This poem was written for the erection of the Winding Wheel in 2001

The Winding Wheel at Somercotes,

Doesn’t it look grand?

Burnished now and painted,

Long may it proudly stand.

It looks bigger now than, when aloft,

It gave a mighty spin

And hoisted loads of hard-won coals,

Played yoyo with our kin.

Its placing is significant,

On a site near Seely’s row,

Where miners in their pit-dirt

Would daily homeward go.

From “Morewoods” and from “Coatsy”,

And Alfreton as well.

Dead collieries now – just memories

And wond’rous tales to tell.

Of holidays at Skeggy

(The ponies were turned out too),

And traipsing home from the station

When the holiday was through.

There was sadness too, and tragedy

And the “blower” had a plaintive sound

When men came home and the village learned

Of a man killed underground.

But out of the grime of menial work

With no promise of anything more,

Men of great vision have risen to fame

And their names live evermore.

The last “Loose-all” has sounded,

The wheel will turn no more,

But the Winding Wheel at Somercotes

Will recall the days of yore.