a letter to the editor published in today SST.
Pike River
As a former government inspector of explosives, I use to inspect every mine on the West Coast. I was also required to destroy any explosives that showed signes of hygroscopic deterioration (ie, absorption of water and the exudation of nitro-glycerine.)
I had read, as a very interested party, much of the media coverage and come to the conclusion already that this would end up as a catastrophic botch-up. The fact that the police were given overriding power in the rescue operation was the first botch-up. In a mine such as this, the least risky time to go in was immediately after the first blast.
Progress was held up inordinately, waiting for the first piece of Heath Robinson equipment from Queensland, which I am told proved useless on the first attempt. Then a modified jet engine, again from Australia, was awaited, which also failed to do the job.
I do not recall any mention that expertise in such a situation was ever requested from south Wales, which has far more experience in similar situations than Australian mines will ever have.
Roy Strother
Titirangi, Auckland.
Showing posts with label Those West Coasters.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Those West Coasters.. Show all posts
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Conflicting forces at work.
The inevitability of the aftermath of the disaster continues to unfold. For everything felt and said, for every good intention against the odds, for every hope and aspiration we begin now to fully appreciate the conflict that walked hand in hand with the miners entering the mine each day, the bosses need to drive them underground to extract the black gold at the least cost, for the biggest profit. Men needing work, bosses needing profit to pay their investors. The Pike River Mine may be the last we see where a natural risk or danger is not only accepted but becomes an acceptable 'partner,' an errant 'friend' lulling death into the bowels of the underground.
When Peter Whitten spoke of 'his' mine, I wonder if he understood that the miners saw it as a dangerous beast of which they must reluctantly entertain to feed their families. And so as that conflict became above ground while the men lay dead beneath, many of their families and loved ones listened in hope to what Peter had to say. But who is Peter? Was he not part of the conflict that saw men needing to go underground in dangerous conditions, are we to suppose that he first of all wasn't a company man driven hard by his employers to return a profit at the least cost but was instead some kind of benefactor for good? Should anyone have really been entitled to believe that the mine owners would not cut their financial risk at first opportunity, cut off the money and call in the receivers absolving themselves of any further responsibility or that Peter Whitten wasn't always aware of that role, and his part to play in it, however reluctantly, should there have been a disaster?
Time will tell perhaps of why the mine exploded and what might have been done to avoid it, there may even be criminal culpability, but most likely there will be findings of 'unlikely events,' 'misguided or questionable safety decisions,' or 'preferred safety checks and rescue mobilisation' and 'recommendations for the future' but the owners, unless it can be proven there was criminal culpability, will have walked away, possibly ready to regroup under a different banner and sign if an opportunity presented itself again at Pike River. And still, after all of that, will be the shock and sense of loss for those working men gone underground to build better lives for their loved ones and families and the risk they took. What we may all yet realise that all that mattered was money finally, and now the aftermath is upon the coast it is money and costs that will be fought as strongly or more strongly against than any fire in the mine.
When Peter Whitten spoke of 'his' mine, I wonder if he understood that the miners saw it as a dangerous beast of which they must reluctantly entertain to feed their families. And so as that conflict became above ground while the men lay dead beneath, many of their families and loved ones listened in hope to what Peter had to say. But who is Peter? Was he not part of the conflict that saw men needing to go underground in dangerous conditions, are we to suppose that he first of all wasn't a company man driven hard by his employers to return a profit at the least cost but was instead some kind of benefactor for good? Should anyone have really been entitled to believe that the mine owners would not cut their financial risk at first opportunity, cut off the money and call in the receivers absolving themselves of any further responsibility or that Peter Whitten wasn't always aware of that role, and his part to play in it, however reluctantly, should there have been a disaster?
Time will tell perhaps of why the mine exploded and what might have been done to avoid it, there may even be criminal culpability, but most likely there will be findings of 'unlikely events,' 'misguided or questionable safety decisions,' or 'preferred safety checks and rescue mobilisation' and 'recommendations for the future' but the owners, unless it can be proven there was criminal culpability, will have walked away, possibly ready to regroup under a different banner and sign if an opportunity presented itself again at Pike River. And still, after all of that, will be the shock and sense of loss for those working men gone underground to build better lives for their loved ones and families and the risk they took. What we may all yet realise that all that mattered was money finally, and now the aftermath is upon the coast it is money and costs that will be fought as strongly or more strongly against than any fire in the mine.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Alfred Hayes wrote of men that never die...
I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
alive as you and me.
Says I "But Joe, you're ten years dead"
"I never died" said he,
"I never died" said he.
alive as you and me.
Says I "But Joe, you're ten years dead"
"I never died" said he,
"I never died" said he.
And Mrs Snodgrass wrote for other men lost, and our men as well pictured to gone into that we all hold true.
A Description of the explosion in the Mines at Savanna, Indian Territory APRIL 4th, 1887
By Mrs. M. Snodgrass
It was ten o’clock at night
When this dreadful thing befell
The camp was wrapped in slumber
When there came the blast of hell.
We knew 't was an explosion;
Oh, Heaven, the No 2!
And men are buried there alive.
Oh God, what can we do?
The engine house was all in flames—
‘T was fearful to be seen.
They drove the people back in crowds,
They feared the magazine.
The engineer stood at his post.
With fire above, around,
Until the whistle, three times blown,
Gave its last warning sound.
Hundreds stood in biting frost
For hours, to watch the fire.
Women mourning for their lost
All anxious to enquire---
For news of those in No. 2;
Men in a living grave,
Whom willing hands, and anxious hearts
But sought a way to save.
Who are the fatal six?
Was asked in awe-struck tones.
Hugh Dooly, Charlie Parsons
Bert French and Davie Jones.
Poor Willie Barns, Tom Jared, too;
Oh, what is to be done?
The slope is closed, to reach the men
We must go through No. 1.
Ten men, whom we should honor,
While heroes we admire;
Unheeding dangers warning
The deadly damp and fire,
Went down the slope—but six returned
This tale of woe to tell Their comrades brave,
o’erpowered with damp,
Lay dying where they fell.
My tale of horror is not done;
Unroll your parchment, Fame---
Eight other names which I now tell,
A place their own will claim.
George Hill’s aged father’s warning fell
Upon unheeding ears,
He scorned his wife’s sad pleadings---
Mocked at his children’s fears.
Jack William’s little orphan girls,
Did he forget them? No.
But he went with Tommie Needham
To the black death below.
Poor Billie Hudson’s wife may weep---
As many parents, sister, brother;
James Ward’s four children mourn his fate
With their heart broken mother.
Robert Miller’s wife and babes----
But oh his mother dear;
This boy she loved so fondly,
This boy whose word of cheer,
Always spoken, when from work
He passed her door at night;
Her heart is broken, death alone
Can set sorrow right.
Pat Fagan’s wife pleaded piteously.
“You are sick and weak, you know,
Oh, stay at home, or you’ll go in.”
But the boss told him to go.
Tom Daniel’s wife, and children five,
Believed him safe and well.
When he’d been hours lying dead
In that black pit of hell.
These twelve men died in No. 1;
Alas! They died in vain!
Of the six men killed in No. 2
Not one did they regain.
In these fatal mines, eighteen lay dead,
Eleven widows mourn-----
And thirty orphans weep the sires
Who never will return.
And gentle Christ, we do believe,
Thou wilt be kind to them,
From fellow feeling, if no more,
For they, too, died for men
April seventh, two more found
And in waiting coffins placed;
Men say we cannot see them---
They cannot be washed or dressed.
Burt French and Willie Burns, poor boys,
Are done with life’s sad bother;
Place Burt beside the other men,
Lay Willie by his mother.
How Willie’s poor, old father,
Will weep his youngest born.
Sisters dear, and brothers, too
His sad, sad fate will mourn.
Good Friday mourn, Hugh, Dooly
And David Jones were found,
The open graves stood ready,
They were soon beneath the ground.
But, oh! The breaking hearts,
David’s wife and children small;
And kindly strangers friends,
Who mourn poor Dooly’s fall.
‘Twas Dooly whom Tom Needham
Said he’d find or die in trying.
Oh, friends! All honor to them,
They were “buddies” e’en in dying.
How on Good Friday evening,
From that black death below,
The last two are recovered!
But their faces none may know.
Miles Jared’s wife in anguish,
Shrieked aloud in her despair,
And her baby boy was frightened
The grief he could not share.
Mrs. Parsons, twice bereaved,
By explosions in this place,
For one moment looked on Charlie
Saw his poor distorted face.
Pat Glaney’s waiting bride
Will never see him more;
He fell with James McInnis*
Beside that fatal door.
Mike Kelley’s lovely wife now grieves,
With helpless children three.
Poor Freddie Bartz fell with them ----
Oh, God, the misery!
Now who will volunteer?
We may find them still alive.
Nine men responded to the call----
Of the nine, but two survived!
And still the summons came
For other men to go.
And did not in vain,
‘Til twelve lay dead below.
You may call these men “fool-hardy”
Aye, say, as some have said,
“They should have known better,
Have known the men were dead.”
I call them heroes, and I’d ask
To leave here for my heirs,
To crown a life of honest toil,
No prouder name than theirs.
Now, comrades brave their bodies sought,
And many ----scarce alive----
Were borne out to quickly return
As soon as they’d revive.
Twelve bodies have been carried out,
At risk of precious lives.
Twelve graves stand open, and around
Are parents, children, wives.
Comrades, friends and neighbors,
Hundreds from far away;
We’ve never had a funeral
So sad as this to-day.
We ne’er before such sights have seen,
And may we not again,
Three thousand people, men do say,
Were in that funeral train.
Odd Fellows, Knights of Labor,
And Knights of Pythias, too,
Followed their brave comrades;
And gave them honor due.
O, sad, sad day! April sixth,
Eighteen eighty seven,
Savanna laid her heroes down,
God rest their souls in heaven.
God Pity all the mourners!
And all who here do dwell;
For mark my word, in this we’ve heard
Savanna’s funeral knell.
The shades of night are falling,
As with a mournful sound;
The clods fall on the coffin lids
As we stand in silence ‘round.
“Earth to earth,” and is this all?
Oh, friends! It cannot be.
There surely is some recompense
In God’s eternity.
Now honor to our heroes dead,
Who died their friends to save!
Honor to the fated six,
Seeking bread they found a grave!
And honor to the living,
The men of sterling worth,
Whether of Savanna or McAlister,
Who brought the bodies forth.
For many from our sister town
Did risk their lives that day;
Like brothers, with our men went down,
And brought the dead away.
And honor! We will give
To the bosses, one and all,
Who did not shirk the fearful work,
But went at duty’s call.
By Mrs. M. Snodgrass
It was ten o’clock at night
When this dreadful thing befell
The camp was wrapped in slumber
When there came the blast of hell.
We knew 't was an explosion;
Oh, Heaven, the No 2!
And men are buried there alive.
Oh God, what can we do?
The engine house was all in flames—
‘T was fearful to be seen.
They drove the people back in crowds,
They feared the magazine.
The engineer stood at his post.
With fire above, around,
Until the whistle, three times blown,
Gave its last warning sound.
Hundreds stood in biting frost
For hours, to watch the fire.
Women mourning for their lost
All anxious to enquire---
For news of those in No. 2;
Men in a living grave,
Whom willing hands, and anxious hearts
But sought a way to save.
Who are the fatal six?
Was asked in awe-struck tones.
Hugh Dooly, Charlie Parsons
Bert French and Davie Jones.
Poor Willie Barns, Tom Jared, too;
Oh, what is to be done?
The slope is closed, to reach the men
We must go through No. 1.
Ten men, whom we should honor,
While heroes we admire;
Unheeding dangers warning
The deadly damp and fire,
Went down the slope—but six returned
This tale of woe to tell Their comrades brave,
o’erpowered with damp,
Lay dying where they fell.
My tale of horror is not done;
Unroll your parchment, Fame---
Eight other names which I now tell,
A place their own will claim.
George Hill’s aged father’s warning fell
Upon unheeding ears,
He scorned his wife’s sad pleadings---
Mocked at his children’s fears.
Jack William’s little orphan girls,
Did he forget them? No.
But he went with Tommie Needham
To the black death below.
Poor Billie Hudson’s wife may weep---
As many parents, sister, brother;
James Ward’s four children mourn his fate
With their heart broken mother.
Robert Miller’s wife and babes----
But oh his mother dear;
This boy she loved so fondly,
This boy whose word of cheer,
Always spoken, when from work
He passed her door at night;
Her heart is broken, death alone
Can set sorrow right.
Pat Fagan’s wife pleaded piteously.
“You are sick and weak, you know,
Oh, stay at home, or you’ll go in.”
But the boss told him to go.
Tom Daniel’s wife, and children five,
Believed him safe and well.
When he’d been hours lying dead
In that black pit of hell.
These twelve men died in No. 1;
Alas! They died in vain!
Of the six men killed in No. 2
Not one did they regain.
In these fatal mines, eighteen lay dead,
Eleven widows mourn-----
And thirty orphans weep the sires
Who never will return.
And gentle Christ, we do believe,
Thou wilt be kind to them,
From fellow feeling, if no more,
For they, too, died for men
April seventh, two more found
And in waiting coffins placed;
Men say we cannot see them---
They cannot be washed or dressed.
Burt French and Willie Burns, poor boys,
Are done with life’s sad bother;
Place Burt beside the other men,
Lay Willie by his mother.
How Willie’s poor, old father,
Will weep his youngest born.
Sisters dear, and brothers, too
His sad, sad fate will mourn.
Good Friday mourn, Hugh, Dooly
And David Jones were found,
The open graves stood ready,
They were soon beneath the ground.
But, oh! The breaking hearts,
David’s wife and children small;
And kindly strangers friends,
Who mourn poor Dooly’s fall.
‘Twas Dooly whom Tom Needham
Said he’d find or die in trying.
Oh, friends! All honor to them,
They were “buddies” e’en in dying.
How on Good Friday evening,
From that black death below,
The last two are recovered!
But their faces none may know.
Miles Jared’s wife in anguish,
Shrieked aloud in her despair,
And her baby boy was frightened
The grief he could not share.
Mrs. Parsons, twice bereaved,
By explosions in this place,
For one moment looked on Charlie
Saw his poor distorted face.
Pat Glaney’s waiting bride
Will never see him more;
He fell with James McInnis*
Beside that fatal door.
Mike Kelley’s lovely wife now grieves,
With helpless children three.
Poor Freddie Bartz fell with them ----
Oh, God, the misery!
Now who will volunteer?
We may find them still alive.
Nine men responded to the call----
Of the nine, but two survived!
And still the summons came
For other men to go.
And did not in vain,
‘Til twelve lay dead below.
You may call these men “fool-hardy”
Aye, say, as some have said,
“They should have known better,
Have known the men were dead.”
I call them heroes, and I’d ask
To leave here for my heirs,
To crown a life of honest toil,
No prouder name than theirs.
Now, comrades brave their bodies sought,
And many ----scarce alive----
Were borne out to quickly return
As soon as they’d revive.
Twelve bodies have been carried out,
At risk of precious lives.
Twelve graves stand open, and around
Are parents, children, wives.
Comrades, friends and neighbors,
Hundreds from far away;
We’ve never had a funeral
So sad as this to-day.
We ne’er before such sights have seen,
And may we not again,
Three thousand people, men do say,
Were in that funeral train.
Odd Fellows, Knights of Labor,
And Knights of Pythias, too,
Followed their brave comrades;
And gave them honor due.
O, sad, sad day! April sixth,
Eighteen eighty seven,
Savanna laid her heroes down,
God rest their souls in heaven.
God Pity all the mourners!
And all who here do dwell;
For mark my word, in this we’ve heard
Savanna’s funeral knell.
The shades of night are falling,
As with a mournful sound;
The clods fall on the coffin lids
As we stand in silence ‘round.
“Earth to earth,” and is this all?
Oh, friends! It cannot be.
There surely is some recompense
In God’s eternity.
Now honor to our heroes dead,
Who died their friends to save!
Honor to the fated six,
Seeking bread they found a grave!
And honor to the living,
The men of sterling worth,
Whether of Savanna or McAlister,
Who brought the bodies forth.
For many from our sister town
Did risk their lives that day;
Like brothers, with our men went down,
And brought the dead away.
And honor! We will give
To the bosses, one and all,
Who did not shirk the fearful work,
But went at duty’s call.
Wilfred Owens for lost miners wrote...
There was a whispering in my hearth,
A sigh of the coal.
Grown wistful of a former earth
It might recall.
I listened for a tale of leaves
And smothered ferns,
Frond-forests; and the low, sly lives
Before the fawns.
My fire might show steam-phantoms simmer
From Time's old cauldron,
Before the birds made nests in summer,
Or men had children.
But the coals were murmuring of their mine,
And moans down there
Of boys that slept wry sleep, and men
Writhing for air.
And I saw white bones in the cinder-shard,
Bones without number.
For many hearts with coal are charred,
And few remember.
I thought of all that worked dark pits
Of war, and died
Digging the rock where Death reputes
Peace lies indeed.
Comforted years will sit soft-chaired
In rooms of amber;
The years will stretch their hands, well-cheered
By our lifes' ember.
The centuries will burn rich loads
With which we groaned,
Whose warmth shall lull their dreaming lids,
While songs are crooned.
But they will not dream of us poor lads
Left in the ground.
A sigh of the coal.
Grown wistful of a former earth
It might recall.
I listened for a tale of leaves
And smothered ferns,
Frond-forests; and the low, sly lives
Before the fawns.
My fire might show steam-phantoms simmer
From Time's old cauldron,
Before the birds made nests in summer,
Or men had children.
But the coals were murmuring of their mine,
And moans down there
Of boys that slept wry sleep, and men
Writhing for air.
And I saw white bones in the cinder-shard,
Bones without number.
For many hearts with coal are charred,
And few remember.
I thought of all that worked dark pits
Of war, and died
Digging the rock where Death reputes
Peace lies indeed.
Comforted years will sit soft-chaired
In rooms of amber;
The years will stretch their hands, well-cheered
By our lifes' ember.
The centuries will burn rich loads
With which we groaned,
Whose warmth shall lull their dreaming lids,
While songs are crooned.
But they will not dream of us poor lads
Left in the ground.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Hard to argue with this from Ross Leuthean, editor of
nz resources.com....
Louthean today said he had been "astounded" police were in charge and making it known what could and could not happen.
"Discussing this with Australian mining colleagues, their view was stronger, suggesting it may hinder saving lives," he said.
Local police played a highly commendable role with the Greymouth community, "but the practice of going back to Wellington for vetting and approval for a critical mine rescue shows New Zealand is a few bricks short of a wall in terms of saving the lives of miners or retrieving their bodies".
In Australia all the decisions are made by search rescue leaders and the inspectors of mines.
If recommendations made by the Royal Commission inquiring into the disaster gave more power to the police search and rescue organisation in Wellington, they might increase the danger to any future miners in peril, he said.
"Greater power may be vested in Wellington bureaucracies that should be listening to people skilled in mine rescues and retrievals, not dictating to them," he said.
The New Zealand mining industry and the mining union need to make compelling submissions," said Louthean, who called on Energy Minister Gerry Brownlee "to support the giving back of rescue powers to mining industry".
The effect of an OIC of an operation who admits to co-relating expert advice on a situation he doesn't understand is much like a novice taking command of a distressed vessel and assuming the role of Captain during a disaster. I can't see the justification for it, additionally the obvious public disquiet points to a perception of a disjointed chain of command from which questions, unfortunately will always remain. I am pleased that the 'rescue-recovery' is part of the Commission of Inquiry and I have no reservations that Superintendent Gary Knowles can be blamed in anyway. He was a man trying to do his utmost in a situation where his own superiors, right through to Government Ministers were prepared to sit on the fence to see what happened.
I have a friend who got his mine manager's certificate at the age of 26 having already had a decade of experience underground. His view is that had he been in the role of the commanding police at Pike River he would have, by necessity assumed a backup role, containing the scene and so forth and promoting control to the experience and knowledge of experts in the field. On the other hand, as a miner of international experience himself, he fully appreciated the work face and disaster that would have been before him if he had been present and said he would have been unforgiving of a convoluted chain of command while precious time passed in what appears to have been a situation with elements of pr involved.
Louthean today said he had been "astounded" police were in charge and making it known what could and could not happen.
"Discussing this with Australian mining colleagues, their view was stronger, suggesting it may hinder saving lives," he said.
Local police played a highly commendable role with the Greymouth community, "but the practice of going back to Wellington for vetting and approval for a critical mine rescue shows New Zealand is a few bricks short of a wall in terms of saving the lives of miners or retrieving their bodies".
In Australia all the decisions are made by search rescue leaders and the inspectors of mines.
If recommendations made by the Royal Commission inquiring into the disaster gave more power to the police search and rescue organisation in Wellington, they might increase the danger to any future miners in peril, he said.
"Greater power may be vested in Wellington bureaucracies that should be listening to people skilled in mine rescues and retrievals, not dictating to them," he said.
The New Zealand mining industry and the mining union need to make compelling submissions," said Louthean, who called on Energy Minister Gerry Brownlee "to support the giving back of rescue powers to mining industry".
The effect of an OIC of an operation who admits to co-relating expert advice on a situation he doesn't understand is much like a novice taking command of a distressed vessel and assuming the role of Captain during a disaster. I can't see the justification for it, additionally the obvious public disquiet points to a perception of a disjointed chain of command from which questions, unfortunately will always remain. I am pleased that the 'rescue-recovery' is part of the Commission of Inquiry and I have no reservations that Superintendent Gary Knowles can be blamed in anyway. He was a man trying to do his utmost in a situation where his own superiors, right through to Government Ministers were prepared to sit on the fence to see what happened.
I have a friend who got his mine manager's certificate at the age of 26 having already had a decade of experience underground. His view is that had he been in the role of the commanding police at Pike River he would have, by necessity assumed a backup role, containing the scene and so forth and promoting control to the experience and knowledge of experts in the field. On the other hand, as a miner of international experience himself, he fully appreciated the work face and disaster that would have been before him if he had been present and said he would have been unforgiving of a convoluted chain of command while precious time passed in what appears to have been a situation with elements of pr involved.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
I hope that I have in myself to note with uncertainty,
whether or not my decision, a decision was right or not. No one can talk in absolutes about Pike River to the point that sides form to counter one another. One voice says, see, there have been two explosions in 6 days, while another says that for 6 days there has been safety to go into the mine. And I wonder about absolutes when none of us can be sure: can't be sure would suit me until we know, if we ever know. I'm not deceived by the idea that the OIC could act, or would act without consent of our highest elected officers. Some body's hands should go up, not that of a Regional Commander because he isn't, and never was the boss. And men, like the decorated police officer this year who pulled the boy from the burning wreck take risks, and families do but I don't think that anyone should say..I take the risk from you and I am right.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
When Christchurch suffered the continuing earthquakes
Bob Parker was the man in charge. When Pike River mine exploded Greymouth Mayor Tony Kokshoern was shut out. When he commented about anything, it was without Government Ministers or Police at his shoulders. The power was taken from the Community and families in a situation of who it was to control the recovery or rescue of their fallen family members while their elected representative was ignored. Something was lost when control was taken by the Police as Government members stood by, because miners, families and friends got shut out. They got locked out as though they were strikers or trouble makers without wit who needed obligatory condolences from outsiders.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Those West Coasters: We've lost something... the ownership of risk.
Why can't those West Coast men go look for their mates. They know the risks, who should shut them out from their own, nobody, no one to stand in the way. Let them go if they want, the men that know and work the mine. Let them own their own risk and the breaking in their hearts.
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