The Valleyfield Pit Disaster — Fife’s Dark Autumn, 1939

A family story of courage, loss, and remembrance from Scotland’s coalfields.

Wives and children waiting for news at the pit head

A Morning of Fire and Grief

On the morning of 28 October 1939, as Europe was gripped by the opening months of the Second World War, a different kind of explosion rocked the quiet villages along the Firth of Forth. Deep underground at Valleyfield Colliery, near Newmills in Fife, a blast tore through the workings, killing thirty-five miners, injuring many more, and leaving a wound that still echoes through generations.

For me, this is not just history. It’s family. I am the nephew and namesake of one of those lost men — David Cairns, the eldest of six brothers and one sister from High Valleyfield. My uncle was a respected union man, a brusher by trade — one of the team who cleared and shored the coal face. He worked beside family and neighbours in what was, like so many Scottish pits, a community unto itself.

When the explosion came that October morning, he was underground with his team. None of them would make it out alive.

A Pit at the Heart of a Community

Valleyfield Colliery was one of several mines operated by the Fife Coal Company, sunk in the early 1900s to fuel Britain’s industries. It produced valuable coking and navigational coals, but the work was perilous. Firedamp (methane) and coal dust were constant threats, especially in an era when technology and safety could be stretched thin by wartime demands.

That morning, in the Diamond Section of the mine, a sudden ignition — firedamp feeding into suspended coal dust — triggered a chain reaction. The blast was so fierce that men half a mile away felt the shock and fumes. Every worker in the Diamond Section was lost.

The Day the Village Fell Silent

Word travelled quickly. Families rushed to the pithead, faces grey with fear. Thirty-five men — husbands, fathers, sons — were missing. Newspapers of the time described the scenes with heartbreaking clarity: the slow procession of coffins from the shaft, the crowds of women waiting to hear a name called, the stunned silence that settled over the village.

Rescue teams — including the colliery manager and miners from neighbouring pits — went down with canaries and respirators, fighting through smoke, poison gas and fallen rock. Many of them risked their lives for friends they knew they could no longer save. Their bravery was extraordinary.

A Nation Takes Notice

Britain had declared war only weeks earlier. Yet even in those tense early days, the Valleyfield disaster drew national attention. H.R.H. the Duke of Kent visited the site, offering sympathy to the bereaved. Relief funds were raised for widows and orphans, and letters of condolence poured in from across Scotland.

Shops closed their doors, church bells tolled, and hundreds lined the streets for the funerals. The grief of one small mining village became a symbol of the quieter sacrifices made by ordinary working families during wartime.

Lessons from the Depths

The official inquiry confirmed what miners already knew: the explosion began with firedamp ignition, made far worse by coal dust that ignited in a deadly chain. Investigators pointed to issues with ventilation and stone-dusting — measures that could easily falter under pressure to meet production targets.

Valleyfield became another tragic milestone on the long road toward better mining safety. Each disaster brought fresh regulations, improved rescue training, and stricter oversight. But for the families left behind, those reforms came too late.

The Aftermath — Grief, Solidarity, and Memory

In the days following the blast, the communities of High and Low Valleyfield, Newmills, Torryburn, and Saline pulled together in remarkable fashion. Union officials coordinated burials and relief efforts; neighbours shared food, raised funds, and cared for the newly fatherless children.

Out of grief grew unity. The disaster shaped not just one generation but many — binding the mining villages of west Fife in a shared identity of resilience and remembrance.

In time, memorials were built. In High Valleyfield, an obelisk and pit-wheel monument list the names of every man who perished. Among them, my uncle — David Cairns — whose name I carry.

Even decades later, the echoes of that instant in time still resonate: the sound of the blast, the long silence that followed, and the emptiness that settled on every street. These weren’t just memories; they were the moral fabric of the community — reminders of courage, sacrifice, and solidarity.

Remembering My Uncle and His Companions

Today, Valleyfield Colliery is long gone. The shafts are sealed, and the winding gear has rusted away. Yet the past remains present; the story of 28 October 1939 is still told. Memorials survive in miners’ clubs, heritage centres, Culross Abbey on the hill looking down towards the mine, and local archives.

Each October, people gather by the memorial in High Valleyfield. Flowers are laid. Names are read. And in those moments, the men of the pit live again in memory — not as statistics, but as fathers, brothers, and friends.

When I stand before that monument and trace my uncle’s name in the stone, I think of the price those men paid for progress. They powered a nation, and they did it with courage and dignity.

Why We Must Keep Remembering

The Valleyfield Pit Disaster teaches us that history isn’t only written in wars and parliaments. It’s also written in the lives of working people whose labour — and sometimes their deaths — made modern life possible.

For me, it’s deeply personal. To carry my uncle’s name is to carry his story — one of strength, community, and sacrifice. Remembering him, and all those who died that morning in 1939, is not just an act of family loyalty. It’s an act of gratitude to every miner who faced the dark so that others could live in the light.

The High Valleyfield Memorial

The following are the names of those who lost their lives in the disaster:-

David Cairns (35), brusher, 39 Preston Street, High Valleyfield.

Archibald Anderson (46), brusher, 4 Abbey Crescent. High Valleyfield.

David Baillie (35), brusher, The Ness Torryburn.

Alexander Banks (46), transport, East Avenue, Blairhall (died in hospital)

John Brown (23), brusher, 8 Bowmont Street. Low Valleyfield.

Thomas Campbell (56), brusher, Main Street, Newmills.

Alexander Christie (61), supervisor, St Mungo, Culross.

Thomas Clark (47), brusher, 34 Abbey Crescent. High Valleyfield.

William Devlin (37), machineman, 12 Woodhead Street, High Valleyfield.

Arthur Doohan (39), brusher, Burn Street, High Valleyfield.

Duncan Ewing (27), brusher, 22 Dundonald Terrace, Low Valleyfield.

Aubrey Gauld (34), brusher, Mid Row, Hill of Beith [sic].

Peter Gilliard (23), brusher, 39 Abbey Crescent, High Valleyfield.

Edward Glass (27), transport, 14 Dundonald Terrace, Low Valleyfield.

David Hogg (49), packer, Hawthorn Cottage, Carnock.

James Irvine (37), packer, West End, Low Valleyfield.

Bert Keegan (52), brusher, 61 Woodside Street, High Valleyfield.

Thomas Kerr (58), 36 Abbey Crescent, High Valleyfield (died in hospital.)

Thomas Kerr, jun. (27), fireman, 36 Abbey Crescent, High Valleyfield.

Robert Lang (23), engineer, 6 Preston Crescent, High Valleyfield.

Alexander Lawrie (31), brusher, 147 Baldridge Burn, Dunfermline.

Edmund Link (24), transport, Braeside Cottage. Low Valleyfield.

James M'Fadzean (28), transport, 33 Preston Crescent, High Valleyfield.

Robert M'Farlane (41), repairer, Main Street, Newmills.

John M'Intyre (32), electrician, 21 Preston Crescent, High Valleyfield

John Morgan, Erskine Brae, Culross.

Martin (42), brusher, 5 Abbey Crescent, High Valleyfield.

Colin Morrison (51), fireman, 18 Woodhead Street. High Valleyfield.

Michael Murray (33), brusher, Burn Street, High Valleyfield.

Robert Nicholson (32), brusher, North Road, Saline.

Alexander Paterson (32), brusher, 19 Abbey Crescent, High Valleyfield.

William Ramage (52), brusher, Blairwood Terrace, Oakley

James Spowart, jun. (29), machineman Tinian Crescent. Newmills.

Michael Tinney (35), transport. 3 Woodhead Street. High Valleyfield.

George Tole, jun., 67 Woodhead Street, High Valleyfield.

Henry Tole (29), machineman, 26 Preston Crescent, High Valleyfield

Robert Wright (48), brusher. 1 Dunmarle Street, High Valleyfield.