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George Orwell > The Road to Wigan Pier > Chapter 3

The Road to Wigan Pier

Chapter 3

When the miner comes up from the pit his face is so pale that it is
noticeable even through the mask of coal dust. This is due to the foul air
that he has been breathing, and will wear off presently. To a Southerner,
new to the mining districts, the spectacle of a shift of several hundred
miners streaming out of the pit is strange and slightly sinister. Then-
exhausted faces, with the grime clinging in all the hollows, have a fierce,
wild look. At other times, when their faces are clean, there is not much to
distinguish them from the rest of the population. They have a very upright
square-shouldered walk, a reaction from the constant bending underground,
but most of them are shortish men and their thick ill-fitting clothes hide
the splendour of their bodies. The most definitely distinctive thing about
them is the blue scars on their noses. Every miner has blue scars on his
nose and forehead, and will carry them to his death. The coal dust of which
the air underground is full enters every cut, and then the skin grows over
it and forms a blue stain like tattooing, which in fact it is. Some of the
older men have their foreheads veined like Roquefort cheeses from this

As soon as the miner comes above ground he gargles a little water to
get the worst of the coal dust out of his throat and nostrils, and then
goes home and either washes or does not wash according to his temperament.
From what I have seen I should say that a majority of miners prefer to eat
their meal first and wash afterwards, as I should do in their
circumstances. It is the normal thing to see a miner sitting down to his
tea with a Christy-minstrel face, completely black except for very red lips
which become clean by eating. After his meal he takes a largish basin of
water and washes very methodically, first his hands, then his chest, neck,
and armpits, then his forearms, then his face and scalp (it is on the scalp
that the grime clings thickest), and then his wife takes the flannel and
washes his back. He has only washed the top half of his body and probably
his navel is still a nest of coal dust, but even so it takes some skill to
get pass-ably clean in a single basin of water. For my own part I found I
needed two complete baths after going down a coal-mine. Getting the dirt
out of one's eyelids is a ten minutes' job in itself.

At some of the larger and better appointed collieries there are
pithead baths. This is an enormous advantage, for not only can the miner
wash himself all over every day, in comfort and even luxury, but at the
baths he has two lockers where he can keep his pit clothes separate from
his day clothes, so that within twenty minutes of emerging as black as a
Negro he can be riding off to a football match dressed up to the nines. But
it is only comparatively seldom because a seam of coal does not last for
ever, so that it is not necessarily worth building a bath every time a
shaft is sunk. I can-not get hold of exact figures, but it seems likely
that rather less than one miner in three has access to a pithead bath.
Probably a large majority of miners are completely black from the waist
down for at least six days a week. It is almost impossible for them to wash
all over in their own homes. Every drop of water has got to be heated up,
and in a tiny living-room which contains, apart from the kitchen range and
a quantity of furniture, a wife, some children, and probably a dog, there
is simply not room to have a proper bath. Even with a basin one is bound to
splash the furniture. Middle-class people are fond of saying that the
miners would not wash themselves properly even if they could, but this is
nonsense, as is shown by the fact that where pithead baths exist
practically all the men use them. Only among the very old men does the
belief still linger that washing one's legs 'causes lumbago'. Moreover the
pithead baths, where they exist, are paid for wholly or partly by the
miners themselves, out of the Miners' Welfare Fund. Sometimes the colliery
company subscribes, some-times the Fund bears the whole cost. But doubtless
even at this late date the old ladies in Brighton boarding-houses are
saying that 'if you give those miners baths they only use them to keep coal

As a matter of fact it is surprising that miners wash as regularly as
they do, seeing how little time they have between work and sleep. It is a
great mistake to think of a miner's working day as being only seven and a
half hours. Seven and a half hours is the time spent actually on the job,
but, as I have already explained, one has got to add on to this time taken
up in 'travelling', which is seldom less than an hour and may often be
three hours. In addition most miners have to spend a considerable time in
getting to and from the pit. Throughout the industrial districts there is
an acute shortage of houses, and it is only in the small mining villages,
where the village is grouped round the pit, that the men can be certain of
living near their work. In the larger mining towns where I have stayed,
nearly everyone went to work by bus; half a crown a week seemed to be the
normal amount to spend on fares. One miner I stayed with was working on the
morning shift, which was from six in the morning till half past one. He had
to be out of bed at a quarter to four and got back somewhere after three in
the afternoon. In another house where I stayed a boy of fifteen was working
on the night shift. He left for work at nine at night and got back at eight
in the morning, had his breakfast, and then promptly went to bed and slept
till six in the evening; so that his leisure time amounted to, about four
hours a day--actually a good deal less, if you take off the time for
washing, eating, and dressing.

The adjustments a miner's family have to make when he is changed from
one shift to another must be tiresome in the extreme. If he is on the night
shift he gets home in time for breakfast, on the morning shift he gets home
in the middle of the afternoon, and on the afternoon shift he gets home in
the middle of the night; and in each case, of course, he wants his
principal meal of the day as soon as he returns. I notice that the Rev. W.
R. Inge, in his book England, accuses the miners of gluttony. From my own
observation I should say that they eat astonishingly little. Most of the
miners I stayed with ate slightly less than I did. Many of them declare
that they cannot do their day's work if they have had a heavy meal
beforehand, and the food they take with them is only a snack, usually
bread-and-dripping and cold tea. They carry it in a flat tin called a snap-
can which they strap to their belts. When a miner gets back late at night
his wife waits up for him, but when he is on the morning shift it seems to
be the custom for him to get his breakfast for himself. Apparently the old
superstition that it is bad luck to see a woman before going to work on the
morning shift is not quite extinct. In the old days, it is said, a miner
who happened to meet a woman in the early morning would often turn back and
do no work that day.

Before I had been in the coal areas I shared the wide-spread illusion
that miners are comparatively well paid. One hears it loosely stated that a
miner is paid ten or eleven shillings a shift, and one does a small
multiplication sum and concludes that every miner is earning round about L2
a week or L150 a year. But the statement that a miner receives ten or
eleven shillings a shift is very misleading. To begin with, it is only the
actual coal 'getter' who is paid at this rate; a 'dataller', for instance,
who attends to the roofing, is paid at a lower rate, usually eight or nine
shillings a shift. Again, when the coal 'getter' is paid piecework, so much
per ton extracted, as is the case in many mines, he is dependent on the
quality of the coal; a breakdown in the machinery or a 'fault'--that is,
a streak of rock running through the coal seam--may rob him of his
earnings for a day or two at a time. But in any case one ought not to think
of the miner as working six days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. Almost
certainly there will be a number of days when he is' laid off'. The average
earning per shift worked for every mine-worker, of all ages and both sexes,
in Great Britain in 1934, was 9s. 1 3/4d. [From the Colliery Tear Book
and Coal Trades Directory for 1935.] If everyone were in work all the
time, this would mean that the mine-worker was earning a little over L142 a
year, or nearly L2 15s. a week. His real income, however, is far lower than
this, for the 9s. 1 3/4d. is merely an average calculation on shifts
actually worked and takes no account of blank days.

I have before me five pay-checks belonging to a Yorkshire miner, for
five weeks (not consecutive) at the beginning of 1936. Averaging them up,
the gross weekly wages they represent is L2 15s. 2d.; this is an average of
nearly 9s. 2 1/2d. a shift. But these pay-checks are for the winter, when
nearly all mines are running full time. As spring advances the coal trade
slacks off and more and more men are 'temporarily stopped', while others
still technically in work are laid off for a day or two in every week. It
is obvious therefore that L150 or even L142 is an immense over-estimate for
the mine-worker's yearly income. As a matter of fact, for the year 1934 the
average gross earnings of all miners through-out Great Britain was only
L115 11s. 6d. It varied consider-ably from district to district, rising as
high as L133 2s. 8d. in Scotland, while in Durham it was a little under
L105 or barely more than L2 a week. I take these figures from The Coid
Scuttle, by Mr Joseph Jones, Mayor of Barnsley, Yorkshire. Mr Jones adds:

These figures cover the earnings of youths as well as adults and of
the higher- as well as the lower-paid grades... any particularly high
earning would be included in these figures, as would the earnings of
certain officials and other higher-paid men as well as the higher amounts
paid for overtime work.

The figures, being averages, fail... to reveal the position of
thousands of adult workers whose earnings were substantially below the
average and' who received only 30s. to 40s. or less per week.

Mr Jones's italics. But please notice that even these wretched
earnings are gross earnings. On top of this there are all kinds of
stoppages which are deducted from the miner's wages every week. Here is a
list of weekly stoppages which was given me as typical in one Lancashire

s. d.

Insurance (unemployment and health) 1 5
Hire of lamp 6
For sharpening tools 6
Check-weighman 9
Infirmary 2
Hospital 1
Benevolent Fund 6
Union fees 6
Total 4 5

Some of these stoppages, such as the Benevolent Fund and the union
fees, are, so to speak, the miner's own responsibility, others are imposed
by the colliery company. They are not the same in all districts. For
instance, the iniquitous swindle of making the miner pay for the hire of
his lamp (at sixpence a week he buys the lamp several times over in a
single year) does not obtain everywhere. But the stoppages always seem to
total up to about the same amount. On the Yorkshire miner's five pay-
checks, the average gross earning per week is L2 15s. 2d.; the average net
earning, after the stoppages have come off, is only L2 11s. 4d.--a
reduction of 3s. 10d. a week. But the pay-check, naturally, only mentions
stoppages which are imposed or paid through the colliery company; one has
got to add the union fees, bringing the total reduction up to something
over four shillings. Probably it is safe to say that stoppages of one kind
and another cut four shillings or thereabouts from every adult miner's
weekly wage. So that the L115 11s. 6d. which was the mine-worker's average
earning throughout Great Britain in 1934 should really be something nearer
L105. As against this, most miners receive allowances in kind, being able
to purchase coal for their own use at a reduced rate, usually eight or nine
shillings a ton. But according to Mr Jones, quoted above, 'the average
value of all allowances in kind for the country as a whole is only
fourpence a day'. And this fourpence a day is offset, in many cases, by the
amount the miner has to spend on fares in getting to and from the pit. So,
taking the industry as a whole, the sum the miner can actually bring home
and call his own does not average more, perhaps slightly less, than two
pounds a week.

Meanwhile, how much coal is the average miner producing?

The tonnage of coal raised yearly per person employed in mining rises
steadily though rather slowly. In 1914 every mine-worker produced, on
average, 253 tons of coal; in 1934 he produced 280 tons.[The Coal Scuttle.
The Colliery Yew Book end Coal Trades Directory gives a slightly higher
figure.] This of course is an average figure for mine-workers of all
kinds; those actually working at the coal face extract an enormously
greater amount--in many cases, probably, well over a thousand tons each.
But taking 280 tons as a representative figure, it is worth noticing what
a vast achievement this is. One gets the best idea of it by comparing
a miner's life with somebody else's. If I live to be sixty I shall
probably have produced thirty novels, or enough to fill two medium-sized
library shelves. In the same period the average miner produces 8400 tons
of coal; enough coal to pave Trafalgar Square nearly two feet deep or to
supply seven large families with fuel for over a hundred years.

Of the five pay-checks I mentioned above, no less than three are
rubber-stamped with the words 'death stoppage'. When a miner is killed at
work it is usual for the other miners to make up a subscription, generally
of a shilling each, for his widow, and this is collected by the colliery
company and automatically deducted from their wages. The significant detail
here is the rubber stamp. The rate of accidents among miners is so high,
compared with that in other trades, that casualties are taken for granted
almost as they would be in a minor war. Every year one miner in about nine
hundred is killed and one in about six is injured; most of these injuries,
of course, are petty ones, but a fair number amount to total disablement.
This means that if a miner's working life is forty years the chances are
nearly seven to one against his escaping injury and not much more than
twenty to one against his being killed outright. No other trade approaches
this in dangerousness; the next most dangerous is the shipping trade, one
sailor in a little under 1300 being killed every year. The figures I have
given apply, of course, to mine-workers as a whole; for those actually
working underground the proportion of injuries would be very much higher.
Every miner of long standing that I have talked to had either been in a
fairly serious accident himself or had seen some of his mates killed, and
in every mining family they tell you tales of fathers, brothers, or uncles
killed at work. ('And he fell seven hundred feet, and they wouldn't never
have collected t'pieces only he were wearing a new suit of oil-skins,'
etc., etc., etc.) Some of these tales are appalling in the extreme. One
miner, for instance, described to me how a mate of his, a 'dataller', was
buried by a fall of rock. They rushed to him and managed to uncover his
head and shoulders so that he could breathe, and he was alive and spoke to
them. Then they saw that the roof was coming down again and had to run to
save themselves; the 'dataller' was buried a second time. Once again they
rushed to him and got his head and shoulders free, and again he was alive
and spoke to them. Then the roof came down a third time, and this time they
could not uncover him for several hours, after which, of course, he was
dead. But the miner who told me the story (he had been buried himself on
one occasion, but he was lucky enough to have his head jammed between his
legs so that there was a small space in which he could breathe) did not
think it was a particularly appalling one. Its significance, for him, was
that the 'dataller' had known perfectly well that the place where he was
working was unsafe, and had gone there in daily expectation of an accident.
'And it worked on his mind to that extent that he got to kissing his wife
before he went to work. And she told me afterwards that it were over twenty
years since he'd kissed her.'

The most obviously understandable cause of accidents is explosions of
gas, which is always more or less present in the atmosphere of the pit.
There is a special lamp which is used to test the air for gas, and when it
is present in at all large quantities it can be detected by the flame of an
ordinary Davy lamp burning blue. If the wick can be turned up to its full
extent and the flame is still blue, the proportion of gas is dangerously
high; it is, nevertheless, difficult to detect, because it does not
distribute itself evenly throughout the atmosphere but hangs about in
cracks and crevices. Before starting work a miner often tests for gas by
poking his lamp into all the corners. The gas may be touched off by a spark
during blasting operations, or by a pick striking a spark from a stone, or
by a defective lamp, or by 'gob fires'--spontaneously generated fires
which' smoulder in the coal dust and are very hard to put out. The great
mining disasters which happen from time to time, in which several hundred
men are killed, are usually caused by explosions; hence one tends to think
of explosions as the chief danger of mining. Actually, the great majority
of accidents are due to the normal every-day dangers of the pit; in
particular, to falls of roof. There are, for instance, 'pot-holes'--
circular holes from which a lump of stone big enough to kill a man shoots
out with the promptitude of a bullet. With, so far as I can remember, only
one exception, all the miners I have talked to declared that the new
machinery, and 'speeding up' generally, have made the work more dangerous.
This may be partly due to conservatism, but they can give plenty of
reasons. To begin with, the speed at which the coal is now extracted means
that for hours at a time a dangerously large stretch of roof remains
unpropped. Then there is the vibration, which tends to shake everything
loose, and the noise, which makes it harder to detect signs of danger. One
must remember that a miner's safety underground depend largely on his own
care and skill. An experienced miner claims to know by a sort of instinct
when the roof is unsafe; the way he puts it is that he 'can feel the weight
on him'. He can, for instance, hear the faint creaking of the props. The
reason why wooden props are still generally preferred to iron girders is
that a wooden prop which is about to collapse gives warning by creaking,
whereas a girder flies out un-expectedly. The devastating noise of the
machines makes it impossible to hear anything else, and thus the danger is

When a miner is hurt it is of course impossible to attend to him
immediately. He lies crushed under several hundred-weight of stone in some
dreadful cranny underground, and even after he has been extricated it is
necessary to drag his body a mile or more, perhaps, through galleries where
nobody can stand upright. Usually when you talk to a man who has been
injured you find that it was a couple of hours or so before they got him to
the surface. Sometimes, of course, there are accidents to the cage. The
cage is shooting several yards up or down at the speed of an express train,
and it is operated by somebody on the surface who cannot see what is
happening. He has very delicate indicators to tell him how far the cage has
got, but it is possible for him to make a mistake, and there have been
cases of the cage crashing into the pit-bottom at its very maximum speed.
This seems to me a dreadful way to die. For as that tiny steel box whizzes
through the blackness there must come a moment when the ten men who are
locked inside it know that something has gone wrong; and the remaining
seconds before they are smashed to pieces hardly bear thinking about. A
miner told me he was once in a cage in which something went wrong. It did
not slow up when it should have done, and they thought the cable must have
snapped. As it happened they got to the bottom safely, but when he stepped
out he found that he had broken a tooth; he had been clenching his teeth so
hard in expectation of that frightful crash.

Apart from accidents miners seem to be healthy, as obviously they have
got to be, considering the muscular efforts demanded of them. They are
liable to rheumatism and a man with defective lungs does not last long in
that dust-impregnated air, but the most characteristic industrial disease
is nystagmus. This is a disease of the eyes which makes the eyeballs
oscillate in a strange manner when they come near a light. It is due
presumably to working in half-darkness, and sometimes results in total
blindness. Miners who are disabled in this way or any other way are
compensated by the colliery company, sometimes with a lump sum, sometimes
with a weekly pension. This pension never amounts to more than twenty-nine
shillings a week; if it falls below fifteen shillings the disabled man can
also get something from the dole or the P.A.C. If I were a disabled miner I
should very much prefer the lump sum, for then at any rate I should know
that I had got my money. Disability pensions are not guaranteed by any
centralized fund, so that if the colliery company goes bankrupt that is the
end of the disabled miner's pension, though he does figure among the other

In Wigan I stayed for a while with a miner who was suffering from
nystagmus. He could see across the room but not much further. He had been
drawing compensation of twenty-nine shillings a week for the past nine
months, but the colliery company were now talking of putting him on
'partial compensation' of fourteen shillings a week. It all depended on
whether the doctor passed him as fit for light work 'on top'. Even if the
doctor did pass him there would, needless to say, be no light work
available, but he could draw the dole and the company would have saved
itself fifteen shillings a week. Watching this man go to the colliery to
draw his compensation, I was struck by the profound differences that are
still made by status. Here was a man who had been half blinded in one of
the most useful of all jobs and was drawing a pension to which he had a
perfect right, if anybody has a right to anything. Yet he could not, so to
speak, demand this pension--he could not, for instance, draw it when and
how he wanted it. He had to go to the colliery once a week at a time named
by the company, and when he got there he was kept waiting about for hours
in the cold wind. For all I know he was also expected to touch his cap and
show gratitude to whoever paid him; at any rate he had to waste an
afternoon and spend sixpence in bus fares. It is very different for a
member of the bourgeoisie, even such a down-at-heel member as I am. Even
when I am on the verge of starvation I have certain rights attaching to my
bourgeois status. I do not earn much more than a miner earns, but I do at
least get it paid into my bank in a gentle-manly manner and can draw it out
when I choose. And even when my account is exhausted the bank people are
passably polite.

This business of petty inconvenience and indignity, of being kept
waiting about, of having to do everything at other people's convenience, is
inherent in working-class life. A thousand influences constantly press a
working man down into a passive role. He does not act, he is acted upon. He
feels himself the slave of mysterious authority and has a firm conviction
that 'they' will never allow him to do this, that, and the other. Once when
I was hop-picking I asked the sweated pickers (they earn something under
sixpence an hour) why they did not form a union. I was told immediately
that 'they' would never allow it. Who were 'they'? I asked. Nobody seemed
to know, but evidently 'they' were omnipotent.

A person of bourgeois origin goes through life with some expectation
of getting what he wants, within reasonable limits. Hence the fact that in
times of stress 'educated' people tend to come to the front; they are no
more gifted than the others and their 'education' is generally quite
useless in itself, but they are accustomed to a certain amount of deference
and consequently have the cheek necessary to a commander. That they will
come to the front seems to be taken for granted, always and everywhere. In
Lissagaray's History of the Commune there is an interesting passage
describing the shootings that took place after the Commune had been
suppressed. The authorities were shooting the ringleaders, and as they did
not know who the ringleaders were, they were picking them out on the
principle that those of better class would be the ringleaders. An officer
walked down a line of prisoners, picking out likely-looking types. One man
was shot because he was wearing a watch, another because he 'had an
intelligent face'. I should not like to be shot for having an intelligent
face, but I do agree that in almost any revolt the leaders would tend to be
people who could pronounce their aitches.

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