Western Daily Press (Saturday)
How a trip under ground provides a history lesson of harsher times
Deep beneath the Forest of Dean lies ‘a different world’, a world which in the distant past provided families with a livelihood. Reporter Janet Hughes put on her helmet and explored the subterranean world of the Gloucestershire freeminers
ASK any of the men who go freemining in the Forest of Dean why they do it and they smile wryly and say: “It’s different world underground, mind”.
The phrase was coined by parttime miner Paul Baverstock to answer the question: “Why on earth do you choose to spend your leisure time mining coal by hand?”
Wouldn’t you prefer to watch TV, go cycling in the woods or nip down the road to watch the rugby at Cinderford?
Paul says the only way to understand is to try it so I jump at the chance to go down Morse’s Level, a small mine in a secluded patch of Forest that has been producing coal since George Morse asserted his birthright nearly 200 years ago.
We actually meet at the nearby Wallsend Colliery which at first sight looks like a scene from an old black and white movie with tin buckets and bowls and corrugated iron everywhere.
Inside a former army bomb shelter, a large, steaming kettle sits on a stove that burns with a warm glow under a long row of mugs hanging on hooks. There’s also long rows of dirty overalls and a long row of wellies and I immediately realise why they do it.
Even before the first man utters the word “camaraderie” it’s clear that this is the ultimate man shed. A place where men of all ages can get together for a chinwag about metal and machines.
“It’s not deliberate,” says former Xerox worker Rob Rutsch who points out that there is one female freeminer, Elaine Wright from Clearwell Caves. They have had several women give it a go but they seem reluctant to do it on a regular basis.
It’s tempting to say it’s because they are too busy but it’s not just women who don’t want to devote their spare time to a hobby that was once considered dirty, dangerous, manual work. Like many others, Rob failed to convince his sons that following their father underground was more fun than football.
“My two boys are 23 and 27 and they are not interested,” said the recently retired 62-year-old.
“I used to bring them now and again but the oldest was more into his football and the youngest wants to carry on with his education.”
Fourteen-year-old Keallan is the exception and he and his father Mark have their own small mine, Foresters Folly, to which they escape every Saturday to protect their legacy for future generations.
Morse’s Level is one of a handful of small mines still working and it is owned by three of the Forest’s oldest freeminers - Mike Howells, Paul Schwartz and Rob Rutsch. Most of the younger men working with them every Saturday morning and Tuesday night will never qualify for the official title even though they have notched up the necessary ‘year and a day’ underground.
Being born within the Hundred of St Briavels is key to claiming the birthright and the local maternity hospital closed in the 1980s.
At one time there were around 200 men and boys making a living in this tiny enclave and in 1880 it produced
My two boys are 23 and 27 and they are not interested. I used to bring them now and again but
the oldest was more into his football and the youngest wants to carry on with his education
ROB RUTSCH
8,837 tonnes of coal. Last year they dug out 40 tonnes of coal by hand.
Aged from 14 to 71, they come from different places and backgrounds and there’s non-stop banter between them as they crank up the machine which grades the coal before it is bagged.
As far as I can make out, today’s main task is an exciting one. They are planning to drop a massive, metal cylinder into a huge hole to create an air shaft which allows them to bypass a rockfall. It all sounds very Fred Dibnah.
Just a few hundred yards away from where we duck into the dressed stone arch which forms the hidden mine entrance, people are already gathering at Mallard’s Pike, unaware of the picks and shovels being wielded under the nearby woodlands.
Maybe it’s the peacefulness, maybe it’s the beauty of the rocks or maybe it’s because it is one of the few places in the world where it’s better to be 5’2” than 6’2”, but I don’t feel scared as I follow Paul Baverstock and Iain Jamieson down the damp, ever shrinking tunnel.
“The hats are not to protect you, they are to remind you to duck,” laughs Iain as I bump my head for the umpteenth time .
The air is cool and fresh but not cold or damp as they point out fossilised trees and layers of coal in the smooth rock slabs which form the roof and walls of the mine itself.
But it’s the history that makes it so fascinating as we disappear into the darkness with only the ghosts of the old miners to keep us company.
When Iain turns out the lights we are engulfed in a deep, velvety blackness which brings home the mental