M, b. 25 December 1903, d. 30 November 1990
Henry was born at
Bojewyan, St Just in Penwith, CON, ENG, , on 25 December 1903.
Birth Notice
HOLLOW - At Bojewyan, St Just, the wife of Mr John Thomas Hollow, a son.
Cornishman 10 March 1904. They was listed as
John Thomas Hollow's son in the 1911 census at
12 Bojewyan, Stennack, Pendeen, CON, ENG, .
2 He married
Phillipa Boyns Casley at
Penzance, CON, ENG, , in 1929.
3 Henry Hollow was a miner, and worked in the Levant mine near St Just.
This recording from Utube has him speaking about his family and mining. It was made about 1986/7 when he was 83 years old.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=hvXTrEr9q7k
An Interview with Levant Miner, Henry Hollow (1903 - 1990)
I was born in Stennack Pendeen at 4:00 in the morning on December the 25th 1903. My name is Henry Hollow one of 16 children.
My mother's maiden name was Trembath, Nanny Warren Trembath, one of 11 childer and their names are as follows, Henry, John, Dick, Will Tom, Adeline, Eva, Florence, Rosina, Arthur, Ethel and my mother Nanny.
They the childer of my Granny, if they all go the heaven the Lord must prepare a place for 11.
If God is kind and accept those few I would like to join them too. I am gone past 83 too old, to go on the spree. Each time I thought, snort and the sneeze I got a hell of a job to breathe.
My brothers and sisters are nearly all gone so with Uncle Henry, Dick and Will Tom too.
I work with Uncle Henry down in the Levant and down there he was known as Jack.
A professional miner with a top grade and to hold that title his life he paid. He worked too hard down in that mine and died at the age of 49.
Before I die I would like to say I appreciate the way that time and motion Jack taught me, two miles out under the sea.
That was the distance from the shaft that Jack and I and endured hard brow. To work with Jack you had to be tough, at the end of the day you had enough. We were the first men down that shaft and coming up often the last.
One round the shift was mates praise when other miners would take two days. To describe one round you advance six feet which is entered on your pay sheet. While working Jack would rarely smile if things went wrong his words were wild he was always fighting against time and puffing like an engine on the railway line.
No time for talking not a sound until we drill and blast that round. Then back to the shaft we would go with all the other miners know. 1000 feet we had to climb up through that shaft in grit and slime.
Up those ladders we would go with heavy hob nail boots in tow and when we reached the headit there, it was a treat to breathe fresh air. Then we had another climb, 200 feet of cliff this time, and when we finally reached the dry, Jack was knackered and so was I.
I've often thought, time and again if ever it was worth the strain to work like a maniac in grit and grime and then die years before his time.
I guess the reason I am living still is due to my doctors and surgeon’s skill. I thank the Lord and my doctor too, that I can still make my home brew. I must also thank my wife for her help to prolong my life. Her Cornish pasties and dumplings in stew, a pint a day of my home brew. Her chicken pies and the Lord knows what, heated them up, I eat the lot.
Her marinated ??F CH and homemade brawn, I could eat until the cows come home. And when I stand and glass clutched in hand, sometimes I pause and think, and wonder why when feeling dry this stuff I like to drink and after thought then I brought, no explanation plain, I feel them mount as I grab the jug to fill them up again.
Although my brew is fairly good stuff one pint for me is quite enough. It's far above the allowable level I guess; three pints would kill the devil. So if you ever visit me, don't be tempted to drink three. If you ignore what I said then you may spend the week in bed.
Good luck God bless you all.
From Henry Hollow, Penzance Cornwall.
The Operation
While on the operating table during my operation on Friday the 13th hour of the 13th day of March 1987 when a doctor asked me where was I born. The doctors helping the surgeon to perform the operation were Dr Watson and Dr Pring, the surgeon's name was Mr Martin McKenzie.
His stamp called him Martin Mac, well after the operation the surgeon wrote me a poem to be added to the words I had already spoken while on the operating table. These words are as follows
Martin Mac. I know you're up to your eyes in work but please do my rupture. I know you think I make a fuss but I can't wear a ruddy truss. You won't you save my cough, It’s to bad. I'm plumped and fat and old and sad, I keep my lungs too much in inflated. Well now I’ve gone and strangulated.
So someone has to do the thing and thank the Lord for Dr Pring. Not only has he stopped the pain, he's gone and pushed it back again. One stitch, so low with several nutson inserted quick by Dr Watson, gives straight relief from all that pain and I can count cough and smile again.
My answer to the surgeon was, I read your poem and was thrilled as could be, that you never filleted me, but inserted several stitches below my chest then sent me back in bed to rest. I must thank you once again, that I can breathe minus the pain.
PS When the ambulance arrived to take me to the hospital all my friends wished me goodbye. I think they thought I was going to die. When they saw the agony on my face they thought I was still for outer space.
But the surgeon had a different view and called together some of his crew. They inserted two needles into my spine and another in one leg of mine. They waited until I could feel no more, then wheeled me through the theatre door.
They made me comfortable but I would able, to hear them talking quite a lot while I worked on my own spot. Finally the surgeon said we have won, you can smile old man the job is done.
He told the nurse we have stopped his pain, you put him back in bed again. I thank the surgeons, doctors, and staff, that I can smile and occasionally laugh. And old Margaret Thatcher acquired the nerve to double their wages, that's what they deserve.
I've been home 10 weeks and I am still here, eating my wife's pasties and drinking my beer but I've got to be careful not stretching and strain to cause old bust to pop out again. If it popped out I'm afraid it will be a good drink for the liver, but curtains for me.
Amen.4
Henry died on 30 November 1990 at Penzance, CON, ENG, , at age 86.3,5