Heartbreak in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  ‘But your arm,’ said Abraham. ‘And you’re soaking wet.’

  ‘Never mind, it doesn’t matter.’

  She hurried down the path. Abraham followed on. As they went, people ran from their back gates. By the time they’d reached Jubilee Green many others had joined them. Anwen pulled down her sleeve, hiding the raw skin. It smarted dreadfully. She pushed the pain away, not allowing herself to pay it any heed. From the valley bottom there were plumes of smoke. More villagers poured from the side streets.

  Soon the call, repeated over and over, was echoing around the village.

  There’s been an explosion at the pit.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Idris hadn’t wanted to do a double shift. He was sick of being underground, where the air was heavy with carbon and dust. Despite it now being July, the weather had not improved much, yet underground it felt more clammy than usual. It was Gwilym’s fault. The foreman had extolled the virtues of getting repairs done quickly so they could keep up with the Navy’s demand for coal, asking for volunteers. Gwilym had stepped forward, offering the pair of them, nudging Idris to say, ‘Always do with a bit of extra money, can’t we, mun?’

  So here he was, working in the gloom of lamplight, the space beyond his colleagues a deep void. He craved the light and air. He wasn’t in the same area as Gwilym, who was working with his father, Earnest, on Hosea Pimm Heading. Idris was currently with Twm Bach and a haulier called Lewis Jones. They were assisting the timberman, Samuel Bevan, who was repairing props on the main roadway. They’d already fixed two areas and were slowly moving along towards the interior of the pit.

  ‘Well, this makes a change from hewing the old black stuff,’ said Twm, his toothy smile in stark contrast to his sooty face. ‘But of course, you’re an examiner now, aren’t you, Idris, bach? Better for your back that is, with you being so tall.’ Twm stood next to him, putting his hand sideways against his forehead and shifting towards Idris. He barely reached Idris’s chest.

  ‘Everyone’s tall next to you, even my old mamgu,’ Lewis joked, bringing his pony round after unhitching him from the truck they’d brought the wood down in. The animal whinnied and threw her head up twice. ‘Steady Bessie, steady.’

  ‘She’s thinking she should be back at the stable with her pals,’ said Idris. ‘Not doing double shifts.’

  ‘Aye, but we’ve all got to make sacrifices in these days of war. I’m sure Jones the Horse will find some extra bits of hay for a pony what’s worked well.’

  Idris thought about John Jones the ostler, in the stables at the end of this roadway. It must be a peaceful job attending the horses. When he’d first started work, Gwilym’s grancher, Abraham, had been ostler here. He’d retired not long after, following a bad bout of influenza.

  ‘Right lads, let’s get started,’ called Samuel. They all peered at the prop he indicated as he held the lamp. He pointed at Lewis. ‘You give me a hand here holding up the light, while I dismantle the rotten piece. Twm, fetch some wood and a saw. Idris, sort out a dozen nails from my bag. And bring two hammers.’

  Idris and Twm went together with their lamps, Idris stopping a few feet away from the truck to put his lamp by the cloth bag, thrown on the floor by Samuel when they’d first arrived. He knelt down to sort through it, finding the box with nails quickly. He heard Twm talk to Bessie as he shifted bits of timber.

  At first he thought Twm had dropped a piece of wood into the tram, creating the metallic grumble. But the noise continued like a low rumble of distant thunder.

  Except he knew it wasn’t.

  ‘Explosion!’ screamed Idris. ‘Get down.’ He saw Twm obey immediately as he hit the ground. Idris lay prostrate nearby, his hands covering his head.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Lewis. ‘It’s just a shot.’

  The last word was barely out of his mouth when a noise like a hurricane rushed down the tunnel and an intense light flashed. Even with his face down, Idris saw it. Stones pelted him and his ears rang with the colossal clang and clatter of something large and metal crashing down to his right.

  Then, nothing.

  * * *

  ‘There aren’t so many on the night shift, are there?’ Anwen asked.

  ‘A lot more than normal.’ Abraham’s voice cracked with the effort of running. ‘Gwilym and Earnest were doing a double. Repairs. And Idris, I think.’

  Anwen’s heart squeezed tight; she found it hard to catch her breath. As they ran down Jubilee Green, people poured out of houses and down the hill, like lava pouring down the side of a volcano.

  There was a clamour of voices getting ever louder, chanting similar anthems of distress. The shopkeepers stood outside their doors, white starched aprons soiled, staring down towards the pit.

  They met Isaiah and Meg Hughes coming around the other side of the park, both their faces filled with blind panic.

  At the bottom of Jubilee Green, running out from James Street, was Cadi. Anwen stopped, grabbing her grandmother’s hands. ‘Mamgu, please, would you go to Mam. She’ll be wondering what’s happened. Da’s in a foul mood. Oh, and I left the tap on!’

  ‘Don’t worry, cariad. I’ll sort it all out.’

  Anwen watched for a few seconds as Cadi dragged herself up the hill, against the crowd. Carrying on down once more, she dodged those who were slower, catching up Abraham and the others. On they went, an unstoppable wave of bodies congregating at the pit head.

  ‘It’s complete Bedlam here,’ said Isaiah. ‘No one appears to be in charge.’

  ‘Isn’t that the new under-manager, John Bowen?’ Anwen pointed towards a fair man who was standing in the doorway of Edgar Williams’s old office, watching the chaos, his face pale and baffled.

  Isaiah tramped over to him, followed by Anwen and the rest. ‘Bowen, lad, you need to take charge, mun. Is Mr Meredith around?’

  ‘No, he went home an hour since.’

  ‘I daresay he heard the noise and will be back down. What’s happened?’

  ‘I – I don’t know. No one does.’

  ‘Then it’s about time someone found out. We need to get down there,’ said Isaiah.

  The under-manager closed his eyes tight, squeezing his whole face up in concentration. On opening his eyes he said, ‘First we need to form a barrier – yes, a barrier, and get non-workers to stand behind it.’

  Anwen immediately alerted several people, workers above ground, men and women, gathering them into a group. Many knew her because of the allotments, or because they had worked with her on the screens. They formed a line across the yard, pushing gently forward, persuading the families to step back towards the opening. At the same time, there was an abrupt crunching noise. Anwen turned to see four workers appear from the cages, stumbling out, helping each other up. Their already shabby work clothes were tattered. She ran to them, searching their sooty faces for Idris.

  He wasn’t there.

  Bowen snapped into action and gathered the new arrivals quickly into a group, asking what they knew.

  One miner, his sleeve blown off, his arm slightly burnt, spoke first. ‘We were working near this end of the main roadway, examining the props, when we heard a rumble, then a crack, like lightening. Then a kind of wind came rushing down the tunnel, knocking us off our feet. It was an explosion, mun, I swear it.’

  * * *

  Black. So black. Were his eyes open? Idris lifted his head cautiously, placing two fingers to each eye. Yes, definitely open. Gradually he recalled the bang, the rush of sound, the flash of light. Had it blinded him? He spat on the ground several times, ridding his mouth of grit. The old dread of suffocation threatened to overwhelm him, as it had in the early days, until his father had taught him to breathe slowly, to imagine mountains and grass and eternal skies. He’d done this until he no longer needed to.

  The air was devoid of sound. He sat up. Which way was east and the exit? A pony whinnied feebly. Twm had been near her when the explosion happened.

  ‘Twm? Twm?’

  ‘Idri
s.’ Twm’s voice was weak, chesty. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Where I was when I fell, I suppose… Samuel? Lewis?’ There was no response. ‘Stay where you are, Twm and keep talking. I’ll get you.’ Idris put his hand out, grabbing at jagged rock and pit props as he went.

  ‘I can feel the tram next to me. Reckon I had a near miss there. Did you hear it thud onto the ground?’

  ‘Yes. I think I’m near you now.’ It wasn’t easy to position sound in the tunnels, though at least they were wider here on the main level and he could walk upright. He patted the air until he located Twm’s abundant hair, being careful to keep walking in the same direction. ‘Can you stand?’

  ‘I think so. Good job you called the warning when you did. Wonder how Samuel and Lewis have fared?’

  ‘Might just be knocked out.’ He could hope.

  ‘Idris, Twm, is that you?’

  ‘Samuel?’ Idris called.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s a hell of a pain in my arm and leg, maybe where I hit the ground. Hang on… I’m sitting up, feeling round for Lewis, but I can’t find him. He was next to me. I think we were both blown off our feet.’

  ‘Can you stand?’

  ‘…No.’

  ‘Right. Keep talking and I’ll come and find you. Twm, you stay here, in exactly the same spot. That way we’ll know which way is towards the exit.’

  ‘All right.’

  It took some time, Idris following what he hoped was the direction of Samuel’s voice. Beyond that were other sounds now, a faint echo of voices or a low rumble, it was hard to tell. Eventually, he managed to find his way to Samuel. Reaching around the area, he called Lewis’s name.

  ‘It’s no good,’ he concluded. ‘If he can’t talk we’ll never find him without light. Samuel, if I lifted you, could you walk?’

  ‘I could try.’

  Four times Idris tried to haul the timberman up, aware his heart was pounding like a hammer on stone. On the fifth try, he got Samuel to his feet. They struggled towards Twm’s voice, Samuel limping with the effort to hold some of his own weight. A few steps along, Twm started singing ‘Dafydd y Garreg Wen’ in his rich baritone voice, surprising from one so small. Idris thought the lyrics, about the composer on his death bed, were a little too close to home in their present situation. But as Twm sang, Idris’s determination to get out increased. He still had a life, whether it was long or short, unlike the doomed soul in the song, playing his harp. Whatever the army had said about it not being likely he’d become an efficient soldier, there were things he could do. And one of them was to take good care of his family. Especially Jenkin.

  As they reached Twm, Idris said, ‘Let’s keep going while we remember which direction we’re heading. It would be easy to become disorientated and get lost, without the lights. Hold onto my other arm, Twm.’ He knocked it against his friend so he’d know where it was.

  Nearby, the pony whinnied a mournful lament, her shoed hooves kicking out.

  ‘What about Bessie?’ said Twm. ‘She must be stuck on her side.’

  ‘Not a lot we can do about her now,’ said Idris. ‘Not till we can come back with lights.’ A draught of foul air brought the stench of rotten eggs and an acidity that arrested his breathing. He coughed, almost retched. Soon the other two were following suit.

  ‘Afterdamp!’ gasped Twm.

  Idris knew this mixture of noxious gases, left behind after a mine explosion, could be the end of them.

  * * *

  Herbert Meredith arrived at the pit head just before seven-forty, hurrying along with Elizabeth. Anwen had managed to remain inside the cordon, along with Isaiah, Meg and Abraham, grateful to be in a position to get early news. Mr Meredith stopped to speak with the under-manager. Elizabeth, spotting Anwen, darted to her side.

  ‘Anwen. How many have surfaced so far, do you know?’

  ‘Only five. They were near the cage so managed to find their way easily. Their lamps went out. I suppose everyone else’s did too. Idris and Gwilym were on a double shift.’ Her resolve to stay strong slipped. A deep breath gave her time to strengthen her spirit once more. ‘And Gwilym’s father.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. Let’s pray for their safe return.’

  ‘The lamp tokens left in the lamp room have been counted. There are still sixty-nine missing.’ Anwen concentrated on the hopeful families pressing against the human barrier. ‘I know we can’t join the search parties, but is there anything we can do, rather than just stand here?’

  ‘There’s Dr Roberts and Sister Grey. She might be glad of assistance. I will ask.’

  Following Elizabeth, Anwen thought she saw her father moving through the crowd this side of the cordon. Yet the man she saw entered the under-manager’s office, so it was unlikely it was him.

  ‘Sister Grey,’ said Elizabeth, catching up to the middle-aged woman.

  ‘Miss Meredith. Isn’t it terrible? Dr Roberts and I are setting up in the lamp room to attend any casualties.’

  ‘Could you do with two assistants?’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Yes. A few more hands would be useful.’

  They followed the nurse to a single-storey gabled building a few yards from the cage. Anwen noticed four policemen arrive, including Sergeant Harries and PC Probert. They joined the workers on the cordon, persuading the onlookers to step further back.

  In the lamp room, the five men who’d surfaced earlier were sitting on the floor, bedraggled and silent. The wooden shelves lining the brick walls contained those lamps not yet returned. With the men sat Pastor Richards who, for once, appeared lost for words. He jumped up and walked towards them. ‘Is there any news?’

  ‘No,’ said Anwen. ‘But Mr Meredith has arrived. The first rescue party should be going down soon, I think.’

  ‘Thank God.’ The pastor put his palms together briefly, looking up. ‘Joseph is down there, and him with a new baby.’

  Joseph had married Jenny, the maid Anwen had replaced at McKenzie House. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Pastor.’

  Sister Grey went about setting up the medical supplies on an empty table. Elizabeth went to help her.

  ‘Have you family down there?’ said the Pastor.

  ‘No, but Idris Hughes and Gwilym and Earnest Owen are there.’

  ‘I will pray for them.’

  Dr Roberts entered the room. He regarded the wounded miners. ‘They’re sending the first rescue party down now so we’d better be ready for more casualties.’

  * * *

  Samuel coughed once more, prompting Idris and Twm to come to a halt. Idris was almost carrying him, he was struggling so much. How long had they been walking? It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour. He had a momentary twinge of fear. What if they’d turned about at some point without realising, maybe when he reached Twm earlier, and were now heading the wrong way? No way to know, except by carrying on.

  ‘If only we had our tea tins,’ said Idris. ‘We could have dampened our handkerchiefs and held them to our noses. It would have helped with this stench.’ He wrinkled his nose against another wave of fetid gas, then retched a little.

  ‘Aye, but God knows where they got blown to,’ said Twm.

  ‘Let’s keep moving or we’ll pass out.’

  A few minutes had gone by, maybe five, maybe twenty, when Twm cried, ‘Stop! Do you feel that? The air. It’s cooler, less foul.’

  Idris breathed in more deeply than he had been. The air maybe tasted fresher, perhaps wasn’t as hot. Or was it his imagination because he was desperate for it to be true? ‘I dunno. Could be. Let’s keep going.’

  He could have closed his eyes as they shuffled along, it would have made no difference. The pitch canvas before them was filled with lights and flashes, the ones seen behind eyelids when eyes were closed at night. A veil of cooler air wafted across his face. Maybe Twm was right. More lights played in front of his eyes, not dispersing as they had done. They seemed to be getting big
ger.

  ‘Idris, can you see that?’ said Twm. ‘Or am I hallucinating?’

  ‘You can see the lights too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank God.’ Despite his burden, Idris put a spurt in his step, pulling Twm along quicker too. It wasn’t long before the ghostly outline of several men could be spied, and a rumble of voices heard.

  ‘Hello?’ called Twm. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is that you, Twm Bach?’ said a disconnected voice.

  ‘Yes, it’s Twm Bach. Is that you, John Morgan?’

  ‘Aye. I’m with Mr Meredith, and several others.’

  ‘Diolch i Dduw. Thank God. I’m here with Idris Hughes and Samuel Bevan.’

  That was all that was said until the two groups finally met. When the lamp was held up to reveal them, Idris squinted against the bright light. As his eyes adjusted, he could see Samuel had been burnt on the arm and face, but how badly he couldn’t ascertain. He explained exactly where they’d been when the explosion took place, what they’d heard, seen and felt.

  ‘And you couldn’t locate Lewis Jones?’ asked Meredith.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Morgan, escort these men to the surface, please. We’ll carry on to Number One Heading. Tell the next party to make their way to Number Three Dip.’ Meredith and the six remaining men carried on.

  John Morgan gave the lamp to Twm to hold and he took Samuel from Idris. ‘It’s not too far now.’

  Samuel moaned. Morgan stopped to pull him up a little. It seemed he’d lost the ability to hold any of his own weight. Idris went to Morgan’s aid, holding Samuel up on the other side. ‘Not long now, mun,’ he said.

  Five minutes later they were in a cage, going up. A dim electric light took over the illumination from the lamp. The tension seeped out of Idris’s pores as he slumped against the wall, relief flooding in to replace it. As they ascended and reached ground level, he blinked against the natural light, even though it had faded into sunset.

  It wasn’t until Morgan went in front with Samuel that Idris could see the full extent of his injuries. His left arm and his head on that side had been stripped of flesh. Idris looked away, stemming the urge to be sick.