When I swapped studying for a wage and a proper job, Mam and Dad

Hear, O children of labor and truth, the voice of Dennis Skinner, the son of the working class, who said: “When I swapped studying for a wage and a proper job, Mam and Dad were devastated. I was rejecting an opportunity they never had. But their eldest son, at 16, wanted only to follow his father down the pit. It was to be the biggest education of my life.” These words, born of coal dust and sacrifice, remind us that not all learning is found in books, nor all wisdom in schools. There is a knowledge that comes from sweat, struggle, and the shared burden of toil.

Skinner speaks of the sorrow of his parents, who dreamed for their son a life beyond the mine, a life with the promise of opportunity they themselves were denied. Their grief was not anger, but love—a yearning that he might be spared the hardship that had defined their days. Yet the son, full of youthful loyalty and pride, chose instead to descend into the dark, to take his place among the miners, to bind his fate to the labor of his father. In that choice lay not only hardship, but a deeper education: the schooling of reality, of solidarity, of struggle.

For the pit was no classroom of comfort, no lecture hall of theory. It was a crucible of endurance, where men learned courage not from books but from each other, where comradeship was forged in the face of danger, and where respect was earned by toil and resilience. Skinner discovered in that world of darkness a truth brighter than any lamp: that dignity is not given, but carried in the heart of the worker who stands tall despite the weight of the earth above him.

So too, history tells us of Abraham Lincoln, who had little formal schooling, yet gained his education through hard labor, splitting rails, reading by candlelight, and learning from life itself. Like Skinner, Lincoln’s schooling was not conventional, but it gave him the strength to understand the struggles of ordinary people, and to lead a nation through its darkest trial. Here we see that the greatest education often comes not from the schoolhouse alone, but from the lived experience of hardship, sacrifice, and perseverance.

The meaning of Skinner’s words is therefore layered. He does not scorn the gift of study; he honors it by acknowledging what his parents wished for him. Yet he also proclaims that education is found wherever life challenges us to grow. The mine, grim though it was, taught him lessons no textbook could provide: lessons of class, of justice, of resilience, of loyalty to one’s people. This was not the education of privilege, but the education of the earth itself, carved into muscle, bone, and memory.

The lesson, O listener, is clear: do not despise the path you must take, even if it differs from what others dreamed for you. For every path has its own schooling, its own wisdom to give. Some will learn in universities; others will learn in fields, in factories, in mines, in homes. What matters is not the form of the education, but the spirit with which it is received. To face your duty with courage, to take pride in your work, and to let hardship shape you into strength—this is the true schooling of life.

Practical action lies before you: honor whatever work is placed in your hands, for in it lies a teacher. Seek knowledge wherever it can be found—books, yes, but also people, struggles, and labor. Do not measure yourself only by certificates or titles, but by the depth of your character and the wisdom you gain from each experience. And above all, carry gratitude for those who came before you, who longed to give you opportunities they themselves never had.

Thus remember Dennis Skinner’s words: sometimes the greatest education is not in the lecture hall but in the mine, not in theory but in practice, not in comfort but in struggle. Accept the lessons life gives you, and you will emerge not only skilled, but wise, not only instructed, but transformed.