Get the lead out at mining museum
Last updated 13:33, Thursday, 31 July 2008
PUT your thumbprint here if you want to be a Victorian lead miner.
You’re guaranteed to get trench foot, tuberculosis, arthritis and pleurisy, and you’ll probably run out of food by Thursday each week – not that it was that appetising unless you liked watery porridge (known as crowdie).
Add to this, the fact that you’ll share your bed with three others (plus the odd rat or two), be so tired after a day’s work that your children will have to help you walk home and... (here’s the clincher) actually pay your employers for the privilege of working... and you’ll get a rough idea of what life was like.
Basically, it was tough and puts into perspective sitting in front of a computer all day.
But learning about the life of a lead miner – including a trip down a mine and a spell working on the washing floor – is fascinating.
That’s one of the best ways to describe Killhope, the North of England Lead Mining Museum where you can get a taste of life 150 years ago without getting your feet wet or catching some nasty disease.
A former mine, which was worked from 1853 to 1910, Killhope is now an award-winning family attraction. It used to be one of the richest lead mines in the country, when up to 120 men were working underground, producing up to 2,500 tons of lead ore (galena) a year.
One of the first things you’ll come across during your visit is Killhope’s magical collection of spar boxes. These miniature glittering worlds were made by the miners on dark winter nights out of minerals like fluorite and quartz.
While working a vein, the miners would break into a cavity lined with these treasures, prise them free and take them home.
Built into elaborate cabinets, some of them with mirrors and candles, these boxes are guaranteed to entrance any children who love sparkly fairylands.
Most of the time for the miners though was spent underground, walking through several inches of water (hence the foot rot), their passage only lit by the flickering light of a tallow candle, made from smelly pig fat. The pit ponies fared a bit better though. They were given leather wellies to keep their feet dry.
Hard hats and wellies are supplied for the mine tour today, but bear in mind that children under four can’t go in for health and safety reasons.
Talking of safety, the miners had a pretty good record, especially when dealing with dangerous substances like gunpowder. After hammering a hole in the wall, they’d place the explosive inside and plug it with clay. A small hole was then made through the clay for the fuse, with a metal spike known as a pricker and it was at this stage that things could go drastically wrong.
If you caught the pricker on the side of the rock and created a spark, an almighty boom would be the last thing you’d hear before meeting your maker.
If you were lucky, the gunpowder wouldn’t explode, but send the pricker hurtling out of the hole at lightning speed.
There’s one story of this happening to a miner in Illinois – the pricker ending up in the roof of his mouth and poking out of his head. He understandably fainted, but later got up and walked out without realising what had happened. (They were tough in those days).
A doctor decided to saw the protruding parts of the pricker off rather than extract it and the man continued to live a normal life, although his colleagues remarked that he was much nicer because of it.
Most of the accidents at Killhope were caused by the dangerous metal ladders supplied by the company. Like rope ladders against a wall, you tended to get your fingers caught when climbing them.
When called to London to give an account of these accidents, Killhope’s chief mine agent, Mr Sopwith (a nasty piece of work by the sound of him) tried to argue that the falls were due to miners eating too many pasties and getting stomach cramps when half way up the ladder.
It was the company that came up with the system where miners had to pay them for the privilege of working at the mine.
The idea was that the company would pay them back, depending on how much galena they mined. It was certainly an incentive to make sure they worked as hard as possible.
You’ll also come across a lighted candle in the mine to appease the resident ghost.
Don’t even think about blowing it out. The last person that did, tripped up on the way out and fell flat on her back in the water.
When you’ve finished the mine tour, and if you get excited by watching old machinery in action like I do, then head for the jigger house.
This building is dominated by a huge Armstrong waterwheel outside.
Built at Killhope in the 1870s, this behemoth is the largest surviving wheel in the North of England and powers all the machinery inside.
Stand back and admire it from the viewing platform but don’t be tempted to get any closer.
On September 18th, 1879, Thomas Heslop was killed at a mine in Allenheads after getting caught up in a waterwheel.
Apparently, he was completely torn to pieces and bits of him were washed out through the mine entrance. Yet another interesting nugget of information you’ll pick up on your visit.
A shaft connected to the wheel powers, via a series of drive belts, the machines, which like giant sieves, separated the lead bearing ore from the waste rock by agitating the mixture in water. Lead, being heavier, sinks to the bottom.
Every effort was made to extract as much lead as possible and next to the jigger house is the buddle house where ore as small as grains of sand could be spotted.
And on the washing floor, the washer boys would be busy sifting through the silt in the hunt for tiny bits of galena. You can have a go yourself and fill your pockets with shiny bits of quartz and fluorspar.
I haven’t even mentioned the woodland walks with their red squirrels and children's play area; the Out of this Earth archaeology exhibition, or the mine shop where miners lived and where you can dress your children up in Victorian costume.
You can easily spend a whole day here so make the most of it during the summer holidays.
You’ll find Killhope on the A689 between Lanehead and Nenthead in the North Pennines.
It’s open seven days a week from 10.30am to 5pm until November 2.
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