Fife Ghosts 3 - by our Special Correspondent.
The Phantom of the Mine.
From the ghost section of Minto Colliery brave men fled in terror.
This is the tale of Fife's most terrifying ghost. It is a ghost two hundred fathoms under the earth. It has shattered the nerves of strong me, causing them months of insomnia. It heralds its visitations with a rending, tearing thunder.
I first heard of the ghost section of the Minto Colliery in West Fife from a haggard-looking man whom I met when walking through one of the mining towns in the early morning. He wanted change to work a cigarette machine. He was rather old, with tired, sunken eyes and a weary, drawn face. I asked him what he was doing out of bed at that hour. He told me he had not slept a wink at night for 18 mongths. "I worked in the ghost section," he said.
He told me he had been through the worst barrages in the Great War without turning a hair. But the ghost section shattered his nerves. "I have found myself running panic-stricken from the section, and clinging to the wall, panting, with my knees absolutely knocking together, wondering whether I could dare to go back or not." Finally his nerves gave way. He had not worked for 18 months. He envied the health of every person he saw. He wondered whether he would eventually go mad from want of sleep.
The full story of the ghost section was afterwards related to me by Mr James Suttie, whose picture you see here. Mr Suttie was for five years the contractor in charge of the ghost section. It is now closed.
Minto Colliery is situated between Bowhill and Lochgelly and the section lies about a mile from the pit bottom. It is 120 yards in length, comprising a winding "road." Working at the "face," the miners knelt under a roof about four and a half feet high. The peculiarity of the section was that the roof above it was sandstone for several fathoms. Herein lay the ghost. Suddenly, without warning, the roof would begin to roar. The roaring was far worse than thunder. Everyone who has worked in the ghost section speaks in awed tones of the tearing, rending thunder of the roof, which went on in diabolical peals sometimes for over an hour. In accompaniment to the terrifying noise, the roof would tear apart and press down with overwhelming force. Props would be driven into the "pavement" or ground.
Yet, curiously enough, the accident rate in the ghost section was not higher than elsewhere. This was due to an uncanny second sight which the miners who worked in it experienced. Mr Suttie told me that while he and his 16 men were at work all along the section they would suddenly realise that the thunder was going to begin. There was no visible warning, no murmuring or movement. They simply knew that in a second's time the roof would be roaring and tearing and heaving. With one accord they crawled feverishly into the bigger road without, and no sooner had they scrambled to their feet than the terrifying noise had begun.
The lights all went out. In darkness terror-stricken men rushed hither and thither to safety. Many ran into each other in the dark in their blind efforts to get away from the section. And, while I tell you this, you must remember that there is no braver class of men than the miners in the country. In all other circumstances they do not flinch from danger. It is their everyday companion. But the ghost section, just at this terrifying stage when the lights black out and the narrow underground roadway is a roaring, heaving, rending mass, struck panic into the hearts of the bravest men.
Once out of the section, the men waited until the thunder had ceased. Usually they were scattered, and the wait was often an anxious one, for one band of men was quite unaware what had happened to another. When the thunder ceased the men made their way back to the ghost section. This alone proved their courage. They would find the props which had held up the roof driven right through the pavement. These props, usually pillars of wood, made specially for the ghost section, were frequently driven down until a length of only two feet was visible, compared with their previous height of four and a half feet. The roof had settled on top of them after driving them down this distance.
The work of clearing up was then begun, and afterwards the normal work of filling the pan runs resumed. Although eight of his men stuck with Mr Suttie throughout his five years in the ghost section, the other half was continually chopping and changing. He told me of some men who had stayed only one shift, and refused to come back.
Dundee Evening Telegraph, Friday 3rd May 1935
Saturday, 8 February 2020
Saturday, 11 January 2020
Arbury Estate, Nuneaton, Warwickshire (1930s)
Birmingham Daily Post, Monday 13th February 1939
"Red Deeps": A quarry described by George Eliot
Some years ago, an old estate workman at Arbury used to recall seeing, when a youth, a lady in a black silk dress sitting on a low stone wall at Griff Hollows, notebook in hand, sketching or writing. She was George Eliot, visiting a favourite haunt, Griff Hollows or Griff Bottoms, which she depicted in "The Mill on the Floss" as "Red Deeps".
[...]
The canal at "Red Deeps" has an association with Sir Roger Newdigate, the famous antiquary, and fifth baronet, who was depicted by George Eliot - she was born on his estate - as "Sir Christopher Cheverel." Some years before his death Sir Roger cut a canal through his ground to join the Coventry canal, and it was said that he could enter a boat on his estate and go to Venice by water without putting foot on dry land.
Following the canal-side one can understand how Maggie Tulliver held "Red Deeps" in awe, and needed all her confidence in her brother Tom's bravery to reconcile her to an excursion thither, "visions of robbers and fierce animals haunting every hollow." The legends of "visions" at Griff Hollows persist to this day, and a superstition among Warwickshire miners who have to pass through the valley on their way to work is that of the "seven whistlers." The whistlers are seven birds, which are said to fly together at night making a whistling noise and presaging disaster. Many miners, if they think they hear the birds, return home, instead of going on the night shift.
[...]
"Red Deeps": A quarry described by George Eliot
Some years ago, an old estate workman at Arbury used to recall seeing, when a youth, a lady in a black silk dress sitting on a low stone wall at Griff Hollows, notebook in hand, sketching or writing. She was George Eliot, visiting a favourite haunt, Griff Hollows or Griff Bottoms, which she depicted in "The Mill on the Floss" as "Red Deeps".
[...]
The canal at "Red Deeps" has an association with Sir Roger Newdigate, the famous antiquary, and fifth baronet, who was depicted by George Eliot - she was born on his estate - as "Sir Christopher Cheverel." Some years before his death Sir Roger cut a canal through his ground to join the Coventry canal, and it was said that he could enter a boat on his estate and go to Venice by water without putting foot on dry land.
Following the canal-side one can understand how Maggie Tulliver held "Red Deeps" in awe, and needed all her confidence in her brother Tom's bravery to reconcile her to an excursion thither, "visions of robbers and fierce animals haunting every hollow." The legends of "visions" at Griff Hollows persist to this day, and a superstition among Warwickshire miners who have to pass through the valley on their way to work is that of the "seven whistlers." The whistlers are seven birds, which are said to fly together at night making a whistling noise and presaging disaster. Many miners, if they think they hear the birds, return home, instead of going on the night shift.
[...]
Friday, 10 January 2020
Wigan, 1906
Wigan Observer and District Advertiser, Friday 20th April 1906.
Under the Clock.
The Superstitions of the Miner.
There is perhaps no other worker, not even the sailor, who is more superstitious than the miner, and only the people living in a mining district such as Wigan know how superstitious the bravest of men may sometimes be. The industries of peace have their heroes as well as the fields of battle, and nowhere is heroism more manifest than in mining districts where some great catastrophe has overtaken the workers below ground. All the keen, cool daring of which flesh and blood is capable then manifests itself in the pitman, who, having escaped the fire himself, risks his life to save his brother worker. And yet, brave as the pitman may be, he is most superstitious. For instance, if the miner in the country districts round about Wigan sees a woman out-of-doors at five o'clock in the morning he is seized with an impulse to turn back and go home. A woman seen out of doors as a miner goes to his work is supposed to bode ill, and there is many a miner who even to-day would aver that he has more than once saved himself from harm by observing the custom which, in towns, is fast dying out. The English miner, too, believes in the prophecy of dreams, and now and then even the matter of fact evidence at an inquest would seem to support the validity of a superstition that has been set aside.
The disastrous explosion at Courrieres [?s] the fact that legends of the mine exists in France as well as in England. Even at Courrieres, as a writer in a contemporary points out, they have their "Black Miner," a spectral creature with dark skin and flashing eyes who works in the remote parts of the mines, and the men can hear the tick-tack of his pick against the seams. Sometimes they encounter the "Black Miner," who takes no notice of them, but continues his toil for a minute or two before their frightened eyes, and then disappears. When he has been seen or heard the colliers of the Pas du Nord become nervous, and may stop work for a day or two. It is now said that the "Black Miner" has often been encountered of late. But the men of the Pas du Nord are not easily dismayed. The miners go to their work singing -
"Quand now somm's de cinq cents pieds sous terre,
Nous ne craignons ni grele ni tonnerre."
In the valley of the Loire there are certain parts of the mine where no miner dares to trespass. It is well understood among the men that the dwellers in these dark places are to be left severely alone. Yet they are kindly sprites, and sometimes take the shape of dwarf miners. When they are seen with their tiny pickaxes across their shoulders danger is at hand. The "Petits Mineurs" are paid their wages regularly in the shape of a small money offering that is placed just on the border line of their own dark territory. The money disappears almost immediately, and the men are convinced that it has been duly collected by "Le P'tit." In the Central Provinces the spirits never appear when the men are at work. But afterwards gangs of ghostly miners take possession, and those above can hear the sharp sound of the pick, the movements of the waggons, and words of command.
The miners in Zola's "Germinal" fear the "Black Man" who lurks in the black recesses of the galleries, as a writer in T.P.'s Weekly points out. The fire-damp was once supposed to be the vengeance of some Pluto-like lord of the underworld, jealously guarding his black diamonds. Even now, some of these northern miners will talk of the "bianque besse," the white bat which is seen flitting, banshee-like, among the workers before the dreaded explosion takes place, or of the white snow-like flakes which are harbingers of the same terrible danger.
In Central France the "little miner" is a kobold who plays Puck-like tricks on the men. Does a lamp go out, a tool break, a piece of timbering fall on a miner - he apostrophises the mischievous elf whom he suspects to be playing these practical jokes. The Vieux Garcon (old bachelor) is another legend. When the new shift is coming down in the cage, and all should be silence, the men hear the pick resound, the "bennes" rolling along the rails, and savage cries of "Ratata!" Then comes a crash, as if all had been destroyed. But when the gallery is reached, all is in order - it is but the "Vieux Garcon."
The same sprite is supposed to haunt the Breton mines, but here he plays a more useful role. He watches over the miners, and by ghostly blows of the hammer (heard, but never seen), he indicates when timbers are rotting and danger lurks. Let us hope this belief does not tend to that neglect which, in a mine, is apt to be so tragic in its results!
Under the Clock.
The Superstitions of the Miner.
There is perhaps no other worker, not even the sailor, who is more superstitious than the miner, and only the people living in a mining district such as Wigan know how superstitious the bravest of men may sometimes be. The industries of peace have their heroes as well as the fields of battle, and nowhere is heroism more manifest than in mining districts where some great catastrophe has overtaken the workers below ground. All the keen, cool daring of which flesh and blood is capable then manifests itself in the pitman, who, having escaped the fire himself, risks his life to save his brother worker. And yet, brave as the pitman may be, he is most superstitious. For instance, if the miner in the country districts round about Wigan sees a woman out-of-doors at five o'clock in the morning he is seized with an impulse to turn back and go home. A woman seen out of doors as a miner goes to his work is supposed to bode ill, and there is many a miner who even to-day would aver that he has more than once saved himself from harm by observing the custom which, in towns, is fast dying out. The English miner, too, believes in the prophecy of dreams, and now and then even the matter of fact evidence at an inquest would seem to support the validity of a superstition that has been set aside.
The disastrous explosion at Courrieres [?s] the fact that legends of the mine exists in France as well as in England. Even at Courrieres, as a writer in a contemporary points out, they have their "Black Miner," a spectral creature with dark skin and flashing eyes who works in the remote parts of the mines, and the men can hear the tick-tack of his pick against the seams. Sometimes they encounter the "Black Miner," who takes no notice of them, but continues his toil for a minute or two before their frightened eyes, and then disappears. When he has been seen or heard the colliers of the Pas du Nord become nervous, and may stop work for a day or two. It is now said that the "Black Miner" has often been encountered of late. But the men of the Pas du Nord are not easily dismayed. The miners go to their work singing -
"Quand now somm's de cinq cents pieds sous terre,
Nous ne craignons ni grele ni tonnerre."
In the valley of the Loire there are certain parts of the mine where no miner dares to trespass. It is well understood among the men that the dwellers in these dark places are to be left severely alone. Yet they are kindly sprites, and sometimes take the shape of dwarf miners. When they are seen with their tiny pickaxes across their shoulders danger is at hand. The "Petits Mineurs" are paid their wages regularly in the shape of a small money offering that is placed just on the border line of their own dark territory. The money disappears almost immediately, and the men are convinced that it has been duly collected by "Le P'tit." In the Central Provinces the spirits never appear when the men are at work. But afterwards gangs of ghostly miners take possession, and those above can hear the sharp sound of the pick, the movements of the waggons, and words of command.
The miners in Zola's "Germinal" fear the "Black Man" who lurks in the black recesses of the galleries, as a writer in T.P.'s Weekly points out. The fire-damp was once supposed to be the vengeance of some Pluto-like lord of the underworld, jealously guarding his black diamonds. Even now, some of these northern miners will talk of the "bianque besse," the white bat which is seen flitting, banshee-like, among the workers before the dreaded explosion takes place, or of the white snow-like flakes which are harbingers of the same terrible danger.
In Central France the "little miner" is a kobold who plays Puck-like tricks on the men. Does a lamp go out, a tool break, a piece of timbering fall on a miner - he apostrophises the mischievous elf whom he suspects to be playing these practical jokes. The Vieux Garcon (old bachelor) is another legend. When the new shift is coming down in the cage, and all should be silence, the men hear the pick resound, the "bennes" rolling along the rails, and savage cries of "Ratata!" Then comes a crash, as if all had been destroyed. But when the gallery is reached, all is in order - it is but the "Vieux Garcon."
The same sprite is supposed to haunt the Breton mines, but here he plays a more useful role. He watches over the miners, and by ghostly blows of the hammer (heard, but never seen), he indicates when timbers are rotting and danger lurks. Let us hope this belief does not tend to that neglect which, in a mine, is apt to be so tragic in its results!
Bargoed, 1907
Leicester Daily Post, Monday 23rd December 1907.
Welsh Miners' Superstition.
A remarkable case of Welsh superstition is reported from Bargoed, Rhymney Valley. Prior to the explosion at the Dinas Main Colliery, Gilfachgoch, a rumour was circulated that an explosion would take place at the Bargoed Collieries of the Powell Duffryn Company, at which nearly 2,000 men are employed. There was no justification for the report, but during the week hundreds of men have absented themselves from work.
Welsh Miners' Superstition.
A remarkable case of Welsh superstition is reported from Bargoed, Rhymney Valley. Prior to the explosion at the Dinas Main Colliery, Gilfachgoch, a rumour was circulated that an explosion would take place at the Bargoed Collieries of the Powell Duffryn Company, at which nearly 2,000 men are employed. There was no justification for the report, but during the week hundreds of men have absented themselves from work.
Cornish miners in South Africa, 1911
The Cornish Telegraph, Thursday 20th July 1911.
Cornish miners and superstition.
There is something about mines that appeals to the superstitious of mankind; especially is this so on the Rand, where one finds miners drawn from all parts of the world. One of the most marked effects noticed in men who have spent most of their life in mining is a sense of danger that suddenly comes over them. "Some would call this faculty the sixth sense," writes a prominent mining expert at Cape Town. "If you asked a miner how he knows there is something wrong he will reply that he feels it. I had a remarkable illustration of this a few years ago. I was walking along a main drift with a mine captain, a man who had been working in mines for over 40 years, having started as a lad in the mines of Cornwall. Suddenly he stopped and exclaimed that something was wrong.
"For the life of me I could not see a thing amiss. The timbers seemed solid and the drive pillars looked secure. But the captain was not satisfied, and insisted on climbing into the stope to investigate. There he found a large crack, running for hundreds of feet, indicating a movement of the strata of serious proportions. Had this discovery not been made in time there would have been a serious accident in the mine, with a probable loss of life. I dare say the years of experience in the mine had developed a power in him which the men called 'superstition,' but which was really the faculty of accurate observation, which to him seemed unconscious."
Cornish miners and superstition.
There is something about mines that appeals to the superstitious of mankind; especially is this so on the Rand, where one finds miners drawn from all parts of the world. One of the most marked effects noticed in men who have spent most of their life in mining is a sense of danger that suddenly comes over them. "Some would call this faculty the sixth sense," writes a prominent mining expert at Cape Town. "If you asked a miner how he knows there is something wrong he will reply that he feels it. I had a remarkable illustration of this a few years ago. I was walking along a main drift with a mine captain, a man who had been working in mines for over 40 years, having started as a lad in the mines of Cornwall. Suddenly he stopped and exclaimed that something was wrong.
"For the life of me I could not see a thing amiss. The timbers seemed solid and the drive pillars looked secure. But the captain was not satisfied, and insisted on climbing into the stope to investigate. There he found a large crack, running for hundreds of feet, indicating a movement of the strata of serious proportions. Had this discovery not been made in time there would have been a serious accident in the mine, with a probable loss of life. I dare say the years of experience in the mine had developed a power in him which the men called 'superstition,' but which was really the faculty of accurate observation, which to him seemed unconscious."
Yorkshire miners on strike
Hartlepool Northern Daily Mail, Monday 8th September 1947.
35, 000 miners are still idle.
The number of miners on strike this morning was approximately 35,000 - a quarter of Yorkshire's mine labour force. Thirty-one pits were affected by the strike - 19 were completely idle and 12 partly affected. Thirteen pits previously affected by strike are now working normally. Three others who had been on strike are on annual holiday. The Grimethorpe men have refused appeal after appeal and rejected move after move to go back, holding that it was the Coal Board that must give ground. Yesterday they refused again when asked to allow three of their own union men to visit the pit and judge the practicability or otherwise of the extra stint.
Grimethorpe miners are talking about a long strike. They are using the miners' superstition about bringing pit ponies out of the pits as the omen for their calculations. [...]
35, 000 miners are still idle.
The number of miners on strike this morning was approximately 35,000 - a quarter of Yorkshire's mine labour force. Thirty-one pits were affected by the strike - 19 were completely idle and 12 partly affected. Thirteen pits previously affected by strike are now working normally. Three others who had been on strike are on annual holiday. The Grimethorpe men have refused appeal after appeal and rejected move after move to go back, holding that it was the Coal Board that must give ground. Yesterday they refused again when asked to allow three of their own union men to visit the pit and judge the practicability or otherwise of the extra stint.
Grimethorpe miners are talking about a long strike. They are using the miners' superstition about bringing pit ponies out of the pits as the omen for their calculations. [...]
Dunfermline, 1960s
Aberdeen Press and Journal, Wednesday 27th March 1968.
Scots Miner Tempted Fate - Died.
Miner William Hutton (46), died after defying a superstition he had followed for 22 years, his brother, Mr Benjamin Hutton said yesterday at an inquiry at Dunfermline Sheriff Court. Mr Hutton explained that his brother, of Wedderburn Crescent, Dunfermline, had made it a rule never to work underground on the last shift of the year, because of a miners' superstition that this was tempting fate. But on December 29 he had decided to work the last shift, so that he would have full pay and extra time off.
Two hours after starting the shift at Comrie Colliery he was killed by a one-ton stone which fell from the roof at the face. Mr Hutton said "Working the last shift of the year meant that Willie would have four days holiday - and he loved his New Year. He loved it more than he feared the old superstition about working the last shift." A formal verdict was returned.
Scots Miner Tempted Fate - Died.
Miner William Hutton (46), died after defying a superstition he had followed for 22 years, his brother, Mr Benjamin Hutton said yesterday at an inquiry at Dunfermline Sheriff Court. Mr Hutton explained that his brother, of Wedderburn Crescent, Dunfermline, had made it a rule never to work underground on the last shift of the year, because of a miners' superstition that this was tempting fate. But on December 29 he had decided to work the last shift, so that he would have full pay and extra time off.
Two hours after starting the shift at Comrie Colliery he was killed by a one-ton stone which fell from the roof at the face. Mr Hutton said "Working the last shift of the year meant that Willie would have four days holiday - and he loved his New Year. He loved it more than he feared the old superstition about working the last shift." A formal verdict was returned.
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