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by
William Willis
Coatbridges
last arc-furnace has now
simply, all gone cold.
There is no steel to
pour no more, there is
no sand to mould.
RB Tennents molten
ladles, of a 1000 odd
degrees.
Our industry is gone,
its been brought down to
its knees.
RB
Tennent was where I did
work, for 15 years or
so.
So Ii write these
few verses for the ones
who didnt know.
We made steel rolls for
the rolling mills, we
made them by the score.
What a pity that these
skills, are not used
here anymore.
Our
furnace it would blast,
felt our eardrums they
were bleeding.
Our metal was
now crunching, it was
melting, it was
screaming.
It was just like a hell
on earth, like in the
Devils own back yard.
Watch you didnt get
burnt, you had to be
good on your guard.
With the
Cranemans skilled hands, the ladle it was
lowered.
And with sublime
precision, the metal it
was poured.
The temperature was good, it was now all systems
go.
The ladle was positioned
and the metal, it did
flow.
60 tons
of hot metal, held by a
few course of hot brick.
Didnt think what might
happen, t'would just
make you sick.
Many men they suffered
burns and a few they
even died.
They will always be
remembered, by those
who have survived.
The
metal it was pouring,
like the shot out of a
gun.
It thundered and roared
but shone, just like
the setting sun.
Molten sparks they were
flying, like fireflies
running amock (OUCH!!)
Its funny
how one always seemed
ended up in your sock.
You
would feel the spark
inside your boot, it was
now time for the dancing
You looked like Shakin
Stevens with your silly
dance and prancing
Your workmates they all
had a laugh, it would
burn right through yer
sock
Simon Cowell would have
been impressed, Oh Boy!
How you could rock
It was a
hot place to work and
the noise, it was
intense.
But we always had a
laugh and the crack, it
was immense.
We toiled,we sweated
and worked, in our 40
hour week.
But there was always
that little bit of
overtime to seek.
Two
nights and a Sunday was
enough to feed the
weans.
Extra pieces in yer
piecebox but shes pit in
cheese again !
Stirred yer coffee wi a
pincil, that was lodged
behind yer lug.
Scraped the beans oot of
the can and used it as
yer mug.
Turners,
Furnacemen
and Moulders always
fighting over pay.
Sparks, Stovemen and the
Labourers would also
have their say.
Union Men and strikes,
ye know the two go hand
in hand.
Fighting for their
colleagues pay and how
the jobs are manned.
Thoes
days I can recall,
though it seems so long
ago.
The Whifflet Steelworks
closing down the whole
town... dealt a blow.
The Meadow Works lies
barren now....... in
silence...... it is
true.
And the Whifflet Sites
now resident to that
company B&Q
©William Willis 2010
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