by Lily Ennis
When Joe left Ballarat Archie wasn’t sure he’d even see him again. But it was better money for Joe as Archie had seen this morning. At the time Archie was managing a gold mine and he and Ann had baby Fanny. Joe wasn’t there to comfort Archie and Ann when Charlie and Margaret died in infancy, but he and Ann remained strong. There were plenty of folk suffering the same. It was a fact of life.
Archie approached the stone wall of the Anglican church and sat down to eat. A weak winter sun peeked through dull cloud tricking him into thinking there might be some warmth in it. The air shook with the odd muffled explosion. Along the road up on the hill was the Cornish Pumphouse. Archie listened to the rhythmic pumping as it dewatered the Martha Mine.
As he sat passers-by said good-day and smiled. It was a pleasant surprise and he responded in kind. Ballarat was too big for that. He wondered if he might grow to like this place in time, even call it home.
When he arrived home Mary was in the back chopping vegetables and throwing them into the pot on the range. She paused. ‘You’re early.’
Archie hung his hat on the chair back as Fanny ran out of her room at the sound of her father’s voice. He swooped to pick her up.
‘Whoa there little pony,’ he said. ‘Have you been a good girl for Miss Bell?’
Fanny nodded and toyed with Archie’s moustache. He cast a glance to Mary who had resumed chopping but was now smiling.
‘Aye,’ said Mary. ‘She’s been a grand wee help to me. We’re getting on just fine.’
Archie was relieved to hear it. ‘And what about you, Miss Bell? Is everything satisfactory?’
Mary didn’t hold back. ‘You need some laying hens and a house cow. I don’t know why Mrs. Wright didn’t get them for you. We all have them around here. It will make it easier for the baby. And you can bring home some candles from the mine tomorrow. That’ll be a saving. Everyone uses them. Pink they are.’
Archie was taken aback. ‘Surely that’s stealing,’ he said.
‘Surely you’re right,’ she agreed.
Archie crinkled his brow. The daughter of the mine manager was telling him to steal the company’s candles.
‘Miss Bell, I don’t understand. Your father...’
‘My father manages the mine for the company,’ Mary interjected. ‘Be under no illusion Mr. Wright that he looks after the men in his charge, for he does not.’
Archie saw a deep pain behind her grey eyes. But he was equally hurt that she had a poor opinion of mine managers. He shuddered to think that his colleagues in his long years of mining thought the same.
Mary suddenly realized she’d spoken out of turn. ‘Please forgive me. I should not speak against my father.’
Archie didn’t want to pry but recognised the sadness in her face. ‘I’m sure you have your reasons.’
Mary slowed in her work and Archie could see she deliberated whether to continue the conversation. She put down her knife.
‘I was engaged to Charlie Watts,’ she said. ‘We’d known each other at school and he went into the mine the day he turned fifteen.’ She smiled as she recalled the feelings she had for Charlie. ‘He was killed at seventeen. He walked into a blast. Someone forgot to board the tunnel to prevent the men entering when they were about to blast.’
Archie set Fanny onto the floor. ‘I’m sorry.’
Mary didn’t say anything more and Archie didn’t know what he could say that would make it all right. He knew there was nothing.
Mary put the lid on the pot and turned to Archie. ‘The meat’s nearly cooked and the veggies will need an hour. The milk’s in the jug for Thomas.’ She hung her apron on the back of the door. ‘I’ll be here at seven tomorrow.’
Archie felt he was being dismissed. He didn’t mind. He was surprised at how much he missed the children today and wanted time alone with them. But he called after Mary.
‘Miss Bell?’
She hesitated and Archie smiled uncertainly.
‘Thank you.’
Chapter Two
Archie winched the first ore truck of the day up to the surface. Seven shafts spread over Pukewa Spur descending fifteen levels deep into the bowels of the hill. Now called the Martha Hill Mine, the Waihi Gold Company had already recovered peak gold, crushing four million tons of ore in 1909 to yield one million pounds value of gold. It was a heady time and men worked with scant regard to safety as they became engrossed in the fever. Accidents underground were common and men who suffered burns or severed fingers often found themselves working on the surface tallying ore trolleys for the same contract gang that employed them underground.
Thus, most of Archie’s colleagues who drove stationary engines had a healthy respect for the work their mining mates did.
Bartie Gilliespie had started out underground. And he loved it. He missed the camaraderie that came with the place. But he had the miner’s complaint; phithis. He’d been mining since the age of thirteen, firstly in Ballarat then on the Thames, arriving in Waihi in the early 1900s when mining was waning on the Thames. He had a family to support and two of his lads followed him underground.
Archie could hear Bartie’s heavy wheezing. When it warmed up the man should get a bit of relief, but on a cold morning like this the hard silica dust in his lungs seemed to take all his oxygen capacity.
Between them this morning they’d already lowered tens of dozens of workers as well as hay for the horses which were stabled three hundred yards below ground. They were at the notorious milking cow, an area where the quartz was particularly crumbly and therefore dangerous to the men trying to recover it. Bartie’s sons, Ted and Cyril were below. Bartie didn’t like it and he made it known.
‘The company’s got no right to be working this area,’ he grunted. ‘I know they aren’t shoring up properly. Got to take extra care in rock like that. I’ll be danged if I’m losing my boys in a cave in.’
It seemed to Archie that Bartie preferred to talk about this than do anything about it. He’d been working alongside him for a month and Bartie hadn’t changed his tune.
‘You’ve gone to the union with your concerns then,’ said Archie, suspecting Bartie had done no such thing. Bartie pretended not to hear.
By lunchtime Archie had hauled up forty truck loads of ore, keeping the engine fed with coal. He reset the thermostat on the boiler for the lull in activity then wandered over to the coal shed to eat his own lunch under cover. He kept a protective ear on the engines which ticked over steadily as a pipe fed fresh air into the mine and another operated a pump to draw water away from the tunnels.
He pictured Bartie’s boys underground. He yearned for the freedom he used to enjoy as manager. Some days he would be underground with the men, drinking in the fresh earth smell, caught up in the excitement of a blast. On others he’d be on the surface liaising with engine drivers and tallymen or escorting geologists around the workings. Archie was even comfortable reporting to the mine superintendent, furnishing reports that would eventually be read by the mine owners.
At lunch the men would sit with their backs to the tunnel wall using discarded dynamite boxes to lean on. The candles on the walls provided a poor light. One by one the men would retreat from the light and take a piss against the wall.
Archie cast a critical eye at the sky. It had last rained several days ago and he could feel spring in the air. Certainly the days were getting longer. It wouldn’t rain today. There would be no short day.
He was impressed with some of the workers’ benefits that he’d so far observed. One of them was a concession to being wet. Sometimes getting wet was unavoidable. In their black wool singlets they would not dry out or warm up, so the company allowed a six hour working day instead of eight: something unheard of in Ballarat. There was a similar allowance for heat: men would work a shortened shift if temperatures exceeded eighty five degrees Fahrenheit. As Archie huddled in the coal shed he wondered if he’d ever see the day.
Too soon lunch was over and work resumed. At four o’clock the men for the sec
ond shift assembled to wait their turn for the next available cage to lower them into the mine.
A commotion erupted at Number Two Shaft, about three hundred yards north of Archie. Men shouted and whistles were blown. Some of the men waiting for Archie ran over. William Strawbridge was one of them.
He immediately addressed the engine driver. ‘What is it Sam?’
All colour had drained from Sam’s face. ‘Cage broke,’ he barked struggling to catch his breath.
William cussed. His immediate thoughts were the ten men hurtling down into the bowels of the earth at terminal velocity for the cage had every likelihood of dropping the full thirteen hundred feet. If they weren’t killed from the landing they’d be injured for sure.
William did a rough head count. There were about one hundred men at the surface; seventy to start their shift and thirty having just finished. That left ten in the cage and another thirty down below.
Sam swept his brow with his cap. ‘They’ve gone right to the bottom,’ he muttered.
The men rushed to agree. William called for calm. By now he was angry. This accident was caused by company negligence. Poorly maintained equipment was an ongoing problem. Plenty of men fell down shafts no matter how well they were trained, but in that case the worker endangered only his own life. This was different. A cable had broken or a shackle unclasped because of poor maintenance. William was quick to lay the blame without further investigation.
He assembled a rescue team.
‘We don’t know yet where the nearest gang is to the men,’ he began, ‘so we’ll go down Number Four Shaft then split up at the different levels until we find them. ‘Ted, get a message to Mr. Bell.’
Ted Gilliespie sped off as William led the rescue party over to Archie at Number Four Shaft.
Archie delayed lowering a cage of men.
‘Hold it,’ William yelled. Then he quickly addressed the crowd. ‘The cage fell. I’m taking these men down. Someone send for the doctor.’
The relief of the men was palpable. The worst that could happen was an explosion which in all probability wasn’t likely at that late stage of the shift. The second was a cave-in, but if that was going to occur it was more likely in one of the tunnels off the Number Four Shaft. A runaway cage wasn’t unheard of. It was a matter of how far it fell. But no matter how far, there was no soft landing.
William spoke with authority and confidence. His broad English accent hinted at his early coal mining days. Archie had met with William to sign up to the union and Archie had instantly recognised that they shared the same ideals.
The rescue party descended the Number Four Shaft, the seriousness of their task etched into their faces. The cage rattled to a stop and the first three men got out and proceeded along the tunnel which flickered with candlelight. The process was repeated twice more.
William had with him Garrick Binnie and Cyril Gilliespie, both of whom were familiar with the layout of the lower tunnels of the Number Two Shaft. They climbed out of the cage at the bottom knowing it was two levels short of the Number Two. They quickly made their way along the tunnel until they located an air shaft which had rough sawn slabs of wood screwed into the wall for foot holds.
Garrick paused. ‘Shush.’
In the distance somewhere below them were the plaintive moans. They were close to the shaft and if they’d proceeded towards it they could have shined their light onto the men below.
Garrick scuttled in the opposite direction. ‘This way. There’s another air shaft.’
It wasn’t far along the tunnel and once they found it Cyril yelled encouragement to the men below. By the time they got to the scene some men had escaped the cage and were assisting others. A crowd of workers milled around.
William cut straight to the point. ‘Anyone killed?’ He held his candle high and played the light over the men.
‘No.’ It was Floyd Arbury, William’s vice-president in the Waihi Trade Union of Workers. ‘Buster’s caught underneath.’
‘Why hasn’t somebody got him out?’ William didn’t wait for an answer. The men still in the cage lay in a dishevelled heap.
‘They’re injured or unconscious,’ Floyd explained. ‘Or both.’
William growled, exasperated at the tardiness of the rescue. ‘Cyril, lead the men out and then guide the doctor back. I want the men who weren’t in the cage to follow Cyril out.’ He turned to Floyd. ‘Not you.’
Buster’s moans turned to gasping pants. ‘Can you get this bloody thing off?’
‘All right lad,’ said William. He started to drag an unconscious man free of the cage. ‘Get these men out of here.’
Soon the cage was empty and they tipped it up while William pulled Buster’s leg free. The boy screamed. The leg was badly crushed. Floyd wrapped it in his jacket.
‘What happened?’ William asked Floyd.
‘It’s the cable,’ Floyd answered. ‘Look.’
He played the light of the candle over the top of the cage. The shackle was still in tact and a short length of cable was attached. William noted the frayed end and sighed.
‘There’ll be hell to pay over this,’ he said. ‘Mark my words.’
It wasn’t long before Cyril returned with the doctor and the others from the rescue party. The doctor winced when he saw Buster’s leg.
‘I don’t want to lose my leg, Doc,’ Buster gasped.
The doctor held a needle up to the nearest candle and gave it a flick. ‘Don’t worry about that yet,’ he said. ‘We’ll relieve the pain for the time being.’
He shot a needle into Buster’s arm before the boy could object.
‘He’s all right to move then?’ asked William.
The doctor was checking over the remaining men. ‘Aye it is.’ He shook his head. ‘Remarkable.’
‘What is?’ asked Floyd.
‘That the injuries are as slight as they are,’ he replied.
‘The cage was full,’ Floyd explained. ‘I guess we absorbed each other’s impact.’
The doctor stood to examine Floyd. ‘You were in it?’
‘I was.’
‘Nothing broken?’
‘No,’ Floyd replied. ‘Not me. Leonard though; he complains of a sore chest.
The doctor grumped. ‘Which one is Leonard?’
A voice from the floor answered weakly. ‘Here.’
The doctor put his stethoscope to Leonard’s back. ‘Hurt to breathe in?’
Leonard tried. ‘Yep,’ he gasped.
‘If you can walk you’d better get yourself out. If you need to be carried the pain will be unbearable.’
‘What is it?’ asked William.
‘Broken ribs,’ the doctor replied.
The doctor packed up his bag. ‘Let Leonard get out under his own steam. The rest of the men will require assistance.’
William gave orders to the rescue party and within the hour everyone was back at the surface. The injured were ushered to a waiting cart and taken to hospital.
* * *
Sam Bell cut the engine and walked over to the large crowd assembled at the Number Four Shaft. He had never worked underground and he was the youngest engine driver on the field. Gerald had sent him off to the Waihi School of Mines as soon as he turned fifteen. It was with some trepidation that he went. He suffered from seizures and he’d missed a lot of schooling. But he made good plodding through his exams with barely passable grades.
William held court as he and Floyd addressed the crowd. The ramifications of the accident was not lost on anyone: not only would the next shift not start work until the cable to the cage was repaired but men involved in the accident all belonged to the one contract gang.
As William reassured the men that the union would stand by the miners who found themselves out of work and therefore out of pay, Gerald approached.
‘Good of you to come,’ said William mockingly.
Sam felt the barb go straight to his father’s core as Gerald bristled.
‘I’ve just returned fro
m Waikino, Mr. Strawbridge,’ Gerald replied. ‘Save your vitriol and tell me what happened.’
‘The company refuse to keep the equipment maintained and today a cable failed on a cage. It fell right to the bottom of Number Two Shaft. Ten men were in that cage. Ten men could have died today.’
A murmur washed over the crowd and a few cries of ‘hear hear’ went up.
Gerald manoeuvred himself alongside William and the crowd quietened.
‘I’ve worked alongside you men for the past six years and I’m proud to say you’re the best miners I’ve worked with.’ Gerald let the words sink in. He needed them to see he was on their side. He was. ‘You have in William Strawbridge and Floyd Arbury the best union representatives you could hope for.’
William shot Gerald a look of distrust. Gerald continued.
‘I agree entirely that the mine owners should set aside more money for maintenance. No one benefits from stopping work and we all suffer when a colleague is harmed. Your union and I will appeal to the owners for better, safer conditions.’
The crowd became vocal. ‘What about our shortened shift?’ someone yelled. ‘They goin’ to pay us summit for lost earnings?’
William held up a hand to quell the men. ‘You can count on it,’ he said firmly.
Floyd looked askance at him. That was a wildly optimistic statement. William must be angrier than he thought.
Gerald took the floor. ‘I suggest you all get back to work immediately if you’re working the Milking Cow. If you’re working Number Two Shaft I’ll have six men to make repairs. The rest of you can go home and come back at seven.’
The crowd dispersed. Archie affected the changeover with the new engine driver then joined the small group of men who were in discussion; William, Floyd and Gerald. Archie noticed Sam stand slightly apart from the group, uncomfortable but loyal to his father.
‘I’d like to help,’ said Archie.
He was met with blank stares.
‘In the case for the union,’ he explained.
Gerald was the first to shake Archie’s hand. ‘My daughter tells me you managed a gold mine in Ballarat,’ he said for the benefit of the others.