The Pit of Nations: Black British Coal Miners

Depictions of Britain’s industrial history tend to focus on white working class communities, and the contribution of black men to Britain's coal mining history is often under represented. Over decades, African Caribbean coal miners stood shoulder to shoulder with white British, European and Asian miners, toiling underground to help fuel the UK economy. Some even died in the process. The photographs focus on miners who worked at the Gedling Colliery in Nottingham. During the Windrush generation of postwar migration from Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago and other Caribbean islands, thousands came to Nottingham and, attracted by the wages, signed up to work at Gedling Colliery. The colliery became known as “The Pit of Nations” due to the diverse nationalities of its workforce. The making of these new portraits coincides with the 70th anniversary of the arrival of SS Empire Windrush to Tilbury Docks, Essex in 1948 carrying passengers from the Caribbean who went on to help shape the British social, cultural and political life we know today.

The Pit of Nations: Black British Coal Miners was commissioned by Nottingham based social historian Norma Gregory, as part of a wider project which recorded the stories of British coal miners of African Caribbean heritage.

Fitzalbert Taylor, 88 years old, emigrated to the UK from Jamaica in 1954 and spent 25 years working as a coal miner at Gedling Colliery

One of the things that attracted Fitzalbert Taylor to becoming a coal miner was the warmth. “It was like being back home in Jamaica down there” says the 88-year-old. “It was so warm. When I was in the building trade, I couldn’t feel my arms or my legs – donkey jacket, two pairs of trousers and you were still cold.”

Talking about the 1972 miners strike he said, “They cooked a big pot of  stew and local people brought food along the Gedling Road to throw into the pot to boil. They cheered, ‘Come on Big Albert, we want you at the front!’ I thought when the police see me, a big black man, they will beat me badly.“…

…“But I was more aware than that. You have to be smart when you know you’re a target. So I went to the back. It was a case of surviving because you don’t get the same privileges as them. The police drank their soup with the white strikers. I thought “this strike is not for us black men”. After the 1972 strike, I said I was not going on no picket line again!

Taylor was forced to take seven months off work after an accident left him with a broken helmet, a “bust head” and a broken jaw. “I didn’t know how bad it was until I resumed work and one of the men said to me: ‘Albert, when you came up that day and I looked at you, I thought you were dead.’” 

Fitzalbert Taylor's mining boots

Johnson Baptiste, 80 years old, emigrated from the Commonwealth of Dominica in 1961 and spent 26 years working at Gedling and Ollerton Collieries

“My brother was working in the mine and he introduced me. At the time, the miners would get a coal allowance. In the winter time, a miner’s house was always warm.” …

…“I was the first black man elected by white men to speak on their behalf as a union representative. It was fantastic really.”

Baptiste was a well-known figure in the community and he helped to look after colleagues if they were short on money, had a problem with management or were injured in the course of their work. He is still haunted by the memory of one of his co-workers who was fatally injured by a coal-cutting machine.

“I’m still hurting right now. He had seven children. At that time, I was involved in the union and I made sure his children would be okay. I still see his children to this day and they.”

Once Gedling Colliery closed in 1991, Johnson lost touch with many of his colleagues. His biggest joy has been reuniting with former friends, and making new ones, celebrating the togetherness that made work in the mines so memorable.

Anthracite coal extracted from Gedling Colliery

Lincoln Cole, 83 years old, came to the UK from Kingston, Jamaica in 1957 aged 19. He worked as a miner at Gedling Colliery from 1965 to 1987.

Lincoln Cole says his introduction to Nottingham city in the early 60's wasn’t particularly pleasant —  “There were teddy boys with bicycle chains,” he says. “From six o’clock you couldn’t go out, because they would kick you left, right and centre.”

While racial tension was simmering over on the streets, it does not feature much in the accounts from below ground. When a colleague used a racial slur against Cole, the colliery manager told the offender to apologise immediately and threatened to sack him.

However, the men report that opportunities for promotion were limited because of their skin colour, and Cole says black miners generally brushed off any racist comments by colleagues: “There was no use having friction, because it would give a bad atmosphere and that was the last thing you wanted.” 

Miners lamp checks

Robert Johnson, 83 years old, emigrated from Trinidad to the UK in 1959 and worked on the coal face at Gedling Colliery.

Skill’s bus tickets for colliery transportation from Nottingham's inner-city neighbourhoods

Carl Phillips, born in Britain to a Guyanese father and an English mother. Became a deputy at Bevercotes pit, Nottinghamshire.

I was a miner at Bevercotes pit in Nottinghamshire from 1980 - 1992. I started off as a haulage lad and would go on to work in all areas of the mine and eventually I became a deputy.

Working in a coal mine was like nothing else I’ve ever done. It was extreme: we were 2,000 feet underground and it was hot and dusty. Putting your hand in front of your face and not being able to see it was a strange experience. Absolute darkness.

My perception of racism changed when I was at the pit. It wasn’t that the racism disappeared because it certainly didn’t, but everyone was a lot more tolerant of other people underground. You had to be, your life depended on it. I experienced it more when I was on the surface, there was overt racism and racist attitudes. It sounds like a small thing but for example, at the end of a shift in the pithead showers, miners always wash each other’s backs — but very often they wouldn’t was a black miner’s back. Also, interacting with seniors was very harsh and sometimes brutal. I was referred to as “boy” and it was usually the black miners who got given the worst jobs to do.

The traditional portrayal of miners as noble workers toiling for the country in terrible condition has been dominated by a white british narrative. I think it’s important that more light is shed on the contributions that people of ethnic minorities made to the British coal industry. I feel that many people from the Caribbean who came over in the 50’s didn’t want to rock the boat too much and had the attitude of “let’s just stay below the radar in case something nasty happens to us”. Now people should learn about what they did for the country.

North Nottinghamshire area commemorative plate

Garrey Mitchell, 62 years old, born in Britain to Jamaican parents who had emigrated in the 1950’s. Mitchell’s Father was also a coal miner

“We used to watch each other’s back and made sure we got on with each other. If miners didn’t get along, the officials would move you. It was a different world down there. But on the surface it was different, things changed. When you had coal dust over you, you couldn’t tell who was black and who was white until you got into the showers.

Sometimes we played ‘hide and seek’ in the coal mine because we'd finished our work quickly. But one day I nearly died. We were waiting for the loco [train] to come to take us back to the pit bottom and I decided to hide in a manhole. I started to feel heavy and sleepy. I couldn’t move my hands and legs and realised it was gas. All I could do was to bow my head forward out of the manhole. Luckily, I felt a gust of air, which brought me back to my senses. It took two days to recover and get better. I never played hide and seek again! I thanked Jesus.”

Gedling Colliery commemorative plate

Oswald “Ozzie” Roberts, 83 years old, emigrated to Britain from St Kit’s in 1957. Worked at Gedling Colliery for 30 years

I came to the UK in 1957. I had no family here but I had friends who emigrated with me and we helped each other out. I lived on St Anne’s Well Road, Nottingham. I first started at Gedling Colliery in 1960 and trained at the Hucknall Training Centre for two weeks. After that, you go back to the pit where you’re going to work. They showed you how to shovel coal  and properly harness the pit ponies. We had two stables down at Gedling pit, you know. Sometimes I did a double shift, if I was on a Friday day shift I could work until Saturday morning and earn more money. 

Methane gas detector

Andy Nembhardt, 61 years old, born in Britain to Jamaican parents and worked at Gedling Colliery

“It was intense, it was interesting, it was exciting, frustrating, you can name quite a few feelings really. Overall, I enjoyed it and I am sure a lot of miners will say it’s a good camaraderie at the end of it. You can’t explain to a person outside of mining about mining, unless you’ve worked down the pit, so it doesn’t matter where you come from, I suppose, in the world, all miners can actually relate to each other, so that’s a good thing.

It was my dad who introduced me to the pit because he was well-known and could got me a job there. I never encountered racism at first because I think my dad paved the way for me. He was a well-known guy down the pit. His name was Herbert Nembhard and they used to call me ‘young Herbie’ when I came down the pit after that. ‘Oh, it’s young Herbie, look, young Herbie’ and the miners then used to talk about him with great passion. ‘Your dad is an amazing guy, hard worker and always chipped in’ and it’s a great thing to hear and you know, you trying to walk in your dad’s shoes.

Oxygen detector

Samuel Rubie, born 1940, Jamaica. Emigrated to Britain in 1961 and worked in several Nottinghamshire collieries

"I was born in 1940, in Brandon Hill, St Andrews, Jamaica. I came to England in 1961 stayed with my aunt who came to England in 1952. My first job, aged 21, was at Manton Colliery, Nottinghamshire and I lived in Worksop, Nottinghamshire. My cousin, Briscol Asfold, worked at Firbeck Colliery, Nottinghamshire. I later moved on to Firbeck Colliery then to Gedling Colliery, Nottinghamshire from 1965 to 1973. I remember my check number [miner's ID token] was 401.

I remember one bloke, a Jamaican man from St Anns, Nottingham who was working in the stable hole and he was packing stones for the roof and the roof came in on him. He was badly hurt and off work for quite a while. We had to spend a lot of time to dig him out. He was lucky not to have any fractures to the head but had a lot of broken bones. He was alright though and came back to work after a couple of years.

Most of the workers at Gedling pit were Jamaicans as well as Polish and other nationalities. For one shift, there were about 300 or 400 men or more working across different seams. There was well over a thousand men at Gedling. With my generation, we were just labourers and the younger men were fitters, electricians and all sorts of skilled workers. I never liked the pit work. It was dusty and dangerous and really hot down in the mine. It wasn’t my plan to stop in mining - it was a job. As soon as I could leave mining, I moved on."

Consignment tickets for coal to be transported from Gedling Colliery to London power stations

Rev. Kenneth Bailey, 81 years old, born in Jamaica and emigrated to Britain in 1961. Worked in multiple Notts coal mines including Bulwell, Wollaton and Gedling

I went into the mine so I could make some quick money and go back to the West Indies, but it didn’t work out like that. I ended up in the industry for about 25 years.

I was born in Manchester, Jamaica, and I came to the UK by plane in April 1961 when I was 22. I’d finished my training as a mechanical engineer and had just lost my job, so my father sent me here. I got false information back in the West Indies that I’d be walking the streets of gold in England, especially in the mining industry.

When I first came here, I couldn’t find a job I was really interested in, so I decided to go for the mining experience. I went to Cinderhill and Bulwell for training as an underground worker. That was an exciting time for me, but scary. You went so far down into the ground that you didn’t believe you could ever come back up again. It was like being buried alive.

I was the first black man to work at Wollaton Colliery, and eventually found jobs there for my friends. I had some problems when I first started there; we didn’t get the same amount of money that the white folks got. We got £6 and 10 shillings per week, and the white maintenance workers were getting about £7.

My overman was very kind-hearted. He realised I was doing the same work and he decided to up my payment to £7. A lot of the chaps were very upset because the black man was getting the same price.Eventually it was ironed out and we became like brothers down there. Once we got into the mine, we were miners. Colour had nothing to do with it because we relied on each other for survival. When we came out of the mine we were different and everyone became selfish, but down there, you looked after each other.

It’s a different world. I wish young people today could have some idea of the relationship miners had. We’re quite outspoken, we say it as it is. When you came out of the mine and spent time with people who had no experience of it, they thought you were cheeky. People got to know you down there, so you just said what you thought. But you dared not mess about, or you’d get buried easily.

When Wollaton Colliery closed, I moved over to Stanton Ironworks for a couple of years, and then my overman asked to fetch me back into the mine at Gedling. I’d been trained as a mechanical engineer, so I worked as an underground fitter, a maintenance fitter, and eventually became a shift chargehand, responsible for the shift, all the maintenance, and taking the coal out of the mine on the conveyor. I was a bit like a supervisor.

Miners helmet, cap lamp and battery pack