The Wingate Colliery Disaster
By Patrick Leavy

As the midnight hour approached fast,
From lip to lip the word was passed :
"The Pit has fired!" In grief and woe
The crowd go rushing to and fro,
With many a sad and aching heart,
Awakened by the dreadful start.
Around the fatal shaft they stand
And watch the brave, heroic band
Of volunteers prepare to go
In search of their dear ones below.
The mother, the wife, are standing there,
Offering to God an earnest prayer.
In anxious groups the children gather,
Hoping to catch a glimpse of father.
An exploring party descends the mine —
Their courage impossible to define;
In their hands their lives those heroes bear,
Yet show not the slightest sign of fear ;
Each determined to do the best he can ;
Viewer and hewer, master and man.
The same noble feelings each heart within,
The one common sorrow made all akin.
Alas! for human hopes and fears,
The worst has happened — grim death appears.
Ere long they gaze upon the face
Of their gallant comrade, Harry Pace,
Who unselfishly had tried to save
A comrade from an awful grave.
Dixon, Smith, and Studholm too,
Were soon presented to their view,
Dunlavey, Bentley, and Isaac James,
And many more familiar names.
Hardy, Bayliss, and George Broomfield
In that pit of death their lives did yield.
Mason, Farnworth, and Maddison,
For them also the sands of life had run.
Amongst those who subscribed the last roll on that fatal day
Were Stockdale, Ainsley, and Hockaday.
Gilchrist, Bainbridge, and Harris also
Were amongst those doomed to perish below.
Morrison, Kay, Metcalfe, and Grafton,
Cold in death at the Low Main Shaft, on
That fatal morn, were reverently laid
By the heroes of the rescue brigade.
Yes, heroes they were, every one.
Some lost a father, some a son.
Each knew he might he next to fall;
It mattered not ; for duty's call
Brought each sturdy miner to his post,
And each man in himself a host.
The one bright spot in this dark disaster
Is the splendid courage of man and master;
Their efforts exceed their fondest dreams.
All alive in the Hutton and Harvey Seams.
Though the task is arduous they never shirk,
But quickly get the ribble to work,
And, like the brave hearts they are, prepare to go
Into the very jaws of death below,
To bring those poor belated souls to bank
From that pit of death so foul and stank.
'Twas with joyous hearts that we did greet
McGonnel, Dawson, Cunliffe, and Peet ;
Those men had been given up for dead,
And for the repose of their souls prayers had been said.
Poor Tom Elliott has not yet been found —
His body is still underground :
May God comfort his wife in her heavy grief,
And to each poor sufferer send relief ;
And may He in His Wisdom teach us to master
And prevent a recurrence of this sad disaster.

On these sad occasions 'tis grand to see
The precept of Christian charity
Practised by every denomination.
Every effort to cope with the situation
Is practised by all in the hour of need —
Shoulder to shoulder is now their creed.
The priest and the parson, the doctor, the nurse,
Vie with each other the gloom to disperse.
When Time, "The Great Healer," brings balm to each sore,
And this terrible disaster's described as folk-lore
By our descendants, in some distant valley or glen,
They'll be proud that their forefathers were Durham Pitmen.