The Ballad of Tom Hullat

Tom Hulatt was a working man as soon as he left school.

His dad, of solid mining stock, this vow he would repeat:

“My lad will not go down t’pit like me”, despite the fact

Tom had coal dust ‘neath his fingernails and cinders at his feet. R

He loved the dales of Derbyshire at weekends where he ran;

Be it rain or shine, breeze or gale, frosty, snow or sleet;

He had a gutsy streak in him – he always liked to win.

He’d coal dust ‘neath his fingernails and cinders at his feet. R

To please his dad, he took a job of modest skill –

Filling sacks of coal and stacking piles of peat;

He wanted more, he’s unfulfilled – and has this running bug –

And coal dust ‘neath his fingernails and cinders at his feet. R

To boost his meagre wage, he takes a part-time job

To be a Rat Catchers he had to be discrete.

A prepossessing man – and so the job is his –

With coal dust ‘neath his fingernails and cinders at his feet. R

Tom joins the club at Alfreton which has a cinder track.

Now, he can train, and what’s more, he’ll compete;

He soon becomes a middle-distance runner;

Less coal dust ‘neath his fingernails, but cinders at his feet. R

Tibshelf’s modest village son was soon to prove his worth;

To run for club or county, what pride can be more sweet?

Expenses paid, his name in programme print; but still:

Some coal dust in his fingernails and cinders under feet. R

His best years yet are Nineteen fifty-two and three;

To run against John Landy of Australia is a treat.

He holds his county, Derby’s, record for the mile:

And a bit of coal dust in his fingernails and cinders under feet. R

Next year, at Oxford, three Achilles plan a special race

Tom is also called but knows not why, his nerves in knots,

All day he waits; he’s not sure whom he’s going to meet

And, to play safe, brings his lucky Derby Mascots;

Coal dust in his fingernails and cinders by his feet. R

Tom comes third in that record-breaking mile;

He must make his own way home and is none the wiser.

While three Achilles celebrate in London’s Downing Street,

Tom must meet his evening shift, whatever else,

With coaldust in his fingernails and cinders at his feet R

Hold high your head, Tom Hullat; you took Bronze.

Runners of the world, the best they did was watch and cheer;

Tibshelf, Derby, England should be proud of him, one feels,

Go to the village pub and toast him with a beer -

And rats’ tails to the fingernails and cinders ‘neath your feet. R

And as the years go by, to us, whatever else he feels;

No; he’s gold dust in his fingernails and Hermes on his heels.

William Thomas Hulatt. 7 September 1930 – 21 May 1990