I remember Mother shouting through the door, “carry on mister I’ll be in a bigger pickle if the door falls in”. After the submarine raid on Seaham Colliery we all put strips of paper on our windows to stop splintering. We bought coils of brown paper about one inch wide with adhesive on one side and criss crossed them on our windows. Here again people showed their ingenuity with the patterns they invented, and we all bought blackout curtains. I remember that submarine raid so clearly. Our neighbour was washing, but like everyone else she left her tub and ran into the garden to lie flat on the grass. We all did this.
The raid did not last long and when she returned to her washing she was shouting in rhythm to her possing “Bloody Kaiser. I wish I had him in here”, meaning the poss tub. I bet those clothes were whiter than white when she was finished. I shudder to think what the Kaiser would look like after such a beating. There were always little things like this to ease the tension. Fortunately there was only one woman killed in the raid and she was a visitor to the district. You know it was very surprising how suspicion spread amongst the neighbours about those little streaks of light in the blackout. For no reason at all they were looked upon as spies and the stories grew more and more alarming. Everybody was looking with suspicion at each other and delving into backgrounds to find the smallest trace of connection with the Germans.
I recall one very dark night during the war when my Father was having a particularly bad night with his breathing. Mother had to open the window and the front door to get plenty of air. All lights were out both inside and outside when a loud terrible voice shouted “Somebody help – ah’s Jimmy Grant and ah’s lost.” Poor man he didn’t know which way to turn to find his home. He had just finished a shift down pit and had taken a wrong turning. It was funny afterwards, but not at the time. Mother walked into the corner of the wall at the end of our street and split her face from brow to chin in the blackout, and I got stranded in the middle of a field on my way to a dance which was held in the soldiers’ huts.
A sergeant rescued me and took me into the dance hall. Poor fellow! I wonder what ran through his mind when he got into the light inside. These dances were held to help in the running of the Mission House which had been converted into a convalescent place for wounded soldiers. It was a common sight to see them in their light blue uniforms and with bandaged heads, arms or legs. There was one consolation. They were feted and spoilt by everybody in the community. They were terrible times, yet they were all repeated in the second war. We have only a few graves of soldiers, sailors and airmen in our local cemetery, but to visit them overseas is a heart breaking experience, lines and lines of them and nearly all in their twenties. I often think the great division between the generations is growing wider and wider.
Young children are very shy with old people. They often scuttle away like little frightened rabbits. Yet I recall how happy I was to visit my Grandmother. I must have been very small when I can first remember her house. It was called the round house as it had been converted from a disused mill. It stood a little behind where the Mill Inn stands still, and as the mill had a wide base then narrowed towards its summit so the house was. I remember Ganny could not hang pictures on the wall because of this. Fields surrounded the old house, and there was a row of stone built cottages just adjacent which have long disappeared. These cottages had stable doors and a very narrow footpath, but when one passed up the little street these cottages looked the essence of comfort.
The fields had stiles and crossing these fields into Seaton village stood Seaton Hall, the home of the Colliery Agents. I can recall many of these, Mr. Corbett, Mr. Brough, Mr. Wallow, Mr. Ford and Mr. Charlton are some of them. Seaton Hall was a beautiful home in those days. It was surrounded by farms but now it is in the midst of houses – private and council.
Seaham Colliery itself was begun in 1846 by the Third Marquis of Londonderry. The Parish was founded in 1857. The population in 1891 was 5,000 and it covered 500 acres. It is situated about 6 miles south of Sunderland and one mile west of Seaham Harbour.
A big explosion occurred in1871 and there was a loss of 26 men and boys. This was followed by another in 1880 with a loss of 164 men and boys. Some of the widows and parents still lived at the cottages, as did some of the injured. I remember one fine old man living in the next row to ours and his face was all black from the heat of the explosion.
But Dawdon pit was sunk when I was a little girl. It was always called the new pit, and then Dawdon itself replaced our little village.
‘Oh that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me’
Tennyson said this in his poem ‘The Brook’ so if he thought himself inadequate who am I to grumble? So I shall just continue in my simple way. It is a lovely sunny Sunday morning and as I look out on the village I see groups of men winding their way to the village green to have a game of quoits and then a free discussion afterwards in the village pub. Well, my Father spent many summer Sunday mornings in the same way more than a hundred years ago and continued long after I was born. I can see them now in the ‘Cow’s Field’ laughing and shouting and enjoying a day of work. But we had no village pub. They had to walk down to Seaham Harbour where there were plenty. ‘The Rose and Crown’, ‘The Duke of Wellington’, ‘The Station Hotel, ‘The Kicking Buddy’, ‘The Parrot’ just to name a few.
Oh no our village had only the four streets of houses. We didn’t call them streets. We called them ‘rars’ meaning rows.
The middle ‘rar’ was also called ‘The Garden Walk’. We had a school, a fever hospital and the cemetery. But our homes were not slums. They were built of stone, and had three bedrooms, a sitting room and a living room, and a spacious pantry. We had a big garden at the front and a big back yard with coal house and toilet.
We had no footpaths in the streets but every house had a cemented yard at both back and front, about forty inches wide with steps up to the door, a boot scraper at one side and a rain barrel at the other, and a wooden fence and gutters outside of this. It was a great achievement when you were promoted from scrubbing the netty seats to scrubbing the little yard and gutters. The big back yard was scrubbed after every washing day, the wash tub emptied and half filled with clean water to prevent it warping.
A cooper used to come round to attend to wash tubs and rain tubs, and with the hoops around his shoulders he used to shout “jobs for the cooper”. The gardens at the front were never neglected. All families provided their own vegetables. They varied in degrees of quality but they served the purpose. There was no shop near to provide vegetables so everybody did their own garden. But if a miner was ill or injured, neighbours would help out. A young man living at the top of our street had a gun, and he used to go out shooting rabbits, of which there were hundreds, in the surrounding fields. Sixpence for one, if you bought two you got them for ninepence, but you had to skin them yourselves.
Mother could skin a rabbit as easily as she could tear off the sole of a boot. We used to fight for our turn for the rabbit’s tail. Tie a piece of string to it and you could play endless games with it. We loved the feel of the soft fur, but the ragman bought the skins for a penny, so you will see what a cheap dinner a couple of rabbits made for us. Some people would kill a couple of pigeons if they had no money, but father loved pigeons so that practice was taboo in our family.
When I look back our homes at the cottages were really very posh. I did not realise this for some years, not until the Upper Standard School was built, and I mixed with other people than the Cottages. The houses at Seaham Harbour were mostly privately owned. Most had just one or two rooms let off to tenants. Some had cheap little cottages built in the yards, and all had communal toilets and wash houses. Rents were very low. Some were only 1/6d per week, while others reached 2/6d. I then realised how lucky we were with our homes, but to be a miner was sufficient to be held up to scorn, yet they were a kind race of men and real socialists. I am glad they are coming into their own, for they are the salt of the earth. I hope the spirit of the past never forsakes them.
This is the time for the flower and vegetable shows and it reminds me of my very young days, when shows were held in nearly all the public houses or marquees built for the purpose. Some men, my uncle included, won prizes years after year. It was my Aunt’s proud boast that she never had to buy any linen or bed clothes. They were all won at the shows. It caused a lot of jealousy, for the same people won year after year, but then they had the expertise after years and years of hard work. Chrysanthemums and dahlias were also shown then. The big flower show in Seaham Hall grounds had already been held in the August. What a weekend that was. The grounds were packed with amusements of all kinds, shuggie motors, swing boats, horses, penny on the mat, you name it, it was there. There were tea marquees, and coconut shies, roll your pennies, and shoot the clowns, racing, skipping, dancing, and a glorious time was had by all. It was Lord Londonderry’s ground and there was no vandalism, hence the same festivities year after year.