[wolfism]

The remains of a Modernist coalmine in Nottinghamshire … meant to post this a while ago but politics got in the way. Anyhow, cheers to Brickman and Thompski for some useful info. :-)


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Well before 5am one spring morning, the stars were still winking, and Clipstone’s twin headstocks reared up into an indigo-coloured sky. The air was cold, so I put on a couple of layers and set off across a wasteland of coal dust, broken bricks, and other demolition arisings. Clipstone’s headstocks, the heapstead buildings underneath, and the winding house between them huddle together in the middle of a flat plain; in the distance, a bulldozer, full slew and mobile crusher are fast asleep, dreaming about flattening the headstocks, just like they destroyed the rest of the colliery.


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Clipstone was one of a new generation of coal mines, driven immediately after the War to win coal from reserves that might make up for those exhausted during wartime. The colliery was reconstructed on the site of a previous mine. In 1912 the Bolsover Colliery Company had leased 6,000 acres of mining rights from the Duke of Portland – hence the coal field became known as the “Dukeries” – and a test bore found the Tophard seam of coal at a depth of 640 yards. Although work on sinking the shaft was suspended during the Great War, it recommenced afterwards, and by 1922, two 21ft diameter shafts had been completed, and production began shortly after. The village of New Clipstone was built around the mine, a model village of houses grouped in pairs, with generous gardens and streets laid out on a geometric plan. At the centre of the settlement are a Methodist Church, Miners’ Institute, and bowling green. The coal companies were far-sighted in providing well-designed villages and towns for their employees: but it also proves the extent of the pits’ profitability in those days. By WW2, the Tophard seam was almost exhausted, so the Bolsover company drew up plans to seek out fresh coal in deeper strata – but these were overtaken by nationalisation, so when Clipstone was vested to the National Coal Board (NCB) in 1948, they implemented the scheme.


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The design of the surface buildings here owes a good deal to German examples, such as the Zeche Zollverein complex at Essen: with the same cubic-proportioned, unadorned brick buildings, plus steel plate and lattice girder headstocks. Clipstone’s architects were Young & Purves of Manchester, and the original buildings were replaced by new heapsteads, headframes, a fan house, bath-house, and a winder/power house located between the two shafts. The headstocks are the tallest all-metal headstocks in the country; in fact, they were (reportedly …) the second tallest in Europe when built, standing at approximately 65m high, and also owe a good deal to Continental practice. Rather than using traditional winders mounted at the top of the stocks, Clipstone implemented the Koepe winding system. It was developed by the Krupp Company (still in business as ThyssenKrupp, who made the lifts in the last new building I was involved with), which is called "Endlosseilfoerderung", or "endless rope hoisting". The rope coming out of the shaft is lead around the wheels on the winding tower and thence to the winding machine in the corresponding building. You can still see the open traps in the roof of the winding house where the cables passed through. From there the rope is driven by the driving wheel after which it’s sent back vertically into the shaft, after passing around another wheel on the headstock. Effectively, there are two cages fixed to each rope – one moving upwards and the other simoultaneously moving downwards. This endless rope helps to balance out loads, which in turn reduces the size of the electric winding motors required.


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[wolfism]

For friction winding using a Koepe sheave, the wheel on the headstock consists of a cast-steel hub with steel arms and a welded rim: the diameter of the sheave varies from about 16 to 24 ft depending on the load, and the driving sheave is fitted with a friction lining like Ferodo. Driving is done through the friction grip of the sheave on the rope, so a tail rope is run around a sheave at the bottom of the shaft to give the necessary pull on the slack side. The clearest explanation of how conventional headstocks work was a posting by AndyJ23UK which I'll quote, if that’s OK – “Unlike conventional building lifts – where a counterweight is used to balance the weight of the car, allowing a smaller motor to be used – pit headstocks instead use a 2:1 pulley to reduce motor load - and as the pit cage size dictates what size sheave you can put on top of it, the winding gears have to be high above the cage when it’s at the surface, in order to avoid acute angles on the cables which would increase both friction and loading. Similar physics to setting up a Tyrolean cable or an equalised belay – small angle good, big angle bad.” The Koepe system is a practical alternative to that, and at Clipstone it consists of two giant winders built by Markhams in 1956, which are fed by Metrovick motor-generators that rectify AC current to DC: they provide 2540 amps at 420 volts, or just over one Megawatt of power each. They were all still working happily when the mine finally closed, so it proves yet again the strength of old-fashioned engineering. Nowadays, things would be controlled using a cabinet of thyristors.


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I loved the detailing and materials used at Clipstone: the plain red brick helps to unify the buildings, which have flat concrete roofs, and light floods into them through a wall of slender-framed W20 steel windows sitting deep in precast reveals. Inside is a contemporary 1940’s colour scheme which hasn’t altered: damask red; pale green glazed tiles; crimson and cream-painted winders – and sage green painted control cabins containing the “levers of power”. Although the remaining buildings look a bit like Constructivist sculpture, they’re not actually symmetrical, as the south heapstead is taller, and the south (No.2) headstock has an enclosed lift. I went up the headstock first, taking few photos but just soaking in the feel of the morning; when I came back down into the building, I spotted a lone figure walking the fence, testing the staves of the palisade. I assumed he was an explorer, but when I got into the main winding house I heard the chap-chap-chap of metal piking. There was a moment of mutual uncertainty, we exchanged a few words, then each got on with what he came here to do. It wasn’t the time or place to confront him over a few quid’s worth of copper.


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Even though Clipstone never made an operating loss, it was closed by the National Coal Board in 1993 and the buildings mothballed. It was re-opened in 1994 by RJB Mining (later styled UK Coal), the first pit to restart production under licence arrangements. Production re-commenced with six to seven years’ worth of stated reserves; and after nine years the colliery had produced nearly four million tonnes of coal, but the remaining coal was less viable due to its low quality and high sulphur content. As a result, Clipstone closed finally in April 2003, and a small amount of equipment – including a coal-cutting face shearer – was recovered from underground, and the coal stockpiled on the surface was washed and prepared for sale to power stations. UK Coal's operating license reverted to the Coal Authority, who then filled and capped Clipstone’s shafts … and that was that. Shortly after, the coal hoppers, conveyors, bath house (admired by Nicolas Pevsner in his architectural guidebook) and other ancillary buildings were flattened. The cluster of headstocks and associated buildings received a stay of execution because they were Grade “B” listed, but locals are petitioning to have them demolished, and the Coal Authority wants to go along with that. Shame on all of them for wanting to destroy something of international significance: the Nottinghamshire coalfield was comparable to the Ruhr in Germany, and Clipstone’s architecture is parallel to that of Zeche Zollverein, which is a World Heritage Site.


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As I left Clipstone, I couldn’t help but recall this was the 25th anniversary of the Miners’ Strike, and a song came back to me – “Out on Your Own”, by a band called Easterhouse, who railed against the destruction of the unions by Thatcher, and particularly her attempts to smash the miners. It seemed fitting, as the headstocks at Clipstone really have been left stranded in the landscape on their own, and they’re solitary things, among very few left in Britain now.

[andym]

Excellent, a quality report as always!

I had a mooch round a while back in passing but didn't post a report as I didn't go inside.