Back to Black: Exploring the History of Birmingham's Black Country

The Black Country Living Museum in Dudley proudly remembers the life of Black Country folk from Victorian England. Will McGuire learns what the Black Country is, how the people lived and decides whether progress is for the best.

The Western side of Birmingham where I live is known as the Black Country. Not because of the growing migrant population, as I mistakenly assumed, but because it was the centre of the industrial revolution. All the coal mines and steel mills produced high levels of air pollution that covered the land in black soot. To celebrate the history and the hard-grafting, working-class people of that time is the Black Country Living Museum; an entire 1800’s era town. Among the attractions is a school, butcher’s, mine, pub and houses with actors dressed as shopkeepers and townsfolk.

While this area of Birmingham is no longer covered in soot, the identity of being from the Black Country is an enduring source of pride for the people. They even have their own flag. This was a simpler time when everybody knew their neighbours, the high street was full of independent shops and people weren't slaves to their smart phones. 

So I wonder - is progress really for the best?

To answer this question I needed to totally immerse myself in the Black Country experience, and so I looked forward to meeting the actors who would never break character. If I said something like ‘I’ll just take a photo on my iphone,’ I expected them to kick off, ‘A what? We doe’ got no eye-fones here in 1864!’

In the first cottage Jen and I entered, an actress dressed as a peasant lurked in the doorway. I pulled out my phone as bait.

‘Feel free to take photos,’ she said. ‘You can also tag the museum. Find our app.’

I was appalled.  ‘No!’ I told her ‘You doe’ got no apps in 1864!’

Unconvinced of the commitment to character, I tackled the museum’s most renowned attraction, the tour into a real mine. No doubt this would be a genuine and enlightening Black Country experience. 

To enter, we all had to wear helmets. I couldn’t find one big enough, so the kids’ size helmet had to just sit loosely on top of my head. Jen was determined to get hers on and squeezed it down. Our guide asked us to form groups of four like a buddy system. We paired with what looked like our doppelgangers, a blonde girl and brown-haired guy. They were standing right behind us and, being an identical demographic, were the obvious match. An old man tried to tag onto our group but I wouldn't allow it. Five people don’t make a buddy system!

The ceiling of the mine was low and I had to develop my own style of crab walk to get through. The only source of light for our group was from the flashlight my doppelganger was entrusted to hold. Unfortunately he was confused by the instructions. Instead of holding the flashlight beside his leg, he held it pressed into his leg so that it was as inefficient as possible. 

I stumbled through the darkness. My hands searched desperately to all sides. My helmet thumped against the ceiling and was knocked loose. I had to get on all fours to search for it. A  nervous Jen tugged so hard on the back of my trousers that by the time we got to our first stop I had to pull them back up from my ankles.

The guide asked for all flashlights to be switched off to experience one minute of total darkness. Thanks to my idiot doppelganger, I had enjoyed that experience from the beginning!

Everyone went silent once the flashlights were off. The world was so black I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed. The only sound was my breath and the shuffling of shoes. The air tasted thicker and dustier. My chest was tight.

After the minute, a soft light was switched on. Illuminated was the figure of 10-year-old Billy, who works in the mine 12 hours a day in this total darkness. His job is to open a door to let some horse through. In winter he never sees sunlight. Billy's starting at the bottom but knows that with a good work ethic he can climb his way up the corporate ladder. 

For the final stretch of the tour the ceiling lowered yet again. It was a challenge for all, and especially a rickety old lady, who gave a running commentary on her situation. ‘Oh that’s lower’n five foot!’ She gasped. ‘Oh me back! She’s gonna give!’ It was touch and go whether she would make it. I didn’t fancy her chances.

We rejoiced to see the exit and the welcoming, burning rays of the sun. I returned my little helmet and as Jen prized hers off, she uncovered a crimson crease carved across her forehead. The old lady then emerged, giddy with relief. Everyone was accounted for, except the old man I didn’t let join our group. At least Billy would have some company for the rest of his shift.

The mine crawl had hollowed my stomach. Looking for snacks on the high street, Jen bought a bag of confectionery, adamant it would taste great. But once we stood outside the shop to sample the products we found them all rock-hard and dusty, like they had been sitting on the shelf since 1864.

At least we finally got to see some actors in character. The drug store owner tried on the two lines that he knew: ‘Can I do you up a prescription?’ and ‘What ails you?’ We responded with the requisite chuckle. The guy playing the Town Drunk, or may have just been drunk, leaned into the doorway and asked the Druggist if he had any more of the blue pills.

‘Not for you! If you’re taking twice the dosage that’s your problem!’

‘But my neck is stiff,’ he complained.

‘I bet that’s not all that’s stiff!’

I choked on the dreadful sweet.

There was a commotion in the street. The butcher and several other townsfolk were singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to an old lady in a wheelchair. She had just turned 150. The same age as everything else here. 

Between the hip-hips and hoorays I got chatting to some of the actors.

‘New Zealand!’ The grocer echoed back to me, getting all excitable. ‘You don’t happen to know Sarah Pittington?’ This was his old flame, he explained, who hadn’t returned his phone calls for the last twenty years.

‘But she lives in South Australia,’ protested the school teacher.

‘It’s just down the road!’ He clutched my sleeve.

I assured him I’d pass on his regards, eager to get away.

The school teacher led us up to her class room. I sat on a hard chair and, instead of an iPad, was handed a slate with a piece of chalk. Jen drew a lovely flower and I drew a dog that the teacher thought was a cat. Trying to quickly develop the canine features, I got chalk smeared all over my fingers, and then down my trousers from where I dusted my fingers off. Jen wasn't impressed.

Hoping for better grades at the workshop, we visited the two blacksmiths pounding away at a red hot poker. Instead of explaining what they were doing (I suspect they were just making noise) all they wanted to discuss were the hot chips they recommended we buy. ‘Cooked in beef dripping’ one salivated, his dribble steaming off the poker. ‘Best chips in town.’

I explained that we had already packed a lunch.

‘Scrooge,’ one muttered. Jen agreed. The cheek of them both! Well, if they were indeed the best chips in town then I guess it would be an essential part of the Black Country Museum experience. So for that reason, and not because I was called a scrooge, we made our way to the chippery.

I was handed my chips literally five seconds after placing my order. I couldn’t help thinking, as I bit into the raw potato, that perhaps, as we were the only customers in the shop, they could have indulged us with more cooking time. For seasoning we were offered salt and malt vinegar. It all amounted to a very bland and unappealing product. I wondered if the blacksmiths had pranked us or were working on commission. I went back to the chippery and asked for some tomato sauce; anything to liven up the meal.

‘Some what? We doe’ got no to-ma-to sauce here in 1864!’ He winked.

‘Don’t start that with me now,’ I warned.

We sat on the grassy bank, overlooking the canal, eating our bland and crunchy raw chips. School kids were hurried along by their teachers. A student stopped to take a selfie in front of a letterbox with her phone.

The biggest issue in life for kids these days is the promoting and maintaining of their identities on social media. I wonder what poor Billy would do with his social media. If he took a selfie at any point in his day it would just be an image of black, like when the lens cap is left on the camera. #feelingblind #makingpence #borninthewrongcentury #YOLO 

What had the museum taught me about 1864? Life sucked. They couldn’t even enjoy their chips. The people of the Black Country are welcome to celebrate their ancestor's role in shaping the world, and be grateful they broke through the pain barrier so that the rest of us, generations later, could enjoy a life worth living.

Progress, I have decided, is most certainly for the best.