Who knew what was going on under the ground? She had a horrid image of pit-props crunching and snapping like twigs, of black water gushing out of fractured rock walls, of shafts folding in on themselves, of men choking and dying.
Her ears were full of noises. She thought she could hear the children’s voices – good, obedient children – chanting still; there was a horrible splitting noise and a rumble of sound that seemed to be the earth itself, growling under her feet, and she could hear her own blood thudding in her heart and roaring in her ears.
She tried to squeeze sideways through the gap at the side of the door but although the top hinge had broken free it was painful and impossible. So she wrapped her fingers round the edge and put all her weight and strength into trying to drag the door out towards her. Again and again she tried, hurting her hands dreadfully and pleading with it…”Please, oh please, let me in…I must get in…”
But then everything began to go. There was a shudder right under her feet and a cracking sound almost like an explosion. The cottage, the garden – the whole world, it seemed – was falling completely and entirely into the underworld.
The teacher, the children, the cottage, the garden…all tumbling and crashing and thudding down into the chaos of rock and dust and blackness, and the earth closing in above them.
But there had been a moment, the thinnest slice of a second, when the cottage was still complete. The moment before the absolute, final collapse. A moment when, with her fingers still gripping the door, Miss Peddie’s head had cleared, her panic had stopped and the power of her will had returned to her.
She was a very dedicated teacher and she had kept the children in because she so wanted to do her best for them. They were saying their tables as she had ordered them to. They should have been on their way home by now. It was all her fault and that was too much to bear. So there was something she simply had to do, something she had to say, before she had any intention of letting go.
In that sliver of a second that was left, she released the door, struggled to stand upright on the shifting flagstones, and summoned up all of her famous will power to a superhuman level.
Then very, very firmly, even while the world was falling away beneath her feet, she gave her command. “Wait!” she said.
Five
Hometime at last. Mr Piggott is in so much of a hurry to put on his jim-jams and go to sleep properly that he’s the first out of the door. The other kids are streaming after him but I grab Dan and say, “Hang on Dan the Man, I’ve got something to show you.”
“All right Tony Bony,” he says. He always agrees with me and usually he’ll do what I say, but he knows how to be stubborn too, sometimes.
Now we’re all alone in the classroom and suddenly it’s really quiet. No-one’s likely to come in because the building is by itself in the corner of the playground and my Mum’s the cleaner and she won’t come until after tea.
“Go on then Tony, show me,” Dan says. He can be quite pushy when you promise him something.
Now I feel a bit stupid, but I drag our desk sideways and point to the crack in the floor. Remembering how it felt when I was looking down through it, a bit of a shiver goes down my back and I wonder why.
Dan looks at the floor board.
“Is it broken, Tony?” he asks. He always really tries to understand what’s going on and it isn’t easy for him. But he’s nicer than all the others and that’s why he’ll always be my mate - always!
I bend down and lift the plank completely and push it to one side. Dan looks down, then he looks at me. Waiting. He’s definitely interested.
I pull up the next board and kneel down to peer in. It’s a big gap now that we can really see into. Dan thumps down and peers in beside me. There’s blackness, and cold and not quite silence.
And there’s a feeling. It affects Dan too. He doesn’t say anything, for once.
With the desk out of the way there’s more light and I can see that I’m looking into a big hole, right under our desk. On one side there’s a black rocky slope and I think I can make out where it ends at some kind of floor, then everything goes off into darkness. But it does look as if it goes somewhere and for a moment I sense that sort of sound again, like distant waves. That atmosphere. I’m thinking, if we had a torch and took up a couple more planks we could easily go down and explore.
Dan says, “What’s in the hole, Tony?”
I kneel up and look at him. I know I shouldn’t be suggesting it. But I can’t resist.
“We could go down there and find out,” I’m saying. “Would you like that?”
He struggles with the idea for a moment then says, “Yes Tony, I would like that. Will Mr Piggott come too?”
That really makes me splutter.
“No, Dan the Man,” I say. “ He’d get stuck. It’s our secret. Don’t tell anyone. We’ll come on Saturday morning instead of football. Keep it a secret, OK?”
“OK Tony,” he says, “I’ll keep it a secret if you want me too.”
I’m not sure if he’ll manage that, but he might.
I tidy up the floor and put the desk back. I’m thinking, Mum will kill me if she finds out, ‘specially taking Dan, but I’ll need his company. Torches, I’m thinking. Scruffy clothes, I’m thinking. And take care! I’m thinking. But I am looking forward to tomorrow morning
Six
Miss Peddie said, “Wait!” The word was clear and firm and not to be denied.
So although the earth opened further and the mine beneath it crashed in on itself and the school and the garden and everything in it collapsed and fell and crumbled and was destroyed for ever, something did obey that order. Something paused, compelled by the power of the will behind that irresistible command.
While something - everything - collapsed and crumbled and was lost forever in the choking, crashing underworld, something did survive, was left, faintly perhaps, but it was left. And although the school and the teacher and the children were gone for ever - somehow they weren’t.
For something had certainly been saved. That instant had been saved - that pause - when the cottage had sunk into the earth but was still intact, when the door was wedged between the twisted frame and the upthrust door step, and when the echo of the children’s dreary, dreary chanting was still in the air.
“Right,” said a shadow of Miss Peddie, and she reached out to grip a shadow of the door, attacking it again, tugging and tugging and tugging…because things simply couldn’t be allowed to end like this. There was something she had to do, something she had to say, before she was prepared to let go.
Seven
It’s Saturday morning and I’m feeling dead excited, but a bit scared. Mum’s at Gran’s and Dad’s on the allotment and I’ve nicked the great big key to our sad little school from the hook under the cupboard in the kitchen. There’s loads of keys there so it shouldn’t be missed. Plus I’ve got the little green torch I had for Christmas, and Dad’s claw hammer up the sleeve of my old fleece.
I go down the road to pick up Dan but I meet him and his Mum coming up.
“Hello Tony”, May says. “Were you calling for Dan? I’m ever so sorry but he just has to get some new school shoes this morning, then we’re going to see Aunty Viv. That’s a shame.”
“Yo Tony Bony,” Dan says, grinning. “I’ll keep it a secret.”
“What’s all this?” May asks. “You boys have a secret? Are you going to share it with me.”
Seeing Dan open his mouth to do just that, quick as a flash I say, “No, sorry, it’s men only Mrs Ferris. Isn’t it Dan!”
I give him a strong stare, willing him not to spit it all out. I’d cross my fingers if it wasn’t for trying to keep the hammer hidden.
“Yes Tony,” he says. “What was the secret Tony? I can’t remember it now. Was it about - “
“No,” I interrupt. “Not that. Uh – can Tony play football tomorrow morning Mrs Ferris?”
“Of course,” she says. “He loves his football, don’t you Dan.�
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He beams at her and she hugs him and off they go, leaving me by myself, with the torch and the hammer and not quite sure what to do now.
Well, I think, since I’m all tooled up for it, I’ll just go and have a look, then I can see if it’s safe enough to take Dan down tomorrow, if there’s anything to see.
I get to school and there’s a good old hedge all round the yard so when I’ve had a look up and down the street, like a crook, I slip through the gate and I’m hidden by the hedge as I go up the path to the entrance. I stand on the black and white tiles in the porch, clunk the key into the lock, turn it, press down the black, iron latch and push open the door.
It squeals as it swings open and I’m already sweating and wishing I wasn’t doing it. But I shove the door so that it thuds shut behind me and I’m in.
I steal down the little passage, past the loos, and I open the classroom door. It’s very, very quiet inside. My breathing is loud. The stuffed owl on the shelf behind the teacher’s desk glares at me and I half expect it to let out a squawk. But in the silent room I do hear some small noises. Slight creaks and knocks and groans, as if the building is uncomfortable and keeps easing its position. The sounds make it seem as if someone else is in the room, hiding, and I feel uncomfortable too. It’s lonely and I wish Dan was with me.
Nevertheless, I find myself going down the gangway, heaving our desk aside and crouching over the floor. That gap does still look inviting. I start to forget my anxieties and I pull up the first board. Then I use the hammer to lever up the next one, and the next, and the next.
Now the room is looking rather a wreck and I’m suddenly nervous again. I think, if anyone should come in I’ll say I dropped my watch down there on Friday. I take out the torch and shine it into the big opening I’ve made.
What can I see? Well, like I thought, there is a big hole down below, with some sort of rough floor. I hang over the edge, feeling cold dank air against my face looking at the steep slope under where Dan sits, and seeing how the floor at the base of it seems to run on under my seat, like in a tunnel, until it’s beyond what I can see.
I find myself dangling my legs over the edge, turning to hang on to the classroom floor and then lowering my body until I’m sure that my feet have got a grip on the sloping lumps of black rock. I work my way down backwards, careful not to set it all rolling under me. It gets less steep and I risk turning and going down face first until I can stand on the level. I glance up at the way I came down. The light of the classroom is quite high above me now but I’m glad to see that it looks easy enough to scramble back out as soon as I’ve had enough down here in the bowels of the earth.
I shine the torch along the tunnel - because that’s what it seems to be - and look back up again, to make quite sure that I can get out. Then I take a few cautious steps. The torch doesn’t reach as far ahead as I’d like it to, but it seems brighter as I leave the light from the classroom behind me and it reflects off some of the black shiny rock in the sidewalls. Not rock, I think. Coal. Of course! That’s what it is! It’s a mine shaft. I’m in an old coal mine. For some reason that makes me feel less nervous. But this is wicked I think, it’s a long lost secret world down here. Underground passages! Somewhere special that nobody knows about but me.
So on I go. Then the torch picks out something white in front of me and I stop dead. It can’t be a ghost though, because I don’t believe in them, like I’m not afraid of the dark (even though my Mum is). I go closer and study it, shining my torch on it. Then I understand. It’s hard to believe, but it’s a pit prop. What’s left of a tree trunk that they used to prop up the roof as they were hacking out the coal. But this one is fat because it’s absolutely covered in something like cottonwool. It must be a fungus, actually growing on it, down here. There are holes right through. It’s amazing. Something moves in amongst the strands of the spooky growth and I see it’s a little spider and it’s pure white, just like the post.
That is weird, in fact the whole world down here is weird and me and the spider have got it to ourselves. When I nearly trip over a pickaxe with a broken handle it brings it home to me that all this was dug out by real men who laboured down here years and years ago before the pits closed. I feel sad that they worked so hard and they’re not around any more.
I go on a bit further, seeing more rotten posts, until I find lumps of rock in my way. There has been a fall from the roof which isn’t surprising when you see how much use the pit props must be. I suppose that’s what happened under our desk.
Putting down the torch I start to move some of the rocks but I keep getting in my own shadow. Then I roll one big lump aside and it tilts back and nearly falls on my trainer, which wouldn’t have done my goal-scoring foot any good at all. But a couple more boulders move easily and it’s simple to pick up the torch and go on.
As I come out on the other side of the fall my torch flickers and I think it’s about to pack up. And at the same time I realise that I must have left the key in full view on the outside of the school door! I grab at my pocket to make sure and it definitely isn’t there.
Panic! I could be lost down here in the dark for ever. I could be locked in the school until Monday. My Mum might find out what I was up to and I’d be grounded for the rest of my life.
Turning, I run, stumble and scramble until I am back under the classroom. I clamber up the rocky slope with loose bits rolling behind me, then grab the edge of the floorboards and haul myself out into the classroom. I run to the outside door and peer round it then slide out the key and put it in my pocket. I rush back to the hole and make a mess of putting back the floorboards because I try to put the planks in the wrong places so they don’t fit. In the end I get them right and I drag the desk back over them, run to the door, remember I’ve left the hammer behind, go back and get it, run back to the door, peer out again, slip through the gap, lock the door and run nearly all the way home.
But I have the sense to stop round the corner from our house, brush myself down, hide the torch and the hammer properly and sneak indoors to have a clean-up before the parents get back.
It was good down there, though. Wicked! I think it’s OK to take Dan down tomorrow and I really do want him to see it. We’ll go further too. You never know what we might find.
Eight
Mr Reginald Grimp stood in his shiny shoes on an upturned wooden box and publicly wept. Well, he was certainly dabbing at his bloodshot little eyes. Now and then he peeped furtively over the top of the silk handkerchief, surveying the little group of men and women standing below him. Then he blew his nose loudly, causing the women to lift their tear-stained faces, and he tucked the handkerchief carefully in the top pocket of his tweed jacket.
He shuffled a little uneasily, as he wasn’t sure how safe it was to be standing on the box, and he tried not to look beyond the huddle of people to the ugly hollow and the broken up ground that lay behind them. It was littered with pickaxes and shovels where the men - and women - had dropped them in despair and exhaustion in the early hours of the morning when they had finally accepted that there was nothing that they or anyone else in the world could do.
He had nearly stopped the rescue attempt before that, anyway. It was obviously a hopeless waste of energy. He didn’t like to see energy wasted when it would be needed tomorrow to dig him out more of the coal that kept him in brandy and cigars. He still felt angry that the miners had dared to decide for themselves that they should stop work in the afternoon when they had felt a bit of a tremor. They had been nowhere near the old pits that collapsed under that dragon of a woman’s cottage with the miners’ brats in. Those diggings had been abandoned, reluctantly on his part, two or three years ago, when the roof started to collapse.
But the people were waiting and there was something important that he had to say to them.
“Terrible!” he boomed, and he whipped out the handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes again. “Terrible!” Now they were watching him, a huddle of distressed, bedraggled people with
dark, hollow eyes.
“A dreadful accident. My heart goes out to you in your loss. Such an accident!” He paused and then went on impressively. “An Act of God. No one to blame. One cannot comprehend such things. At least you know that your dear children and their wonderful teacher are at peace. But alas, they are beyond our reach now.” More use of the handkerchief and another blow of the fat red nose.
There was a murmur and a stir in the little crowd and he pressed on quickly.
“To show how much I share in your grief,” he said, “I promise now, before you all, that I will build a proper school for when your little children are old enough, and for those yet to be born. No expense will be spared and I, personally, will pay every penny of the bill. He waited for applause, but none came.
Quickly, he went on, fierce little red eyes above fat red cheeks sending sharp messages to the grieving, exhausted listeners. His voice was soft now, so they had to strain to hear.
“But we won’t make a fuss about our little local tragedy, will we. We don’t want outsiders prying into our affairs. We want to bear our losses bravely, with dignity, quietly. We don’t want to risk the mine being closed, none of us wants that, I’m quite sure. We all know what that would mean…don’t we!”
His eyes roved over the worn faces of the listeners and the look in them was pure evil, but he was right - they did know what it would mean. As things were in the country at that time, it would mean no work for the men. No homes for the women and the remaining children who had not been in the cottage school on that tragic afternoon. It would mean tramping the roads, starving, freezing, begging…and then the workhouse, families - husbands and wives - being separated and in misery to the ends of their days. Yes, they knew exactly what it meant and they had no power and no knowledge that would enable them to do anything at all to change it.
Dan and the Teacher Ghost Page 2