Miners in the village worked 50 weeks of the year, and during that time they all saved up to go on a two week holiday to Blackpool. There were as many pubs as there were churches in the village. The miners who went to church were Brethern or Baptist. The miners who went to pubs were football fans. To a man they all supported Rangers and dispised Celtic.
The miners who went to church worked in their gardens, or went for walks with their dogs over the hills. The miners who went to pubs, well went to pubs and pished their wages agaist the wall. It was the miners who went to pubs that headed off to Blackpool. The miners who went to church would not been seen in such a den of iniquity.
When the day arrived there were about 11-12 coaches lined up along the main road and the miners and their families would pile in with their crates of beer, and as the buses pulled away, there would be waving and screaming from the bus windows "We're aw gan' tae Blackpool". For the 2 weeks that they were away, the village was a ghost town.
My father was not a miner and when I was a boy he was unemployed all of the time. From when I was age 5 until 18. I did not think it strange he did not work. My mother was dead, and he was there to look after me. Got me up to school in the morning, fed me breakfast, cooked me dinner, and sent me off to bed with supper.
I never went to Blackpool... but having passed through the town later in life I don't think I would have liked it.
Happy father's day Dad.
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