Along These Lines. Poem by Fay Slimm
Along These Lines.
Today folk amble along mine tracks
Where once tin was hard hauled.
Inclines were handled by boys, blackened
With pit dust, bare armed, mauled
By overfilled trucks. Bal-maidens worked
Here too, loading ore. Fine young
Females, hair capped, their laughter shirking
The rules. Slack was, among
Such tender crews not allowed, they sang
Though, mining ballards, loudly.
As shovel struck ore, these tracks just rang
With young voices, as, proud
Of their Cornishness, they kept in line.
Silent now, old mine tracks
Still ring with lost childhood, and some nights
We hear singing come back.
Fay, it is good to look back and remember times gone by. We are the sum of all those times, so hope the song continues, thanks for those folks now resting. Warm Regards Bob x
Yes nice write indeed.....i should say your writing will never be forgotten Fay... memorable read! ! ! ! 10+++ with love shan
A poignant tale of Cornwall, miners worked so hard and started work so young, a beutifully crafted piece from you Fay, 10 Lynda xx
Very poignant. Their songs will never be forgotten. My grandfather worked in the coal mines from the time he was twelve years old. It was a proud life for him. He never resented the labor.10/10 Deeply touched, Sandra
your poem and alisons elaboration put me in a pansive mood... very well written... and yes bitter sweet.. as catrina says a very nice poem cheers Alison Cassidy (6/24/2009 10: 19: 00 PM) It is the resilience and feisty spirit of the young Cornish folk that ring out from this fine poem about a time, not so long past, when miner's children had no childhood, but shared the grind of work Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
catrina is right...along these lines are bundles of memories which is written in a sweet poem..grace
Along these lines there were hidden bitter sweet memories that made this poem so lovely....10+++++++++
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/10/2025 11:22:25 PM # 1.0.0
It is the resilience and feisty spirit of the young Cornish folk that ring out from this fine poem about a time, not so long past, when miner's children had no childhood, but shared the grind of work and poverty with their poor mothers and fathers. We spent most of our childhood holidays at an old gold mining town called Walhalla. There is certainly something romantic about walking along the old tram tracks overgrown with blackberries and imagining (as you have done so eloquently) the pain and drudgery of those who slaved in them. Thank God for the human voice that can transform the most pitiful experience. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥