The Denniston Rose (7 page)

WHAT HAPPENED, ON that day of the picnic, as every mother's son and every father's daughter on the Hill knows but none will tell Rose, is this.

Underground, miners work as pairs. It's always the case. Josiah Scobie and his brother Arnold are a pair. He and Arnold have always worked as mates since boys. Mary Scobie doesn't like it.

‘If there's an accident you could lose two in the family,' she says.

‘Or save both,' is Josiah's opinion. ‘We know to an inch where the other is and how the seam is cracking. I trust him.'

The other brother, Frank, not so fussy about his mate, changes from time to time for variety.

‘I'll end up knowing more jokes than me brothers. And meeting a few more sisters maybe!' he laughs. Frank is the youngest of the brothers, and sunny natured where the others are serious. Frank can
whistle to make you think a forest full of birds is on your doorstep, which brings tears to some eyes, up here on the Hill, where no bird sings. And he's a good musician, like most of the Scobies.

The day of the accident he's working with stocky Peter Fogarty — not family but a good English miner. You'd never catch one of the English miners choosing one of the ‘volunteers' as mate. Frank and Peter are joking about girls, or the lack of them, and laying plans to ride down the Incline next Saturday to see who might have arrived in Waimang. Frank is twenty-eight, a full ten years younger than his brother Josiah, but he can hew as fast, despite the chatter, and is known as a top miner. Each pair is working on a separate pillar of good hard coal, a distance apart but close enough to run for help if needed. There is a certain feeling of competition in the air as to which will get their pillar down first.

To understand the accident it is necessary to picture the mine. Imagine, then, a thick slab of coal lying between layers of stone, as a wedge of meat lies between slices of bread in a sandwich. But in the case of the coal at Denniston the slab is vast — spread wider than a town and thicker than the height of a man, sometimes two men. This great slab of coal must be got out cleanly, without collapsing the rock roof in on the miners.

So first you drive a bord — a tunnel about ten foot wide — to be your haulage line. In you go through the coal, extracting as you go, and putting up timber sets, one each side of the tunnel as props, and one across the top to support the roof. When you have gone a chain in, you cut across at right angles for a chain and then drive another bord in from outside. That's your air supply. The flow of air is crucial in mining; you must have multiple shafts so fresh air can be drawn through.

So. Now you go back to the main haulage line and extend it another chain, take another right-angle cut, then extend your air
shaft to meet it. On you go, extending your two parallel shafts — one for haulage, one for air — cutting a cross-shaft every chain. As you go deeper in, you hang sacking curtains — brattices — over the entrances to your earlier cross-shafts, to block the air flow. This way, you drag the air further into the mine with you. Big blocks of coal, a chain square, remain between your bords. These are called pillars. Which is apt. They hold up the mighty weight of the rock roof, of the whole land above, which no puny timber sets could do.

And so you go, more bords to north and south, more cross-shafts east and west, honeycombing your way through the vast seam of coal until a plan of it looks like New York City — or, if you like, Westport itself, which is laid out square and neat with hardly a bent road to soften the landscape.

At the time of the accident Banbury mine is all tunnelled through, and the men are now working back from the outer edges, in towards the haulage line, extracting the chain-square pillars of coal. Think of digging out two pretty large houses of solid coal. That would be your ‘pillar'. Many, many boxes of coal will be extracted from one pillar. This day both pairs of miners are in a good rhythm, sending boxes up regularly. Both pairs want to be the first to move on to a new pillar.

Samuel, Josiah's eldest son, sixteen tomorrow, is down in this section too, trucking for both pairs.

‘Heigh ho,' he calls. ‘Hup hup!' Though there is no need at all. Noggin the horse knows what to do with no word said, let alone any human to say one. Noggin would go back and forth all day from face to haulage line, trustworthy as a miner's mate.

Down comes Samuel through the mine with Noggin pulling a string of empties. Josiah leans on his shovel and smiles. Everyone smiles to see Samuel. He is not sunny natured like his Uncle Frank, nor thick-set like his father. Willowy and lithe, rather — pale
skinned as a girl, and dreamy. Mary Scobie, his mother, would never admit to favourites among her six sons but the others notice an extra light in her eye when she watches Samuel. Sam is the one who will put her slippers by the range to warm, or fetch the clothes off the line when the rain comes.

Samuel loves to work with the horses.

‘Look at Noggin!' he shouts now to his dad. ‘He knows it's Saturday! He can smell fresh air and sunlight; I swear he knows! See him snort?'

Josiah laughs. ‘We all know it's Saturday and Noggin picks it from us, perhaps. Come on, lad, get on with it! We need some space here.'

Samuel unhooks the string of boxes and rolls four to Josiah and Arnold, the other four over to Frank and Peter Fogarty. Noggin plods back up the line without waiting for his master to tell him. He waits at the correct distance, while Samuel hooks the waiting full boxes together. Seven boxes. Arnold is just topping off the eighth. His big round banjo shovel slaps a last good slab aboard. He reaches for one of his tokens, hooks it on the box to show this coal should be tallied as his, and gives Samuel the nod. Arnold is not a talker.

‘Another load and we'll stop for our bite,' says Josiah to his son. ‘Come down to the lay-by and we'll have it together. Where are the lads?'

His next two boys, David and Mathew, fifteen and thirteen, are clippies, clipping the boxes onto the endless chain that will take them off to the Bins.

‘Two sections away,' says Samuel, who always knows where his brothers are. ‘Shall I fetch them?'

‘Nay nay, lad, they are old enough to fend for themselves. You worry like a mother.'

Samuel grins. ‘And who has taught me to worry, eh? Who has
said a miner looks out for his mate first, last and every second in between?'

‘Ah well, true, but your brothers are clippies in another section, and you must trust that section to keep an eye on the young 'uns. Your responsibility is here with your horse, and the men in your own section. Now get on out of here — your horse is halfway to the haulage already.'

As Samuel sets off after Noggin he sees a wavering light approaching.

‘Someone coming!' he yells back. ‘Are you waiting for the underviewer to fire your shot?'

The fellow with one arm comes past with a cheery-enough nod. He has hooked his lamp crookedly to his cap. Samuel can see the gleam of warm oil running down his nose.

‘Shall I fix that for you?' he offers, but Jimmy Cork is in a hurry. Samuel tries again. ‘I'd head out if I were you. The men won't welcome you.'

‘Ah well, so what?' says Jimmy and keeps going.

Samuel waits for his dad's explosion.

‘Bloody hell, man!' shouts Josiah. ‘Didn't I tell you last time this is no place for bloody volunteers? You are a danger to us all.'

Jimmy Cork holds up his air tester. ‘Hold your hair on, Mister. I am only doing my job.'

His cheeky grin enrages Josiah. ‘You have tested the air once already down here. It is bad, we all know that, and you are using up precious yards of it sniffing around. I will have a word to Eddie about this.'

Jimmy backs off. Talk of the mine manager seems to fluster him. ‘I'm going, I'm going,' he says. ‘Now, tell me, are there more air shafts down this way?'

‘Go back up above and look at your map and get out of our
hair. This section will close today, God willing, and I want no stranger to nursemaid when it comes down. Off with you!'

But Samuel, enjoying the scene from up the line, sees that Jimmy heads deeper in, towards Frank and Peter.

Later, when Samuel comes down the dark tunnel with the next string of empties, he finds Josiah and Arnold standing still, listening. The horse cocks his ears too, then tosses his head, and paws the ground.

‘See that?' says Josiah to his son. ‘Noggin knows it's on its way. Listen, lad.'

Samuel hasn't experienced a close before but has heard his dad talk about them often enough. When most of this pillar of coal has been extracted, the rock roof above will collapse to fill the gap. The whole landscape above settles. As the miners are working their way through the pillars, the mine is collapsing in behind them. It's important this happens, otherwise the weight of all that rock swings over above the next pillar and is a danger to the men. Samuel looks up. Above him the top-coal is creaking like the timbers of a ship in a storm. A small lump drops down and Sam jumps in alarm. Josiah smiles.

‘You are right to be on edge, lad, but we have a few minutes yet. First the roof coal will come down, then we will see. Sometimes there is time to box up some of it, other times the roof comes down very soon. We'd best walk up the line a bit. Run now and tell Frank and Peter our close is on its way and they should be ready in case theirs goes with it.'

Sam looks for his horse but Noggin is already away up the mine.

‘Noggin thinks it's coming soon,' he says, smiling, but nervous too. ‘I bet he's right!'

Quick on his feet, he runs down to the next section.

‘Coal's creaking up Dad's way. He says to shift out.'

Frank whistles. ‘Ah well, looks like the ancient ones have beaten us to it, Peter. No sign of a close here, though.' Just then, a couple of lumps fall from the roof with a clatter. Frank tilts his head so the flame of his lamp shines upwards. As they watch, a crack opens up in the shining coal with a sound like a pistol shot. Sam jumps. He is not easy underground without his good steady Noggin, who reminds him of the living world outside.

‘Off we go, then,' says Frank, ‘but I'm guessing we'll hold here for a while.'

Suddenly he stops. ‘Damn. Where is that one-arm man?'

‘He was here a minute ago,' says Peter. ‘Ferreting around in a strange way. I reckon he's just through that brattice.'

‘Nip through quick, Sam, while we pick up our tools,' says Frank. ‘Give him a yell, the silly idiot. Don't waste time, though. If he's more than two chain away come straight back.'

Samuel wants to run for the surface but the others are calm enough, taking time to pick up their tools and their powder cans. He runs the next chain, turns left and through the brattice. His lamp seems to make no impression on the dark in here.

‘Hey!' he yells. ‘Anyone here?' Above him the coal groans and creaks. Several lumps come down. He feels for the wall and it seems to shift under his hand. A thin trickle of stones and sand pours like a waterfall just in front of his nose. Suddenly Samuel is very frightened.

‘Hey!' he yells again, but it is more in fear than warning. He turns to run back. But which way? The noise has disoriented him. In his panic he runs deeper in.

Frank and Peter hear the coal shift.

‘Bloody hell, it's coming down,' shouts Peter. ‘Where's that brother of yours?'

But Frank is already running down the shaft and through the brattice. As he reaches the junction the top-coal comes down with a roar. The black tide rolls towards him across the floor. His feet are trapped. Frank knows he must stay upright but is desperate for Samuel.

‘Sam! Sam!' he shouts above the roar of the coal all around him. He is in total darkness. His lamp has been extinguished by the rush of air. He hears a thin wail, and then everything is engulfed in the roar of the close. The sandstone roof gives way to the ancient force of gravity. Roof and floor become one and the land in this section is solid again.

The fall is not above Frank but just behind him. His upper body is tossed like a rag doll as the blast of air roars past him. But his legs are already held: he is powerless to move. His mouth fills with dust. He cannot see the rubble but feels it rolling up over his trapped legs, up past his chest. The pressure is intolerable.

Frank gives a last despairing shout. ‘Sa-mu-el!' He thinks this will be his last living word. But the fall is spent, and Frank's head is still above the pile. He is entombed, immobile but upright, up to his neck in a dead-weight of sandstone. No part of his body can move even an inch. To drag even a mouthful of the dusty air into his lungs takes an immense effort.

Frank listens: a trickle of sand still falling, a stone rolling down the pile to settle somewhere in the darkness. No other sounds. The close has settled, but will the men be able to find him? And Samuel? In the dark Frank can only guess at the extent of the fall. Surely he is at the edge of it to be left like this?

He hears feet running and voices calling.

‘Frank!'

‘Frankie!'

‘Samuel! Oh God, Sam! Sam!'

There are lights approaching and Frank's heart gives a lurch of relief. He tries to call out but his overworked lungs can produce only a tiny squeak. He fixes his eyes on the three little pools of light and prays to God.

Josiah stops. His chest is heaving. ‘Tom, Arnold, quiet! We must listen.'

In the silence Frank manages a whimper. Josiah's lamp immediately points in the right direction. He walks forward, but gingerly, then stops about three good strides from Frank. He has reached the edge of the pile. He is straining to see. Frank manages to shift his head an inch. Josiah looks straight into the eyes of his brother. His own eyes widen in disbelief to see the head sitting like St John the Baptist's on a platter of brown sandstone. Frank is crying silently. Each slow breath rasps and whoops like a child with diphtheria.