Jack Smith was born on 1st November 1899 in Wednesbury to John and Eliza Ann nee Love who had got married the previous Christmas Eve. John gave his occupation as a plate leveller on his marriage certificate and as a straightener on the baptism record for young Jack so he presumably worked in the metal trades. In 1902 the family moved to Rugeley where three more children were born – Frances, William and Mary – before they moved to Handsacre. John was now working down Brick Kiln pit at Brereton, (known locally as Brickill), as a coal hewer, walking the three miles or so each way.
The four children settled in at Armitage school and attended Sunday School at Handsacre Primitive Methodists where the register shows them as Jack, Frances, Will and Polly (Mary).
As soon as Jack was old enough to leave school (13) he started work at the Brickill as a pony driver in the same district as his dad. (The mine was divided into districts for daily supervision). His pay was 1s per day and he worked 5 ¾ days a week giving him a weekly pay of 5s 9d. After his first year this was raised to 1s 6d per day. His dad worked in stall 54 – each stall was a section of the coalface about 60 yards long.
Districts generally had 16 stalls and, as with most new boys, Jack’s first job was as a pony driver below ground, working with one of the 8 ponies for his district. The district supervisor was George Hackett who lived in Armitage and was just a few years older. Years later George still kept the brass medal that had been part of his own pony’s harness.
Ponies of course had their own personalities and idiosyncrasies and Jack’s pony, called Whiskey, had to have a muzzle because if the word “back” was mentioned he would charge and, but for the muzzle, would bite viciously.
Jack looked after his pony, collected it from the stable, harnessed it up and took it to the district. Driving a horse through the small, dark, intricate tunnels with just his own miners lamp for light, required skill and finesse and he had two stalls – numbers 72 and 81 – to keep supplied. Coalface workers were paid solely for productivity and got upset if anything held them up. As well as delivering empty tubs or taking away three tubs full of coal, about half a ton of coal in each tub, he also had to supply them with anything else they needed like timber props.
The tubs were pulled along a narrow railway and the rails had to be kept in order. With the movement of the roof of all the tunnels there was often trouble with the rails. Even from one journey to the next the road may have sunk so that even the pony could not get through. When this happened the floor had to be built up again in between the rails. If the rails only sank a short way a pony might rub his back on the roof and his back would soon be sore. If it got too bad he would not work, perhaps for a few days – it was serious to let a pony “roof” as it was called.
The miners often complained that the company was more interested in the health and welfare of the ponies than the men. A pony after all cost £30 to buy and then had to be trained but there were plenty of men and boys looking for work.
Bill James was another pony driver and his pony was called Tommy; they looked after stall 54, (where Jack’s dad worked) and stall 88. One day in early March 1917 there had been trouble with the road to stall 88 and Bill’s pony, Tommy, had been buried twice. When Jack came back to the tub receiving area, just before snap time, stall 54 was waiting for empty tubs.
As Jack’s dad worked in 54, George Hackett said to Jack: ’Will you go into your dad’s stall, saying about the trouble in 88?’
Jack went to 54 and fetched their full tubs but as it went past George the last one came off the rails. George lifted the tub back onto the rail and as he did so it bumped into the next one. Jack was at the front with Whiskey and all George heard him shout was “Whoa, back”.
George could not get past the tubs because they filled the roadway, so he had to go back up 54 road, up the face to 88’s stall and down their road and then up 54’s road to get to the tubs.
By the time George got there he found Jack, under the tubs, dead.
George Hackett never wrote about how Jack’s dad was told about his son’s death nor about the actual cause of death. There were no newspaper reports about Jack’s death nor about his funeral. Jack never met his sister Eliza Ann who was born later in 1917 nor Ruth and Ernald who were born later.
He was buried on 10th March 1917 at St. John The Baptist, aged 17.
Very informative, as usual, Richard. I love reading about colliery stories as the daughter of a miner, and some really bring home the fact that – sad as it is the communities are no longer as close as they once were – if they still exist at all – there are reminders of how hard the life was. One of my own distant relative ancestors died in a pit explosion; he was the fuse setter and the fuse was lit prematurely.