The skyline is different.
Now the valley is empty.
The canals murmur in their s9llness.
Then tall sandstone chimneys, ver9cal hoist,
Hungry furnaces, cylindrical gas holder,
And monstrous cinder heaps visible for miles.
Signposts: Stanton.
The powerhouse, locomo9ves, and trolley buses once brought
Light and life.
Then the furnaces were numbered fondly.
The Old Works and the New.
Barrows, shovels, ironstone, soda ash and calcining kilns.
Loud voices of the blast furnace men,
Coke ovens, molten iron in hot metal ladles:
Iron making.
Manufacturing.
Spun iron pipes, pig iron and cast-iron tunnel segments,
Shell and bomb casings, gun barrels,
Concrete pipes and air-raid shelter components.
Once a thriving community.
Dust and steam blowing with unpleasant smells.
Shunting wagons booming and clanging.
The roar of the blast.
Learning to swim in ‘hot waters’ and the ‘warm hole.’
An iron glow in the night sky.
Now people tell stories of Stanton’s bygone days.
Regeneration begins.
But the ground remembers.
The air reverberates - a whistle of the past.
Stanton Steelworks
by By Rev’d Christine French
Stories not yet that old
Tell of men so brave and bold
Working day and night with molten metal
Spun into iron pipes and columns they would fettle
The grafting was hard in the raging fire
The demanding furnace, never was to expire
No man in such heat should ever work
Yet sweat, tears and blood on every shirt
Like ants, thousands came to work every day
For months and years they would stay
The grafting was hard and dangerous too
They built men in that furnace who would scare you
And generations grew up with the glowing skies
When the furnace roars, you wouldn’t believe your eyes
In the air the noise, and grit blew across the town
The pollution in the canals would make you frown
A family atmosphere, as together were father, uncle and son
On the busy site, they had work to be done
Cinema, bowls club and canteen too
Doctors, and nurses on site to take care of you
And in the offices or canteen ladies there they would meet
A bit of banter, would want to sweep them off their feet
A shave, a new shirt, and never to be late
As a dance at the Coop was the best date
By bus, bike and foot, thousands came every day
For months and years they would stay
Not just drain covers and pipes were made
But the good friends and fond memories have stayed
Their work is done, now redundant, day after day
An amazing place to have worked they do say
For busier and happier times again they do pray
Sadly now too many of them in the churchyard do lay.
SERVICE
By Carol Bingham (Carol H) Who Worked in the canteen in 1976,
Aged 18.
We started at seven
The toast in the grill
The bacon smelt like heaven...
A supervisor worked the till
I loved to serve with a smile
As the workers choose their food...
They didn't have to wait a long while...
Whilst eating you could see a new mood
Breakfast over, we had leftovers
Now for cleaning what looks like a tip
Dinner is now on the cookers
Waiting for the next shift workers
I am pleased to serve as they ate
Home cooked food and pudding
Delicately dished on a plate
Chatter, laughter sounds great..Hope to see you later mate.
©Copyright. All rights reserved.
We need your consent to load the translations
We use a third-party service to translate the website content that may collect data about your activity. Please review the details in the privacy policy and accept the service to view the translations.