Pit Brow Lassie
She wanted to play the piano,
have dancing lessons, train to be a nurse.
But she worked on the Pit Brow sorting coal.
She learned to like her job,
the chatter with the girls,
the laughter and the jokes.
The walk down the pit lane in Spring
listening to the bird song,
smelling the hawthorn blossom,
her head swathed in a shawl,
her clogs clicking cobbles.
Every Sunday she would go to church,
have dinner with her family,
go for a stroll in the afternoon
wearing pointed shoes,
a hat with a feather
and white lacy gloves
to hide her fingers.
Sally James
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