The first thing I need to do, of course, is to tell you what a chocker is. Well, a chocker or chockman is the miner who advances the chocks on a coalface when the coal has been cut and conveyed away.
The next thing I need to do is to tell you what a chock is. Well, a chock is a heavy duty, automated roof support, not unlike a sideways “U” in shape, under a row of which a face team can safely work.
The most well known chocker around these parts was Derek “Chocker” Reeves of Darfield Colliery. He was also the NUM Agent for pits in the Barnsley Area, which role saw him negotiate disputes with the likes of Yours Truly when the issue couldn’t be resolved at pit level.
And he was as thick as pudding.
He’d often say, “It wain’t allus be dark at eight”, meaning the balance of power would shift back in favour of the Union after the year-long strike of 1984/85. He got that royally wrong, didn’t he?
In contrast the other NUM Agent I dealt with was as crafty as a cartload of monkeys. He was Johnny Walsh of Castleford. He had a charming, affable style which drew you into wanting to help him. I wasn’t the first or last industrial relations manager to fall into his trap of complicity.
But we fell into a comfortable relationship whereby we frequently resolved issues through “piss-oil corner” agreements”, in other words, we pre-arranged the outcome of a dispute and then play out a “fuck-and-fluster” argument in the formal meeting for the benefit of his membership in attendance.
It worked.
I recall being in the company of the both of them once when Chocker was outlining a hair-brained plan he’d put in place to resolve some issue he had with management.
Unimpressed, Walshy said to him, “Derek, you fucking brains must be painted on”.
And indeed they were.
Perhaps that’s why he’s best remembered for his singing.
