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The 1926 Strike and Sam Venner

EXCERPT FROM OUR ViLLAGE BY IVAN WAY 1963

(Courtesy of Marion Johnson)

We now find ourselves in the year 1926. A Black year for many who worked in the mining industry and friend’s of mine who worked at the nearby collieries. We awaited with great interest the findings of the Royal commission, sitting since September 1925 it’s findings were completed in March 1926 and were received with disappointment when there was no recommendation to nationalise the mines and we miners were to work an hour longer a day and receive 10% less in wages. Then on March 31st, just before the greatest ever miner’s strike, a  great  misfortune befell  me. At approximately 1.35 that afternoon I suffered an accident in the mine at Murton Colliery. Little did I realise that from that day I was to become a permanent and totally disabled person. For the next month my doctor visited me nearly every day. After a few weeks had elapsed I was able to sit up in and out of bed. Then with the aid of a stick I found my way to the seat near the Times Inn. This was the favourite haunt for many of the men in and around the village. This seat was occupied most ours of the day, and also many hours of the night, as miners without work found that sleep did not come easily. How I enjoyed hearing the “crack” of the older men, and as for jokes, well one heard more jokes on that seat than can be heard in twelve months from radio comedians. Despite the difficult times the men were undergoing, one could not but admire their courage and  morale.

No sooner had I finished breakfast Then I was away to the seat, on more than one occasion to find two or three there before me. If however any of the regulars were late in appearing it was to learn he had been helping the wife to wash or that they had been out looking for fuel. The weather was warm and sunny, and the men would assemble some afternoons to go to the beach at Seaham via Seaham Colliery and Lord Byron’s Walk to what was known as Seaham Hall sands, the part of the beach near Seaham Hall, then owned by the Marquis of Londonderry. As I was unable to walk more than a few hundred yard’s at that time, I took the bus and joined the bathers on the beach. What rollicking times they had in the sea, then out for a while, sunbathing and playing games on the sands, until finally, feeling hungry they returned home for a meal, usually bread and jam, for what else could be afforded in those dark days.

Sam Venner was what one may term a dry old stick, and was always indulging in leg pulling or telling a tale. Wounded in the left leg during the 1914-1918 war he had great difficulty at times in walking, yet in the sea he was easily the best swimmer among the other men. Telling me the sea water would do my spine and legs good (these were the parts of my body most affected by the accident ) he would assist me in getting to the sea and help keep my head above water while I attempted to swim.

                                                Sam Venner 

After tea the men would again assemble at the seat, where they would be joined by others from Seaham Colliery and Murton. More often than not arguments on various topics would develop. I often marveled as I listened how the country was in the state it was as all the men appeared to be able to put right all the ills that existed. It was now August and fuel was an important factor in the home. One method of overcoming this was to make what we called duff balls, the duff of course given the name given to coal dust. I must of course make reference to Sam Venner’s black Labrador retriever dog Roger. Often in the evening when fish hawkers were returning from Murton to Sunderland were expected to pass the seat near the Times Inn where many of us were assembled Sam would have Roger sitting near him. When the Hawker’s horse and flat cart could be seen approaching 200 yds away coming down the bank from Cold Heseldon, one or more of the men would tell Sam to put Roger in a prominent place where he could be seen. When a hawker approached, Sam would rise from the seat and step forward with the most appealing look and would say “ Have you a herring or two you don’t want, I wonder if you could give me a couple for the dog”. The sympathetic hawker, more often than not having herrings unsold, would give Sam 10 or more herrings. This brought an exclamation of “ Oh Thank you, thank you very much sir” from Sam. No sooner had the benevolent gentleman vanished from sight than the herrings were shared among the needy. Meanwhile Roger had sat most impassive. The Strike continued with no sign of it ending. A quantity of duff or dust was collected and put in a large tin or old pail. A certain amount of water, often containing soda which was considered to improve the heating was poured on the duff. This was then mixed and rounded into balls, laid out to dry and when considered ready, placed on the red hot cinders. It was astonishing what heat could be derived by this means. As their were quite a number of trees in the vicinity, these were felled or sawn down, cut up and taken home by the men of the village. It was on such an occasion that Sam Venner was involved in a bad accident. Down the Dene Road on the way to Seaham is a small wood on the south side. It was here that Joe Robinson and some of the others decided to go for firewood. Part of a large branch having been sawn was in the act of falling, when Sam attempting to steer clear stumbled and fell, causing a compound fracture of his wounded leg. It was a bad business and he had to be taken direct to the Royal Infirmary, Sunderland. After a series of operations involving the plating of the leg it was finally decided to amputate. After hospital treatment for over a year Sam was discharged. For quite a while after coming home he suffered a great deal, and finally was able to get round on crutches before having an artificial leg fitted. The strike finally over in November 1926, most of our comrades were back to the pits. Sam and I found ourselves on most days the only occupants of the seat, although when the evening came our friends came home from their shift at the mine and joined us. As time went by Sam’s visits to the seat became less frequent. Through the years from those days Sam suffered a great deal and in the summer of 1957 he was almost confined to home. We realised then that his illness was of a serious nature, and this man, tall and powerfully built, gradually deteriorated until the day of his death 21st December,1957. His war wounds and numerous operations were contributory factors to his death.