What started off as a pictorial record of bonny Blackhall has grown into something far more personal. As I walk the streets of Blackhall I often find myself looking more for memories of my dear old dad. Although he wasn’t born in Blackhall, that honour goes to a smaller village just up the road, Hesleden, he spent most of his early life and the majority of his working life (he was a miner at the pit) in Blackhall.
Did he walk down this street? Did this window look out at him as he passed by? I search for glimpses of him, I see him playing in the streets, I see him leaving the now long gone pit, his face black with coal, smiling, happy that his shift in the depths of hell is over.
So as the song goes, I’m following in father’s footsteps, I’m following the dear old dad.