Sometimes things amount to nothing at all.
The church on Bardsley Hill, if it sees forty
people a month that's a lot. I don't know how
they keep it going. We all need faith in these
coal-mining towns. Tunnels collapse, people
go down. Things are always apt to happen
beyond out control. That might be the reason
we're all so ready and for keeping that little
church open. Who knows? There's a little
bell atop it, in a small bell tower. My own
great-grandad was the carpenter for that,
and Beryl Waystrup, he forged the bell,
in his very own foundry, that cinder-block
building behind his now-fallen barn. He
died in '87, I think it was. Now there's
just not much left, but we carry on.