A very sad time.

I grew up in the shadow of the Hartley Pit Disaster of 16th January 1862 which claimed 220 men & boys, some as young as 10. Even though I was born 101 years after the event it still lived on in the memory of the old communities, and even now a visit to the graves and memorial in the churchyard at Earsdon is a profound experience, remembering the tales of the disaster and the mass funeral I grew up with as a kid. Joseph Skipsy is the poet in this case, and although long familiar with the poem, I've never heard it sung, although maybe it ought to be: as Bunting said: ...the facts of Skipsey's life are useful, not as Burne-Jones thought, to excuse his shortcomings though his shortcomings are plain, but to define his qualities, which, perhaps, the historians of literature have failed to perceive.

This year marks the 150th anniversary of the Hartley disaster.