‘O Duw,’ murmured Twm. ‘Have you seen—?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen.’
* * *
Anwen heard the door of the lamp room open. She was concentrating on washing the coal-pitted graze of a miner’s arm and paid no heed to who’d come in. It was only when she heard the voice say, ‘Please, he needs immediate attention,’ that she twisted round to see Idris, ahead of another man, carrying a third whose skin was badly damaged. Samuel Bevan, she thought his name might be. Twm Bach followed on.
‘Thank you, God,’ she whispered several times. She felt weak with relief, taking a few seconds before continuing with her task.
She diverted her gaze as they got closer. Bevan’s injury was appalling, an extensive patch of scorched skin. The fat scald on her own arm, despite the pain, became insignificant in comparison. Idris was walking, talking and seemed unharmed. The comfort of that knowledge fought with the sorrow of the situation.
Several people burst through the door: Isaiah and Meg Hughes along with Rachael and Abraham Owen. Anwen wondered vaguely how Rachael had got past the cordon.
Meg’s strident, ‘Idris, you’re safe, thank the Lord,’ clashed with Rachael’s, ‘Idris, where’s Gwilym and Earnest? Have you seen them?’
Sister Grey marched over. ‘Please, we can’t have everybody in here. You must wait outside.’
Isaiah and Meg retreated, obviously satisfied their son was safe, but Rachael, her voice shrill with panic, said: ‘I only want to know what’s happened to my Gwilym and Earnest. Idris can tell me.’ Abraham was beside her, his arm around her shoulder.
Having laid Samuel down, Idris came over. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Owen, I wasn’t working near Gwilym and Mr Owen. They were in another part of the mine.’
Rachael doubled over, the choking sobs hiccoughing from her body.
Sister Grey said, more softly now, ‘I’m sorry to hear your men are missing, but I will have to ask you to leave. If they’re brought in, we will send word to you.’
‘Come along, Rachael,’ said Abraham. ‘Let’s leave these good people to do their jobs.’ He led his daughter-in-law out, closing the door quietly.
Idris followed on, shambling towards the door, maybe in the hope that no one would notice. Anwen considered calling to him to stay, but was pre-empted by Sister Grey, saying, ‘And where are you going, young man?’
He straightened his posture to address her, as if he were in their old schoolroom. ‘To join a search party.’
‘Not yet you’re not. You may have been breathing in afterdamp. You’ll stay until I’m happy there are no after effects.’
Idris looked like he was about to argue, but made his way back to the centre of the room, sitting where the nurse indicated. It was only now that he noticed Anwen attending the grazed miner. He nodded his head once in acknowledgement. She returned the gesture before attending once more to her task.
* * *
During the next hour, two more doctors came to help from the surrounding villages. Several other men had made their way up from underground, or had been helped by one of the search parties. Most of them had been working on repairs towards the middle of the mine, further away from what had now been established as the blast area in the east. Their appearance had been delayed by lack of light and the presence of some afterdamp.
Anwen had washed grit from multiple grazes, placed on this single task by Sister Grey, who was exceptionally organised. Elizabeth had been tasked with bandaging cuts that were bleeding. Meg had been commandeered to help her. Anwen glanced at the old clock on the wall, discovering it was twenty minutes to midnight. Despite the cold night, the room was immensely humid, the windows steamed up. The mingled odours of sweat, blood and coal were unpleasant.
Idris, who’d slumped against the shelves of lamps after Sister Grey had examined him, had slowly risen from this posture to make himself useful. He’d questioned newly arrived groups of men about what they’d seen and heard. And who they’d seen.
‘What about you?’ Idris asked a lad, no more than sixteen. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Arthur.’ He was shivering. ‘It was my first month in the pit. Can’t rightly say I saw anything. Blinded, I was. Then it was so dark.’
Idris hunkered down, placing his arm around the lad and rubbing his arm. ‘It is that.’
Anwen’s heart went out to Idris as she watched him comfort the boy, putting aside his own worries about his friends.
‘What’s been happening?’ one of the men who’d come in with the lad asked.
‘Managers from other mines have come in, to help the search parties,’ said Idris. ‘And several mining engineers have arrived to help with safety.’
‘That’s good,’ said the man, nodding, yet distracted. ‘How did it happen, do they know?’
‘Not exactly. But they think the explosion may have loosened the timber supports and raised the risk of the roof collapsing. So they’re having to be careful.’
People had been coming in and out all evening, imparting these titbits of news. All this activity appeared to Anwen as a blur. She was out of place and time, a kind of ghost looking on at an event. She wondered vaguely whether this was what it was like in hospitals on the Front, people coming and going, casualties appearing regularly. Thirty-three men had now been brought to them, some of whom had already gone home. They’d heard of no fatalities so far. Anwen offered up a silent prayer. Please let it stay that way.
The door opened, bringing her out of the reverie. It was Abraham, helping a limping man into the lamp room. He’d volunteered to help men at the pit top as they arrived out of the cages. Rachael had been sent to stand with the rest of the onlookers. Abraham took his charge to Martha Simms, a probationary nurse who’d been released from the village hospital to help. Abraham hobbled over to Dr Roberts, whispering something to him. The doctor lifted his spectacles in order to pinch the top of his nose. He shook his head slowly before replacing the glasses. The doctor whispered something to Sister Grey, closed his bag and left with Abraham.
Slowly the word went round. First victim’s been brought up… taking them to the fitting and blacksmiths’ shop.
When the rumour reached Idris he marched from the room, leaving the lad to burst into tears. He sloped back five minutes later, his eyebrows drawn together. Anwen knew his expressions well enough to be sure he had not lost his best friend. Having finished with the man she was treating, she went to him.
‘What news is it you have, Idris?’
Luckily he took her good arm and led her to one side of the room, away from where Twm was sitting with Samuel Bevan. His touch gave her a warm assurance.
‘They found Lewis Jones. We were working with him, me and Twm and Bevan. We couldn’t find him in the dark, see. He didn’t answer when we called.’ He was almost talking to himself. ‘Took the force of the blast, they say. Me and Twm, we got down. He was stretching up to the roof when I last saw him. Think Bevan must have got down, at least a bit, ’cos he’s not so, not so…’ He tailed off, gazing at the wall.
Anwen wasn’t so sure about Bevan. He wasn’t in good shape as far as she could see, with one side of his body covered in burns, weeping pus. He should have been in the hospital, but they didn’t want to move him.
Sister Grey came over to them. Idris had gone quiet so Anwen explained what had happened.
‘You were not far into the mine, either, were you, Mr Hughes?’
‘No. No we weren’t.’
Anwen was sure Idris had already been thinking this; that if Lewis Jones was dead, those closer to the blast stood no chance.
‘I suppose it depends which heading you’re in, and how it connects to where the blast was.’ Anwen used the knowledge she had gleaned from things her father had said about his job. She didn’t want to allow Idris to slip into greater despondency.
‘Maybe,’ said Idris.
‘Miss Rhys, would you fetch the men some water to drink from the tap please,’ said Sister Grey. ‘I believe there are glasses i
n the manager’s office.’
‘Of course. Straight away.’
As she headed to her destination, men were shuffling back and forth, heads down. From one side her father appeared, glancing around him. His presence made her aware of the throbbing in her arm. What was he doing here?
‘Da? Do you have any news?’
He jerked his head around, greeting her with a scowl. ‘I’m – I’m joining a rescue team,’ he snapped. After a pause, he added in an even, upbeat voice, ‘Just waiting to be assigned one.’ It was as if the fight in the kitchen had never happened. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Helping the nurses.’
‘You’d better get back to it then. Go on.’
She did as she was bid, quickly fetching the glasses of water back to the lamp room on a tray. When she glanced out of the window after, he was gone. Despite what had happened, she couldn’t help but be impressed he was thinking of others. She recalled he’d been involved in a pit accident back in 1885, at Maerdy, as a sixteen-year-old. His best friend had died. Her mother had told them about the incident. He’d never spoken of it.
The door opened and three more men entered, one being carried by his colleague. Time to get back to work.
* * *
It was twelve-thirty in the morning when five more bodies were brought up, found on the main level, further along than Idris and Twm had been. Idris had just consulted the clock on the wall when the news was conveyed to those in the lamp room. Dr Richards left to examine them, along with another doctor.
Idris paced the floor, praying that none of the bodies were either Gwilym or Earnest, but with each minute that passed it seemed increasingly unlikely they’d survived. Yet injured men were still being recovered. Another five appeared as he paced. They were wheezing, their words croaky, their flesh bruised or scarred, or both. He searched their faces as they entered, helping the last of them, who stumbled as he came in. Idris added them to the total in his head. Fifty men had passed through, seven of whom had died. Fifty-seven in all. That left twelve.
Anwen took the arm of one of the men. Idris knew he was in his fifties, but old before his time. She sat him down to bathe his wounds. Idris had managed to stay this side of the cordon by fetching and carrying items needed. All the while he watched his former sweetheart work, comforted by her presence. She was gentle, smiling to reassure, asking questions in a calm manner to illicit information about where they felt pain.
The man Anwen attended suddenly blurted out, ‘Joseph’s gone!’
‘Joseph who?’ called one of the men already there.
‘Richards. Joseph Richards. Only a lad, really.’
‘Oh no, not the pastor’s son,’ said Anwen.
There were wails of anguish around the room. The pastor had left some while before, to talk to the families affected. Another one of the casualties reeled off the names of the other four dead miners, bringing fresh cries of grief.
The door opened once more, bringing Mr Meredith in, his clothes dirty, the jacket gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He considered the men there, now a dozen of them. Others had either been sent home or, in the case of three, sent to the hospital, including Bevan. Idris bounded over to him, hoping for an accurate update of the situation.
‘Mr Meredith, sir, we’ve just heard about the victims. Do you know what happened?’
‘We think there was an explosion between Merthyr Heading and Death Road.’
Death Road. Idris’s full throat threatened to choke him. He was sure that was the direction Gwilym and his father had been going with their team earlier. He had to pull himself together. ‘Sir, I’ve been helping in here, but I’m sure I could be of more use in one of the parties.’
‘I could do with men, but I don’t know. Aren’t you here because you’re injured?’
Sister Grey interjected with, ‘He’s been very helpful but he’s free to go whenever he wants.’
Meredith surveyed him from head to foot, perhaps remembering that he had given Idris an examiner’s job because he wasn’t capable enough to be a hewer anymore. He prayed that wouldn’t prejudice his decision.
‘Yes, Hughes, that would be useful. As an examiner you have a good idea of the layout underground.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ He breathed out a deep sigh of relief and thanks.
‘My group’s standing down for a rest, but you can join us when we go out again in half an hour. Now, go and get yourself a drink of tea while you’re waiting. They’re serving it in my office.’
‘Yes sir, thank you sir.’
‘That applies to everyone here,’ Meredith announced. ‘If someone would like to fetch the tea for those unable to leave, I would be grateful.’
Meredith went over to Anwen. Idris held back from getting his tea. He was being nosy, straining his ears to hear what was being said. He approached one of the men being bandaged by Miss Meredith.
‘Shall I fetch you some tea, Huw?’
‘Thank you, mun. That would be very welcome.’
As he moved slowly away, Idris heard Mr Meredith say, ‘… with one of the rescue parties, but didn’t return with them.’ When Anwen said nothing, Meredith added, ‘Madog Rhys is your father, is he not?’
‘He is,’ said Anwen at last. ‘Did he have a lamp?’
‘Of course. We all did.’
‘Then I expect he’s got his own idea of how to go about it. He usually does.’
If Mr Meredith was surprised at her lack of concern, he didn’t show it. ‘I will make sure you know of any news concerning him, when we discover what happened.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She attended once more to washing a wound.
Idris hesitated, wondering if he should say something to her. No, he’d better get the tea before it was time for him to descend once more into the depths.
* * *
The rescue group Idris joined had veered off the main level, onto a pathway known as Number Two Heading. Already they had found two fatalities, carried back on sheets which were used as makeshift stretchers by some of the group. Now there were only five rescuers left. Idris looked forlornly at the next set of underground doors as Meredith held his lamp up. They’d been blown clean off, compromising the ventilation. Already, the men were coughing. Idris, carrying the tins of water he’d suggested to Mr Meredith before they set off, wet the men’s handkerchiefs for them. It seemed to bring some relief as they held them to their noses.
‘We’ll need some brattice cloths put up here for temporary ventilation,’ Mr Meredith announced, gesturing to the man who’d come along with the necessary equipment. The man nodded and began the job. The rest of the group carried on. They were getting near to Hosea Pimm Heading, where Gwilym and his father had supposedly been working. Idris’s body pulsed with trepidation. The further in they’d got, the more injuries the miners had sustained.
They didn’t get far before they were brought to a halt by a fall of rock blocking the whole path. There was a group grunt of frustration. Idris’s panic grew. If the tunnel had collapsed, what hope did the missing miners have? The engineer they’d brought with them examined the area, poking at the roof, pushing at the rocks and the coal, the shiny blackness picked up by the light’s beam.
‘What do you think?’ Meredith said to the engineer.
‘Not sure we’ve any choice but to try and get through. Digging to the next heading would take too long. I’ll need to secure the props as we move the rocks.’
‘Let’s get to it, men.’ Meredith allocated jobs to those there: aiding the engineer with the props, removing stones and carrying them away, which was what Idris was assigned to do.
A sense of time slipped from Idris once more. He was flagging, panting as he worked, but he was not going to give up, not while he had an ounce of energy in his muscles. He built up a rhythm, singing in his head as he did, a method he’d long used to get through the most arduous of jobs.
At long last they cleared the blockage enough for them to step through. They lifted their lamps
to see what was ahead. Only yards from the rock fall there were two bodies on the ground. Idris ran to the larger of the two, turning him face upwards.
‘It’s Philip Hubbard,’ he called back. The union representative groaned softly, opening his eyes with effort. One side of his face was scorched and black.
‘Hubbard? How do you feel?’
Hubbard released a low grumble in his throat. Idris had to put his ear closer to hear him murmur, ‘Bloody Edgar Williams.’
‘What do you mean?’ Was he saying Edgar was responsible? Idris couldn’t understand how.
‘Number Four Heading.’
That heading had been closed off and declared dangerous due to the detection of firedamp, a flammable gas, some weeks before. ‘What’s that got to do with the explosion?’
‘Nothing. Edgar got comeuppance though.’
It didn’t make sense. Idris placed his hand on Hubbard’s forehead. It was damp but cold, not feverish. ‘Hubbard, do you know where Gwilym is? Gwilym Owen.’
‘Nearby, was working near – by.’ His eyelids fluttered. ‘Number Four Heading,’ he repeated. ‘Remember.’ There was a last exhalation of breath before he was silent.
‘Hubbard? Hubbard?’ Idris shook his shoulder but he knew he was gone.
Idris stood with difficulty. The other body was being lifted by Meredith while the man next to him held up two lamps. ‘Does anyone know this lad’s name?’ said the manager.
Despite the smooth features having been disfigured by afterdamp, Idris recognised him immediately. It was like he’d been thumped in the chest, the air knocked from his lungs. Now was not the time to buckle. ‘Ifor Ellis, sir. Fourteen, he was. Only started two weeks ago.’
‘What a waste of young life,’ said Meredith, his voice hoarse. He placed the boy next to Philip Hubbard. ‘We’ve been down here long enough. We’ll take these victims to the surface and send another group down.’
Heartbreak in the Valleys Page 31