Shout Down a Pit Shaft

By Contestant No.2
April 9 2007

This is entry number 2 in this years Writing Competition. The other entries will follow over the next fortnight. After all entries have been displayed for your entertainment on the site you will get a chance to vote for your favourite and our overall winner...

A Saturday, summer 1969.

It’s always murky here. Don’t matter whether it’s snow or sunshine, it’s still murky. It might be power station that does it, it might be coking plant that does it, it might be the smoke from people’s chimneys, it might be all of them.

Can’t complain like, without power station, coking plant and people’s fires we wouldn’t have jobs. See, me and lads work down pit. Don’t let anyone tell you being a miner’s good work or glamorous; it’s not. It’s hard work and it’s dangerous. Being underground all that time makes you appreciate the rest of life. Work hard, play hard, that’s what I say.

I play cricket. So in summer I get Saturdays off. I’m bloody good an’ all. If I played any where else I would have been playing county cricket ages back. But I don’t, I play cricket in Yorkshire.

This is best county in world, wi’ best people in world and best cricketers in world. Stuff the Jocks and Welsh we should break away and be our own country. We’d run it proper and if we were a country, we’d get Test Match status and hammer other countries instead of hammering other counties.

You don’t become proud to be a Yorkshireman. You’re proud as soon as you pop out of your mother, so long as she remembered to pop you out in one of the Ridings. If she’d gone off somewhere to do it you might as well hang your head in shame. God help you if she did it wi’ that lot on other side of the Pennines.

I’m gonna play for Yorkshire soon. They can’t ignore me forever. I’m best fast bowler, in best club side, in best county in country. Today we reached the semi final of National Village Cup. Sent some southerners packing, dunno why they bothered coming up. I could have worked a twenty four our shift and then bowled ‘em out; blindfolded!

They came from a place in Kent. One of the committee members said it were in Stock Broker belt. Dunno what a Stoke Broker is but he reckoned they bought bits of companies and then sold them. I said, don’t they make owt? He said “only lots of money”. So they don’t graft for a living I said. He said “no”. I said “cancel tea then we’ll have ‘em back in pavilion before lunch.”

They rolled up this morning in charabanc they’d hired. Apparently they stayed in a posh hotel in Leeds last night.

I were in Miners Welfare getting a round in for the lads, who were outside in sun. One of them, came inside and said “nah then Jim, get yourself out here quick, Lord Fauntleroy’s just arrived”.

I walked out to see a bunch of manicured blazer wearing hoity toity pansies get off a coach. They had gold buttons on their blazers and each had a silk stripy tie. They looked like they’d never been dirty in their lives or done a days work. One of ‘em said to another, ‘looks a bit murky, might swing early on’. The other said ‘ho, ho, very good. We’ll teach these animals a proper lesson’.

Now this bull doesn’t need a red rag normally. But waving one in his face like that int gonna do your predicament a right lot of good.

I strode over to the worm who made the comment, my biceps a twitching. “Tell driver to keep engine running, we’ll have you back on it soon enough”.

“Ha (he snorted a laugh), typical yorkie, couldn’t understand a word.” Then to his mate “did you remember to bring your translator?”

I leant over him, “I hope you can duck lad, last little snotty snob that came here wi’ a big gob, spent two weeks in Infirmary after I put a corker between his eye balls”. He scurried off, seeking the safety of the rest of his pampered flock. This big bad wolf looked at the flock and licked his lips.

They won the toss and decided to field first, they thought they’d get the ball to swing in the murk before the sun burned through it. Didn’t bother me, their not gonna see it straight or curving when I come charging in.

We batted well, and put a good total on the board. They had a decent spinner who took care of much of the lower middle order, but it was a bit late for them then. I came in at nine, captain won’t have it that I should bat higher, he’s wrong like, but that’s him. I thought I’d have a bit of fun with the spinner as there were runs on the board.

I smashed him for a few boundaries, including a six. I played and missed a few times trying to slog. Bloody stumper kept shouting “jolly good show” everytime ball went past the bat. I said that if he said it once more his gloves would be shoved somewhere he didn’t want. So I looked like a right silly sod when I was stumped next ball.

On my way back to the pavilion I caught the prat from earlier, sneering at me in the covers. I told him that normally I advise opposition batsmen to remember their box, but in his case he didn’t need one as I didn’t think he had owt to protect.

As soon as I was back in the pavilion I was itching for our innings to be wrapped up. All I wanted to do was get out there and teach these work shy snobs a lesson. ‘Never belittle a Yorkshireman’.

As it was one of our middle order assisted by the remainder of the tail put on another eighty runs. The wait just put more coal on the fire in my belly.

Finally I got my chance. When we came out I waited by the gate for the openers. “No point shutting that lads, you’ll be walking back through it again in a minute.”

One of them looked up at me and then looked away straight after. It was my little friend again, and I’d got him without bowling a ball.

The fire in my belly now like a furnace. You could have forged Sheffield’s finest steel in there. But I was gonna play with these soft lazy southerners first. I was going to have some fun with my prey before devouring it.

I marked out my run up ten paces short. Making sure I bowled a tight line I came in at medium pace. My little friend from earlier was opening. All he could manage was a tame prod sending the ball back to me. I picked it up and shied at the stumps. I could see the look in his eyes, he was scared, and he should be, he was in a real man’s world now.

Captain came over to me, “what you playing at Jim lad?” I just winked and said “don’t worry skip”.

The next four balls I did the same and each time he fended it off. The last one I deliberately bowled a bit of a dolly towards his leg side. He tentatively snatched two runs. I could see the relief on his face. Between overs I overheard him say to the other opener “not so bad after all”. I grinned to myself “just you wait”, I muttered under my breath.

Sid bowled a maiden at the other end. I knew he would.

I went back to my mark and then marked out my proper run up. When I’d marked it I stood with my back to the match and rolled up my sleeves. I turned around and stood legs apart, arms on hips glaring at my prey. My nostrils flared. The lads in the slips grinned, they knew what was coming. I was now the biggest bull with the baddest temper, stamping at the earth with my front hoof.

I charged. First ball, short, it whistled past my preys eyes as he ducked out of the way. He crumpled on the floor in a frightened heap. I looked down at him, “like eating muck do yer”, I said. He was now learning why you shouldn’t annoy a Yorkshireman, especially when he’s got cricket ball in his hand.

Second ball, snarl, charge. His stumps were splayed apart before he’d even considered his backward defensive. On his way back I told him he shouldn’t bother coming to a man’s county again and shouldn’t bother trying to play our game either.

We skittled them out in no time. I finished with figures of six for eighteen. Someone told me that one of the Yorkshire committee members had come to watch. About bloody time too.

Soon I’ll be pulling on that cap with a little white rose on it. Anyone can play for England, but how many can play for the greatest county of them all. Only us ‘special ones’!