Becoming a person

Donnie Zehr May 30, 26

Why, then, was pigeon racing so popular among miners? One obvious explanation is the excitement it offered. Though there was no instant gratification, as with football or darts, miners could wax lyrical about the deferred thrill of seeing a long awaited pigeon return to the loft. Gambling added to the anticipation. Long-distance races, sometimes involving hundreds of competitors, could carry large prize pots; and side bets between friends and rivals were common. In shorter races the prize money was necessarily much lower; but food and drink were usually wagered on the result.

Another possible explanation is the skill which pigeon racing involved. Breeding birds, training them to return to their loft, choosing their feed and managing their exercise required not only great patience, but also detailed knowledge. Some miners made it their mission to learn as much as possible about their birds and took pride in developing their own, highly idiosyncratic, techniques. In 1930 one person interviewed by Mass Observation explained that, before each race, he followed the same routine. On Wednesday he gave his birds ‘two cod liver oil capsules’ to empty the bowels; then on Thursday, he fed them a cake made from 11 different types of seeds, washed down with a nip of sherry. The rest of the week was spent carefully examining the bird’s excrement to check that it was the right colour. 

Sociability was important, too. No racer was ever an island. Enthusiasts would gather in kitchens and yards to discuss techniques or check pedigrees. At club meetings, often held in a pub, shared interests could blossom into lasting friendships. Indeed, for William Anderson, friendship was by far the ‘biggest reward’ of pigeon racing. 

Perhaps most intriguing is the release it allowed from a culture of masculinity, based on an image of the miner as both a breadwinner and a ‘tough man’, which could be emotionally isolating. Despite the affirmation that could be derived from association with other men and the strength of affection which bound households together, miners frequently found it difficult to relate to their families. Many children remembered their fathers as taciturn and distant, unsure how – or if – to articulate emotion, as is evident in Lewis Rimmer’s gruff, even cold, relationship with his wife. 

As the historian Martin Johnes has argued, pigeon racing offered a means of overcoming this. It was an opportunity to nurture and care for another creature, to delight in delicacy and softness and to take pleasure in silent companionship. In many cases, it also provided an excuse to spend time with sons and daughters. Routine tasks were given out as chores and the secrets of pigeon-keeping were shared. As the Welsh poet Gwenallt put it, pigeon racing turned ‘the worker into a living person’. 

In the decades after Gwenallt wrote these words, pigeon racing among miners declined in step with their industry. Following the vicissitudes of the Second World War and the pit closures of the 1970s and 1980s, it lost much of the popularity it once enjoyed. Yet – as Berry’s story illustrates – it remained deeply entwined with the experiences of mining communities; and it continues to do so today. Historians seeking to understand the complex, often conflicted, world of the miner ignore it at their peril.