Anecdotes about Pit Ponies
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...Glitter was a
mild-tempered animal who would work
like the rest up until 9 o'clock in
the morning and would then refuse to
work until the haulier who was in
charge of him gave him a piece of
twist tobacco. After this he was all
right again...
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...There was one
called Mouse, he did not drink the
water in your bottle but would eat
the cork, and if he found your
clothing he would chew off all the
buttons. When you had to hook his
limber to the tub he knew whether
you had put your foot between the
rails or the plates as they were
called, and he would kick out and
catch your leg...
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...Wallace used
to wait until you were putting his
harness on in his stall and he
would feel about with his left
foreleg until he got onto your
toes. All he had to do then was to
lean on you and you can imagine
the yells that used to come from
the stall!...
He caught quite a few of us
like this.
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..Little Vane was one of those who
counted the clank of the coupling
chains, but he was in a Union of
his own - he would pull only two
tubs.'...
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...One instance was when I was
pony-driving from the coalface to
the top of the jinny. The youth
controlling the jinny had hung his
waistcoat up with his snap* and
watch in the pockets. The pony had
nosed around until he got the
scent of the snap, and in the
finish had chomped the snap, the
waistcoat and the pocket-watch, so
there was neither snap nor time
left!...
* Food
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...We had one called Honesty, you
know, there was what you call a
bait-hole, was shot out of the
side, there was a choppy-box in
there. Now, the foreshift lads, if
we went down about four o'clock,
and the backshift lads came in
about nine, they had to take our
ponies while we got our snap back
of the choppy-box, you see ... you
put your bottle on there, and if
Honesty was there, he would have
your bottle and the cork out
before you could say Jack
Robinson. With his lips ... he'd
lie down ... with his lips, and
the cork wus out... he used to
waste half of it, you know, drink
as much as he could like… aye…Honesty
... I'll not forget him ..a
skewbald...’
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...Several of the ponies used to
like a pinch of snuff ... you used
to put a pinch on the back of your
hand and give it to the pony and
he used to curl his nostril up,
just us if he was laughing, then
sneeze.'...
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...He would pull 6 or 7 full tubs
at once, he would get down on his
knees to grip the ground and pull
away and without a word from me he
would know when to stop pulling
and he would cross out from the
road us I unhooked his chain and
the tubs would run on into the
other tubs. This pony was very
intelligent, and I thought a lot
of him, that much that I had a
tattoo of Bloom's head put on my
right arm in 1931 and it's still
there, a reminder of those great,
hardworking little animal who
would never give up or be
beaten...
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...This is about a horse called
Eagle, who was put down the pit
before he was ready, for the sake
of the costs. The hauler who was
put in charge of him could do
nothing with him, or any other
hauler in the pit. After about two
weeks he broke away while being
hitched to some full trams of
coal, ran away from the coalface
and ran into a broken roof support
and was killed. There was a
management enquiry. My father
represented the hauler. My father
claimed that Eagle should not have
been down the pit without being
correctly broken in for the work
of hauling trams of coal. He won
the case, and so the hauler was
not held responsible for the death
of Eagle. The funny part of this
story is that the hauler told his
wife that the manager had blamed
him and that he had to pay the
cost of the horse - £25 to be
deducted from his pay packet at
two shillings and sixpence [12.5p]
a week.
The haulier used then to
write at the bottom of his pay
docket “Horse – 2/6d”.
So he had an extra five
pints of beer each week, beer
being sixpence [5p] in those days.
After about a year his wife
found out the truth and gave him
one hell of belting….
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...His name was Piper. What a
rebel, a rebel who employed
passive resistance as his most
formidable weapon. Piper was a
stint pony, which meant pulling
twenty empty drams and the haulage
rope in-bye for about
three-quarters of a mile. The
first two runs of drams he would
pull till his belly touched the
floor and take the run of empties
in-bye without a murmur. The third
run of empties Piper pulled his
act. The driver would fasten his
limbers into the tube and shout,
"Come on, Piper". Piper
would just cock his head on one
side, look at the river as if to
say "You'll be lucky"
and gently sink to his knees and
lie down. Nothing on earth, or
underneath for that matter, would
shift Piper. He would lie there
oblivious of anyone about him. The
drivers got that used to him
playing this stunt that they
played the same game and sat down
beside him. After a short period
he would, with assistance,
struggle to his feet and carry on
until he felt the need for having
another rest.'
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……There was a period when
another young chap and I had to
start work an hour or two before
the others on the shift started.
We had to go a mile in-bye to the
stables. We would collect six
ponies and bring them out-bye to
the new district. We would bring
them out of the stables, set them
on their way, and he and I would
follow behind and chat and
sometimes have a sing-song. Then
when we got close to our
destination one of us would go to
the front with our first pony.
Then, one morning, we found one
missing. I went back to
investigate and found him in the
stable. This happened several
days, and always it was the same
pony missing! Mack was his name
and he was jet-black. So we had to
keep our eyes open really wide and
it happened that halfway out I
spotted him in a man-hole, just
waiting fro us to pass him, and
then he’d make his way back to
the stables!…..
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…..I had Bumble a while, when I
was a driver. When we first went
at start the shift and he was in
the mood he used to get under a
certain piece of head timber and
rub his back on it, an he would
not move until he was ready.
The rule was that he had to
be brought out last, but the
drivers used to bring him out
first, jut out of mischief, and of
course no-one could get past him,
and there was only one way out of
the stables……..
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...Major was one for going for a
walk back to the stables if he got
the chance, but I had one ace up
my sleeve to stop him wandering
off. He had one weakness, he would
not open ventilation doors as most
ponies did. To keep him safe and
to know where to find him I used
to put him between two ventilation
doors, which were about 15 to 20
yards apart. Although he wouldn't
open the doors he would try to
kick them down, and one day I left
him, kicking the doors as usual. I
knew he couldn't hurt the doors,
they were sturdily built. About
two hours later, when I came back,
there was Major at the other door,
belting away at it like mad. I
went and calmed him down, but he
had another kick at he door whilst
I was holding him, and I thought
at the time that was unusual. Then
I heard a voice on the other side
of the door - "Have you got
hold of that bloody horse?"
It was the Deputy. He said, “I've
been trying to get through that...
door fur an hour, and every time I
pushed it open that ... horse
kicked it shut!'
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...Then I saw him turn round
towards me and I sensed that
something was wrong and Tim had
sensed it. It was then I heard a
sound I'd heard before, a runaway
of drams coming towards us. I
scrambled out of the dram; I knew
I could do nothing for Tim, the
road was too narrow and I had only
seconds to try and find a
"manhole", where the
side was cut away at intervals to
provide a shelter for such an
event. I couldn't find one and all
I could do was to squeeze myself
upright against the side wall as
the runaway drams roared past me,
breaking the bottle of tea which
was in a "poacher's
pocket" on the inside of my
waistcoat, and my oil-lamp was hit
and extinguished, and then I heard
the crash as the runaway drams hit
Tim and the empties he had been
pulling, just a few yards away. I
was scared stiff and for what
seemed ages I couldn't move, then
with the smell of the dust in my
nose and hearing Tim groaning, I
just sat down and cried, and was
still there when I saw lights
bobbing towards me and some miners
had come to see what had happened.
One took me farther away and the
others cleared the rubble and got
Tim out. They told me his
"cobble stick" - that's
the wooden cross piece that the
chain pulling the drams is
attached to - had up-ended and
taken the weight of the runaway
train as it hit the pony and then
the roof, and, apart from limping
badly, and the shock, Tim seemed
alright. It didn't take them long
to dear the road and I recovered
quickly, not just how lucky I had
been. However, there was no work
to be done by Tim and me that day
and we made our way with we of the
men back through the air-doors,
Tim still limping. But, once
through the doors he must have
known he was heading hack to the
stables, and his limp disappeared,
and all the way back he walked all
right till he got to the stables,
when he put on the limp again and
I'm sure that it was to impress
the man in charge of the stables,
I believe Tim had a few days off'
to get over it, and I did the
same……
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