The football diaries.

[Bierzo Baggie]

“The L & N Don't Stop Here Anymore”. (It’s the 1980s Michelle Shocked version that I remember).

When I was a curly-headed baby
My daddy set me down upon his knee
Said, son, you go to school and learn your letters
Don't you be no dusty miner, boy, like me

I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazard Holler
Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row of all empties
Because the L & N don't stop here any more

I used to think my daddy was a black man
With scrip enough to buy the company store
But now he goes to town with empty pockets
And, lord, his face was white as the February snow

I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazard Holler
Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row of all empties
Because the L & N don't stop here any more

I never thought I'd live to love the coal dust
Never thought I'd pray to hear those temples roar
But, God, I wish the grass would turn to money
And then them greenbacks would fill my pockets once more

I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazard Holler
Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row of all empties
Because the L & N don't stop here any more

Last night I dreamt I went down to the office
To get my payday like I done before
But them old kudzu vines was covering the doorway
And there was leaves and grass growing right up thru the floor

Hadn’t heard this song for years. It tells the tale of mining communities almost anywhere. My dad remembers seeing the last Black Country collieries close and I’ll no doubt see the last ones in Bierzo follow suit sooner rather than later. Folgoso belongs to one of these communities in the upland region of Bierzo Alto, an area which consists of dozens of grimy little mining towns permanently stained by coal-dust. Today the industry is supported by government subsidies but these won’t last forever. The town of Bembibre is the main centre of operations and of radicalism too (or self-preservation, depending on your point of view). Occasionally it kicks off in a way reminiscent of the UK mining areas in the 80s. But the crude destiny of the mining town was summed up more poetically in an old Appalachian folk song.

Went down an operational mine once. It was a few years ago when an adult student of mine who worked in the coalfields near Toreno invited me to come along one Saturday morning. Had recently read George Orwell’s “Road to Wigan pier” and was amazed to discover that the reality of present day coal mining in Bierzo was not dissimilar to what young George had found back in the 30s. I like to think that I could try my hand at most jobs, however uncomfortable or unpleasant they might be. But having spent one measly morning “down pit” I have to say that never in my darkest dreams could I imagine working down that mine. The illustrious Mr. Orwell describes it better than I ever could (see pages 18 to 45 of said book) but then I bet he was crap at football.

Saturday’s match. I’ve never played on Folgoso’s ground before. It’s on the way to Colinas del Campo and “bear country” so we must have passed by in December when we went walking up there. Should be an interesting tussle.