Y TYMBL — narration script
Save the Workies · savetheworkies.com
Each blank line is a deliberate pause.

Before the coal, there was almost nothing here. A tollgate. A tavern. A bare
hillside.

Eighteen forty-three. A Tumble farm boy led the riots that tore the tollgates
down. They shot him. They shipped him to Tasmania.

He raised his children on the far side of the world. He never saw this valley
again.

Then they found the coal. Eighteen eighty-seven. Six hundred men under one
mountain, cutting the finest anthracite on earth.

And in eighteen ninety-three, the village went to war. Marches. Dragoons on
the streets of Tumble. And out of that fire, the miners built themselves a
room of their own.

Rough? It was rough. In nineteen-oh-six this village besieged its own police
station to break two men out. The papers called Tumble lawless. Tumble called
it Saturday.

Not everyone came back up.

*(pause — say nothing for a full breath)*

Gas. Stone. And a dust that followed them home, and took the breath it was
owed, year by year. The men marched one last time — for air.

But this village lived. Chapels and choirs. Charabanc trips to the sea.

The Magpies — black and white since eighteen ninety-seven. World champions at
a village snooker table.

Then the pit closed. The chapels went quiet, one by one. And the room the
miners built grew tired, and dark, and easy to forget.

Easy — until this summer. When this village put top hats and drums back on the
road, for the farm boy they took to Tasmania. Nobody asked them to. They just
did it.

So we asked the village a question. Two hundred and seventy-one people
answered. Ninety-seven in every hundred said the same thing.

Save it.

Now the room they built goes to auction. September the tenth.

They left you a room.

*(pause)*

Leave one behind you. Save the Workies. Save the workies dot com.

---