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Words & music

 Ed Pickford © prs

No dad could be finer - than my dad was to me

50 years a miner - though he came home for tea

Turned each night turn from black to white - sitting in a tub

Mother with her Brillo pad - his back would rub & scrub


The oil lamp at the bedside of my father

Was something he had used down in the pit

He said he couldn’t bear – to leave his lamp there

So there – upon the chair – the lamp did sit

Darkness, damp & danger - but dad mined to the end

Hardship was no stranger - his lamp his only friend

Dined at night just like a king – puddings in a clout

Full of grub fresh from the tub – he’d to the club go out

Medals worn by miners - are blue scars on the chest

Dad had plenty medals – I saw them through his vest

Property is theft he’d say – that was his belief

Never owned a single thing – to prove he was no thief

One night dad grew dimmer - his oil was running out

On the fire did simmer - his pudding in a clout

Mother wouldn’t waste his grub - that would be a sin

On the night dad’s light pegged out - the rest of us ate in

The Oil Lamp at the Bedside of My Father