike and struggle in Britain’s coalfields in a long fight for fair wages and better conditions.
The best introduction to this—or certainly the most entertaining—is Alan Plater’s play Close The Coalhouse Door, based on the stories of the pitman-turned-writer Sid Chaplin, with songs by the Gateshead musician Alex Glasgow.
The play works as a kind of revue, structured around the golden wedding party of a retired miner, with the same actors also playing historical characters, from Lloyd George to Harold Macmillan, and breaking into song from time to time.
Plater imagined the play as a “freewheeling musical based on community experience”, and took some inspiration from the pioneering work of Joan Littlewood’s Theatre Workshop.
This is a music blog, and I’m going to talk about the songs in a moment, but it’s worth sharing Plater’s succinct 1960s view of the history of the coalfields:
The historical material fell conveniently into a three-act pattern. The nineteenth-century oppression was the obvious Beginning: the between-the-wars chaos the inevitable Middle: and the post-Nationalisation non-Utopia the ambivalent End. In academic terms Proposition, Exposition and Resolution; in more appropriate music-hall terms, Information, Feed and Tag.
Alex Glasgow was definitely not a folksinger. His repertoire mixed what would have been called “topical songs” on housing, racism, even arts festivals, with some satire, as well as songs from the North-East’s music halls. (He rescued Joe Wilson’s song Sally Wheatley, later covered by the Dubliners, by giving the broadsheet words a new melody, for example).
By Plater’s account, about half of the songs in Close The Coalhouse Door were written for the show, and half came from Alex Glasgow’s large repertoire. Some of these have found their way into the folk repertoire, notably among singers from the North-East.
The songs in the play capture both the ups and downs of the history of the coalfields—more down than up—and the profound mixed feelings that anyone should have about working underground.
It’s dirty, dangerous work, and it kills people, slowly or quickly. But for many, for the best part of 150 years in Britain, it was the best work they could get.
I’m not sure this has ever been expressed as well as in Alex Glasgow’s title song for the play. I think the best version of Close The Coalhouse Door is by Frankie Archer, who brings the right tone to it. (I find The Unthanks’ version a little lush, but your tastes might differ).
The rockfall at the start of her version reminds me of the one time I went underground, at Easington in 1981, making a radio documentary. We were near the working coal face, and the ceiling cracked and there was a fall of rock from the roof. The deputy we were interviewing paused for long enough to make sure it wasn’t serious before continuing his explanation of working the seams.
But the songs also conjure the hardships of the strikes down the years.
Twenty Long Weeks is about the five month strike in 1844, during which the coal owner Lord Londonderry evicted an astonishing 35,000 men, women and children across Durham and Northumberland from their tied housing as he forced them back to work.
Rachel Unthank sang this on her ‘Winterset’ record, The Bairns, but there’s not a good version on youtube of her or The Unthanks singing it, so I’m going to go with Alex Glasgow’s own version:
It would be easy to get depressed, but the spirit of music hall keeps breaking through. The song The Socialist ABC has good jokes and a good punchline, and was once sung by the North-East MP Dave Clelland on a record of music from the region, that also boasts what is officially the worst recorded version (by Bryan Ferry) of the north-east’s national anthem, The Lambton Worm.
When It’s Ours, which is sung as the story gets to 1947 and the coal industry is finally nationalised—a victory at last—is punctuated by deliberately terrible music hall jokes:
So Lord Londonderry had this dream He dreamt he was making an important speech in the House of Lords, and when he woke up, he was.
Or:
Did you to see Newcastle play on Saturday?
No… well, they didn’t come to see me when I was bad.
Alex Glasgow was a Newcastle fan, and his version of the song has Newcastle winning the Cup. Since that seems unlikely, I’ve chosen the version of the song by Bob Fox and Benny Graham, two of the Pitmen Poets, on How Are You Off For Coals?. They are Sunderland fans:
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One of the things that often gets written out of the miners’ story is the spirit of self-help and self-improvement that made the pit communities work, and which is one of the reasons why they stayed out for so long in 1984-85. For example, the Miners’s Institutes and Welfare Halls that are found in many communities were paid for by contributions from the miners’s pay packets.
But no-one ought to work underground.
In the play, an Expert (a recurring character) pops up to tell them that their pit is going to close:
THOMAS: No, listen... You're not shutting them because it's a terrible job that kills men and makes widows and orphans...
EXPERT: We're simply taking the broad view.
WILL: You're not closing them because of the broken backs and silicosis...
EXPERT: We're simply re-assessing our priorities...
WILL: You're not closing them because you want us and our children to have a cleaner, safer, better life...
EXPERT: Not in so many words.
One of the consequences of the defeat of the miners in 1984-85 was that the government’s brutally won victory opened the way for the privatisation, deregulation and financialisation that has scarred Britain ever since.
But mostly, it was the right thing done for the wrong reasons in the worst possible way, and with terrible consequences for the communities. Nobody got a better life.
Hard to believe it's more than half a century ago but I saw "Close the Coalhouse Door" twice during its opening run in 1968 at the old Jesmond Playhouse with that would now be regarded as a star-studded cast, including Colin Douglas, Dudley Sutton, James Garbutt, Jean Heywood and Bryan Pringle. It was superbly funny, gut-wrenchingly sad and wincingly sardonic -- witness the closing song, "It's only a story, a story, a story. It's only a story, a fanciful tale. Just ask the rich pitmen who live here in Jesmond..."
There were some good ad-libs, too. During the second show I saw, someone dropped something backstage with a bit of a clatter. One of the cast looked out at the audience and said, "Don't worry. It's just Teesside booming."
My dad was the first in his family not to work in the coalmines. My mother's brother (who, it coincidentally transpired, had been trained by my dad's father) was killed in a rockfall. Her father was invalided out with pneumoconiosis and the residual effects of being half buried alive twice. He was dead at 71. So "Close the Coalhouse Door" really resonated. It had a short run in London and I think it was the Guardian critic who wrote that he felt like going out into the street to drag people in to see it.
As a personal aside to Colin, the poor unfortunate who tried to inculcate the elements of shorthand into us on the journalism block-release course at Darlington Tech was Sid Chaplin's sister-in-law.
I would take issue with Alex Glasgow not being a folksinger: “ 'topical songs' on housing, racism, even arts festivals, with some satire, as well as songs from the North-East’s music halls..." surely a description of everything a contemporary folksinger should be. If we could've afforded him, I'd have booked him at the Aclet in Bishop Auckland like a shot and the place would've been standing room only.
"Close the Coalhouse Door" has been revived more than once, most recently I think with more emphasis on the Margaret Thatcher years. I could dearly love to see it again. "It's only a story, a story, a story..." But what a story.
Posted by: Bill Taylor | March 13, 2024 at 02:12 PM
I found a clip from one of the 21st century productions:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BG2IUjS7y38
Posted by: Bill Taylor | March 13, 2024 at 02:35 PM
I remember John Woodvine singing this at an end-of-run party of The Deep Blue Sea at the Lyceum in Edinburgh. Alan Plater had come up for the final show and wrote the words out for him on a piece of cardboard as he claimed that he couldn't remember them. He was very reluctant, but gave a tremendous performance!
Posted by: Maggie Holland | March 13, 2024 at 04:21 PM