This is a very different story than I am used to writing. It will combine elements of history, sociology, generational bias and all round good kid fun. : I just finished re-reading a book called Boss Whistle. The coal miners of Vancouver Island remember. It is a history of some of the coal miners on the island as related to the author by the miners themselves. I am uncertain if all coal mines in the world were run in the fashion of the island ones. But there are horror stories and calamities by the boatload that these fellows recall.
In the latter half of the 19th century and up to about the mid 1930s, Vancouver Island coal was world renowned. It was famous for its low sulphur and its bituminous and anthracite quality. There were mines located over much of the island, but the two main areas were in and around Nanaimo and Cumberland. The Nanaimo seams ran south to Extension and north to Lantzville but the main, number one, shaft was in Nanaimo itself. The Indians of the area told the homesteaders about it and through this knowledge, the coal was found. Over a series of years, a number of owners tried to develop the mines but most all were unsuccessful. Capital was required and between the development of the seams and areas, plus the problems of arranging shipping, most of the smaller companies were either disbanded or absorbed into larger companies. Enter one Robert Dunsmiur.
Robert Dunsmuir was the man who brought the coal to the world. He had the money, and what money he did not have, he borrowed or leveraged until he had enough to take over the mines. There were a few smaller owners who fought, and to a degree, won some of the battles with Dunsmuir. But for all practical purposes, he was the king of coal. When the government of the day wanted a railroad up the island, Dunsmuir was asked if he would build it. Certainly, for a consideration. That consideration was 2,000,000+ acres of the island, in perpetuity, for his and his companys exploitation of the resources. This is an enormous swath of land that, to this day, is still under some form of control.
With all these resources at his fingertips, Robert Dunsmuir set himself up. He was a socialite, a community leader and, in due time, he became premier of the Province of B.C. All in all, he was a gentleman who a person would think and believe, was a stalwart, a pillar of society. Ah, but there was a dark side to Mr. Dunsmuir. While he was undeniably wealthy, a self-made millionaire, this wealth was acquired on the very backs of those who worked in the mines. The conditions were appalling enough. But to compound that, the miners were obligated to but their own tools, dynamite, caps, lamps and all other paraphernalia associated with coal mining.
To top that off, there was black damp [methane] after damp [carbon dioxide] wet damp and a whole raft of other damps. Rock falls, subduction of shafts, shifts and sinks.. these were all a part of a coal miners day to day existence. Then there were the explosions. On one grim day, May 7, 1887, number one mine in Nanaimo blew. It took the lives of 148 men. Ventilation was always a problem in the mines. However, Dunsmuir mines took the safety standards to a new low. In fact, the miners themselves, took it upon themselves to hire a safety committee. During the length of Canadian Colliers [Dunsmuir] Ltd. it was reckoned that, on average, not counting explosions, the death toll averaged one man per week. There were of course, those non fatal accidents. Anything from a simple concussion to a broken back, were a regular occurrence. These conditions went on for decades.
It was against this litany of negligence and neglect that the miners finally decided to strike for better conditions. In 1912, a vote was taken and almost to a man, the vote was for a strike. Today, this would not be a problem. However, in 1912, the mine owners took it upon themselves to ignore the issues of the miners and decided to bring in replacement workers. Many of these came from Europe. They were not told of the strike, or if they asked about the strike, they were told that it was over. When they arrived at the mines, and saw that the strike was still on, many refused to work. However, the majority had to work. They had left their families at home with the promise to send for them. The companies paid their way over so there was involuntary servitude as well.
Meanwhile, the miners on strike made to with strike pay, gardening and hunting. This strike was to start in 1912, extend through 1913 and finally, when the war happened, end in 1914. However, a man with a family, living on limited income and rations, was hard pressed to survive through that period of time. Over the intervening months, some crossed the picket line. Many had wives who insisted, some had children who needed the income from their father, some thought the strike was a lost cause. For whatever reason, the support gradually evaporated and, almost two years later, the strike was over. Many of those who did not cross the line looked with derision at their fellows. This set up a cachet that survived for generations.
I have written before of my youth in Courtenay. My town was only 5 or 6 miles from Cumberland and many was the time we would peddle our bicycles out to the mines and go exploring.
I am certain that, had our parents known, we would have come away with sore backsides and an admonition to never go there again. However, the folks never found out and thus we live a fairly carefree childhood.. with one exception.
Courtenay was a small town back then. And I remember so well how the gang of us all hung out together. Age made no difference in that group. If you were 6 or 16 years old, you were welcome. There was one kid though, who was never allowed into the gang. I still remember this incident so well. Jamie Elliss family had been in the valley since forever. It seemed as though he never took part in any community activities. Neither did his family. One day, I asked my father about this. Why was the Ellis family so secluded? My fathers answer shocked me, even back then. His grandpa crossed the line. You cant play with any son of a scab. Now I did not know the history back then. I asked him just what that meant. He told me about the strike and how some men crossed. I said this was years before. 40 years in fact says my dad.
I could not fathom that so I and Ray and a few others started hanging out [discretely] with Jamie. Over the years, the old prejudices seemed to fall away. And several years later, all of us were palling around like kids with no problems whatsoever. My father, God rest him, finally found himself able to accept Jamie and his folks and we all went to each others homes. Visit, exchange of dinners, general play was the norm from then on.
It seems as though some biases are so deep seated that it may take a few generations to overcome them
Fair winds
Micheal
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/27/2009 01:38AM by Wayne in BC.
Of Coal mines, prejudice and childhood..
