Great to see this John, I can't imagine how long it must have taken you to put together. Beamish is about 45minutes from where I grew up in Northumberland, so I've been there quite a few times. Thanks for taking me back there today!
Where was that Tom? And you are right, it took me quite a while to put this together. I limited the shots to just the mine for this post to help narrow it down a bit. Ten days of travel and a camera in hand every day. It was a whirlwind tour and the trip of a lifetime. We don't travel much and even less so now. I hope to post more parts of that journey. Thanks for your comment.
I kneeled and kissed the ground there when I realized I had just successfully driven out of Newcastle (only got lost once) and made it safely into the country having already been awake for over 24 hours and now driving on the wrong side of the road for the first time in my life. I already regretted renting a manual transmission, learning to shift with my left hand. Never been so happy to see a parking lot in my life as the one at Corbridge Roman Town. And I had a full day of driving through the Pennines ahead of me. Trial by fire.
Great to revisit Beamish through your writing and photographs and I enjoyed reading about your family history too. W. B. Charlton sounds like a really impressive person who made a difference.
Thank you Diana. I knew nothing about my great grandfather growing up. The vaguest of details really, most of which I couldn't understand. It didn't make sense to me that a man could be a secretary. Not in those days at least. What did it mean, I wondered? There seemed to be a veil of secrecy or at least silence around him. A disconnect from the old country. My grandfather died shortly after I was born and so I never met him or heard his story, which is a shame as I think he had many to tell. Discovering those details through genealogy has been a wonderful journey that has filled me with pride. I think it must have been difficult for my grandfather to be W.B.'s son. His father cast such a long shadow and my grandfather was the only son to survive childhood, one of only 3 children from a gang of eleven to do so. W. B. Charlton was born William Nixon, and stayed so until the day his father made an honest woman of his mother. His son, Robert would never become a miner. I think he knew too much to follow that narrow path of his ancestors. When I first learned of Robert Charlton's early years in Durham, I found he was a carpenter, or at least an apprentice, like Jesus I suppose, as in time he turned towards Methodism as his ticket out. In 1905 he left the Durham coalfield for Winnipeg, Canada where he completed his studies to become an ordained Minister. It turned out not to be such an easy life after all. Farmers on the prairies had little spare change for the collection plate. Yet, they persevered and when his first child, my father, was born in 1913, he named him William Browell Charlton, just like his dad.
It's an amazing story, and it comes full circle with you reconnecting the dots of this family history and steeping yourself in the history of the Durham coalminers. It's a great way to honor those that came before you and feel connected within your family line, isn't it? I hope you'll consider sending your write up to the Beamish Museum - I bet they would be pleased to see what your time there sparked within you.
I did share my photos with the Museum through Flickr back when I had an account there. They were very appreciative. Not sure if they saved the images though. I deleted/started back up/deleted my account there and now have a few images there but little to do with it. I suppose I could reshare my images there. Ok, done. Thanks for the suggestion.
I will be honest here; I find mines, especially underground ones dangerous and depressing. Your photos are so good, John, that I can picture myself there 150 years ago with my face dirtied with coal and my lungs breathing in coal dust.
You see, I have had some real-life experience with mining. Not underground, thank goodness.But mining in northern British Columbia. In the summer of 1979, I worked as an engineering student in an open-pit copper and molly mine in Williams Lake, BC.
As a kid from Montreal (they hated Quebec and the Habs with a passion), I found it was an eye-opening experience. In so many ways. I might write about it. Thanks for the story and the great photos.
Thanks Perry. I felt quite uneasy inside the demonstration mine, even though it was just a cave dug a hundred feet or so into the side of a hill. The video that accompanies the song at the end of my post does more justice than I ever could to the lives of miners. The song too, resonates deeply with me.
Before the advent of 'modern' mining like what I am describing above, coal was extracted in from bell pits. Miners would cut down as far as they could reach or to where a large seam of coal lay and then dig out in all directions. Of course this madness always ended in disaster, but those were the risks of being a miner back then.
I remember a mine shaft experience in the Western Pavilion at Expo 67. From near the entrance, you and twenty other people stepped into a very industrial looking cage. An operator closed the cage and the descent begins with a bump, the cage rattling and shaking as lights passed vertically giving the impression of going down into a very deep space. The temperature drops and the air gets very damp. The cage lurches to a stop at what is supposed to be the bottom and the cage is opened, but then we stepped out into an atrium of lush green forest with ferns and moss and the sounds of birds with enormous Douglas Firs reaching up the height of the building and out the roof or at least the top of the building as there was no roof, a full size logging truck parked there with its load of old trees waiting to go to market. Exhilarating, scary and sad all at once.
I bet you never thought of mining when you were studying to become an engineer. A harsh reality. At least you didn't end up in a place like Thetford des Mines. Our next door neighbour worked there as a geologist.
I would like to hear about your experiences in B.C. Children can be cruel and in many cases, adults never stop being children. They become stunted like perpetual 8 year olds. They can be vicious.
Yes, even 20-something big hulking guys, children in adult bodies. No, I never wanted to work in the resources sector, and certainly after Williams Lake, I was doubly certain. I went for the money (I was 21) and it was good then. But not worth it. If I can find some of the photos (boxed up), shot with a cheap Kodak camera (remember those?) and developed at Jean-Coutu, I might write the story.
Thanks for dropping by Kristin. Photography can be a great way to get back into the moment and let the rest of life fade into the background for a few minutes. Even using the camera on your phone can accomplish this. It's all about devoting focus to image making for a couple of minutes in the day. It can be very therapeutic.
I'd love to see that side of you. I worked for 10 years in photo retail, including 5 years in photofinishing back in the days when that was something you could find on any street corner. Remember Fotomat? We were The Photo Shops. A chain of 7 photofinishing outlets in the Toronto area, a retail arm of Continental Photo Finishers. It was like a family.
Great to see this John, I can't imagine how long it must have taken you to put together. Beamish is about 45minutes from where I grew up in Northumberland, so I've been there quite a few times. Thanks for taking me back there today!
Where was that Tom? And you are right, it took me quite a while to put this together. I limited the shots to just the mine for this post to help narrow it down a bit. Ten days of travel and a camera in hand every day. It was a whirlwind tour and the trip of a lifetime. We don't travel much and even less so now. I hope to post more parts of that journey. Thanks for your comment.
I grew up in Slaley, 10mins drive from Hexham.
Not far from Corbridge. Our first stop after landing in Newcastle. Gosh, we could have used your local knowledge back then.
Yes, I went to middle school there and had a lot of friends in Corbridge.
I kneeled and kissed the ground there when I realized I had just successfully driven out of Newcastle (only got lost once) and made it safely into the country having already been awake for over 24 hours and now driving on the wrong side of the road for the first time in my life. I already regretted renting a manual transmission, learning to shift with my left hand. Never been so happy to see a parking lot in my life as the one at Corbridge Roman Town. And I had a full day of driving through the Pennines ahead of me. Trial by fire.
Very funny John, but trial by fire often works out for the best! It certainly sounds like a memorable experience for you.
Great to revisit Beamish through your writing and photographs and I enjoyed reading about your family history too. W. B. Charlton sounds like a really impressive person who made a difference.
Thank you Diana. I knew nothing about my great grandfather growing up. The vaguest of details really, most of which I couldn't understand. It didn't make sense to me that a man could be a secretary. Not in those days at least. What did it mean, I wondered? There seemed to be a veil of secrecy or at least silence around him. A disconnect from the old country. My grandfather died shortly after I was born and so I never met him or heard his story, which is a shame as I think he had many to tell. Discovering those details through genealogy has been a wonderful journey that has filled me with pride. I think it must have been difficult for my grandfather to be W.B.'s son. His father cast such a long shadow and my grandfather was the only son to survive childhood, one of only 3 children from a gang of eleven to do so. W. B. Charlton was born William Nixon, and stayed so until the day his father made an honest woman of his mother. His son, Robert would never become a miner. I think he knew too much to follow that narrow path of his ancestors. When I first learned of Robert Charlton's early years in Durham, I found he was a carpenter, or at least an apprentice, like Jesus I suppose, as in time he turned towards Methodism as his ticket out. In 1905 he left the Durham coalfield for Winnipeg, Canada where he completed his studies to become an ordained Minister. It turned out not to be such an easy life after all. Farmers on the prairies had little spare change for the collection plate. Yet, they persevered and when his first child, my father, was born in 1913, he named him William Browell Charlton, just like his dad.
It's an amazing story, and it comes full circle with you reconnecting the dots of this family history and steeping yourself in the history of the Durham coalminers. It's a great way to honor those that came before you and feel connected within your family line, isn't it? I hope you'll consider sending your write up to the Beamish Museum - I bet they would be pleased to see what your time there sparked within you.
I did share my photos with the Museum through Flickr back when I had an account there. They were very appreciative. Not sure if they saved the images though. I deleted/started back up/deleted my account there and now have a few images there but little to do with it. I suppose I could reshare my images there. Ok, done. Thanks for the suggestion.
I will be honest here; I find mines, especially underground ones dangerous and depressing. Your photos are so good, John, that I can picture myself there 150 years ago with my face dirtied with coal and my lungs breathing in coal dust.
You see, I have had some real-life experience with mining. Not underground, thank goodness.But mining in northern British Columbia. In the summer of 1979, I worked as an engineering student in an open-pit copper and molly mine in Williams Lake, BC.
As a kid from Montreal (they hated Quebec and the Habs with a passion), I found it was an eye-opening experience. In so many ways. I might write about it. Thanks for the story and the great photos.
Thanks Perry. I felt quite uneasy inside the demonstration mine, even though it was just a cave dug a hundred feet or so into the side of a hill. The video that accompanies the song at the end of my post does more justice than I ever could to the lives of miners. The song too, resonates deeply with me.
Before the advent of 'modern' mining like what I am describing above, coal was extracted in from bell pits. Miners would cut down as far as they could reach or to where a large seam of coal lay and then dig out in all directions. Of course this madness always ended in disaster, but those were the risks of being a miner back then.
I remember a mine shaft experience in the Western Pavilion at Expo 67. From near the entrance, you and twenty other people stepped into a very industrial looking cage. An operator closed the cage and the descent begins with a bump, the cage rattling and shaking as lights passed vertically giving the impression of going down into a very deep space. The temperature drops and the air gets very damp. The cage lurches to a stop at what is supposed to be the bottom and the cage is opened, but then we stepped out into an atrium of lush green forest with ferns and moss and the sounds of birds with enormous Douglas Firs reaching up the height of the building and out the roof or at least the top of the building as there was no roof, a full size logging truck parked there with its load of old trees waiting to go to market. Exhilarating, scary and sad all at once.
I bet you never thought of mining when you were studying to become an engineer. A harsh reality. At least you didn't end up in a place like Thetford des Mines. Our next door neighbour worked there as a geologist.
I would like to hear about your experiences in B.C. Children can be cruel and in many cases, adults never stop being children. They become stunted like perpetual 8 year olds. They can be vicious.
Yes, even 20-something big hulking guys, children in adult bodies. No, I never wanted to work in the resources sector, and certainly after Williams Lake, I was doubly certain. I went for the money (I was 21) and it was good then. But not worth it. If I can find some of the photos (boxed up), shot with a cheap Kodak camera (remember those?) and developed at Jean-Coutu, I might write the story.
A very interesting post and I really like how you edited your photos.
Thank you Mark.
Thanks for dropping by Kristin. Photography can be a great way to get back into the moment and let the rest of life fade into the background for a few minutes. Even using the camera on your phone can accomplish this. It's all about devoting focus to image making for a couple of minutes in the day. It can be very therapeutic.
I'd love to see that side of you. I worked for 10 years in photo retail, including 5 years in photofinishing back in the days when that was something you could find on any street corner. Remember Fotomat? We were The Photo Shops. A chain of 7 photofinishing outlets in the Toronto area, a retail arm of Continental Photo Finishers. It was like a family.