THE 1877 BLANTYRE DISASTER
(Words and Music by Terry Moore)
She gave him his can, as she buttered his bread
He kissed his children, asleep in their bed
I promise you Annie, when it comes their time
They won’t follow me down the mine.
As the daybreak hangs over, the grim miners’ rows
The men would leave, to dig out the coal
Fathers and sons, brothers and boys
Went down to the wheels rusty noise.
Then at 8.45 all hell came to call
A massive explosion, engulfed them all
The mine was their tomb, and funeral pyre
And the black choking smoke, spread over Blantyre.
The women all ran, from the houses they came
Thru’ the mud from the sewers, in the cold morning rain
They just stood at the gate, calling in vain
As the children cried out, for their fathers.
Some men tried a rescue, but it all was in vain
They were beat by the heat, the smoke, and the flames
Oh! The tears and the anguish, at the roll-call of names
Of the widows, and fatherless children.
Over two hundred men, perished that fateful day
Mining twelve hours, for a pittance of pay
A young boy of eleven, I’m so sorry to say
Drove the ponies, his name was John Henry.
It was snowing that morn, they were all laid to rest
The poor helped the poor, and the rich gave their best
The minister read out, each name and address
As the mothers, and widows stood crying.
But life carried on, in the grim miners rows
The poverty, the squalor, and the hand-me-down clothes
How they survived, well, God only knows
And the children called out for their fathers.
But there’s one more, sad story to tell
We know they ignored, the gas and the smell
But the Bastards! evicted the widows as well
To the poor house, along with their children.
Yes, Mister mine owner, you have blood on your hands
And your inhumanity, to your fellow man
Mister mine owner, I’ve only one last word to say
May God show you mercy, when you meet, Young John Henry