About a hundred families lived here one day,
In houses round the square and by the railway.
Now they are long since gone,
But the memory lingers on,
And I remember how it used to be,
Along the miners’ rows.
On Saturday the children would all wander
To Aggie Bide’s wee shop down on the corner,
And there they’d stand and pick,
Penny chews and liquorice stick,
Then play among the ash-pits,
Along the miners’ rows.
Then men worked in the pit to make a living,
Where they mined and dug the coal for a few shillings.
You would see them every day,
With their faces lined and grey,
Going home to wives and families,
Along the miners’ rows.
Then in fifty-nine there came disaster,
And life would never be the same thereafter.
For forty-seven men,
Never came back home again,
And there were tears and sadness
Along the miners’ rows.
They came and built new houses down there one day.
The rows are long since gone and so’s the railway.
But if you listen there,
Sometimes, just like a prayer,
You can hear the children playing,
You can hear the pit shift changing,
You can still hear people crying,
All along the miners’ rows.
In houses round the square and by the railway.
Now they are long since gone,
But the memory lingers on,
And I remember how it used to be,
Along the miners’ rows.
On Saturday the children would all wander
To Aggie Bide’s wee shop down on the corner,
And there they’d stand and pick,
Penny chews and liquorice stick,
Then play among the ash-pits,
Along the miners’ rows.
Then men worked in the pit to make a living,
Where they mined and dug the coal for a few shillings.
You would see them every day,
With their faces lined and grey,
Going home to wives and families,
Along the miners’ rows.
Then in fifty-nine there came disaster,
And life would never be the same thereafter.
For forty-seven men,
Never came back home again,
And there were tears and sadness
Along the miners’ rows.
They came and built new houses down there one day.
The rows are long since gone and so’s the railway.
But if you listen there,
Sometimes, just like a prayer,
You can hear the children playing,
You can hear the pit shift changing,
You can still hear people crying,
All along the miners’ rows.
envoyé par Dq82 - 16/12/2019 - 10:29
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Along The Miners' Rows
“(Along The Miners' Rows) summon(s) up and celebrate(s) the rich cultural history of central Scotland’s now-vanished mining communities”
The Herald