by Joan Hart
Medical Emergencies and Marriage Guidance
One morning, I decided to carry out another pit inspection. By now, I was inspecting the first-aid boxes at least once a month. I wanted to check that the morphine had been safely locked away. This was kept separate to the first-aid box and was accessed using a key held by the underground first-aid team, with a copy of it held by me. I also needed to make sure that the stretchers and blankets were in good order. These were kept at regular intervals in the pit in case of an emergency. They were held inside 6-foot-long cylinders, which were fixed onto the wall with brackets. The stretcher and accompanying blanket would be folded into it, but they weren’t locked and had a lid that could be opened by anyone. At one end there was a smaller box, which also contained bandages and slings, in case of emergency.
As my visits had become more frequent, the Safety Department had decided that they couldn’t keep sparing someone to guide me underground, so I was told to use one of my three first-aid men. I was with one of the first aiders that morning as we followed lots of miners about to start their morning shift to the shaft side. It was a dark, cold morning, and it was busy with lads chatting and putting out their last smoke in the yard as they headed towards the cage. By the time we’d reached it, the banksman was in a bad mood. He was usually such a chatty bloke, but that morning he was gruff and seemed a little stressed.
‘Right, you lot, line up so I can check you,’ he barked.
The men groaned but did as they were told, so I took my place towards the back of the queue, behind a miner but in front of my guide. Slowly, the banksman worked his way along the line, checking each and every man for contraband cigarettes. It was strictly forbidden for the men to smoke underground because of possible leaks of natural gas, so it was important that no one tried to sneak any ciggies down.
‘Next,’ he called as the man two in front of me stepped forward. He frisked him expertly, checking his pockets before declaring him okay to travel.
‘Next,’ he called again, without even looking up.
When it came to my turn, I expected him to just wave me through as he’d done many times before, but today he seemed determined and frisked me as thoroughly as the rest of the miners. Without warning, he put a hand around my chest and near the front of my pelvis, checking for hidden pockets.
Whoa, careful, sunshine! I thought as I fixed him with a hard stare, but he didn’t even look up as my body stiffened beneath his touch. I’d never been frisked like that before, so I was a little dumbstruck, to say the least. As I glanced around, I noticed the men looked surprised too. Nevertheless, I was checked and sent on my way with the rest of the group. As I travelled down in the cage, I thought how odd it’d been.
Maybe he suspected me too? I wondered.
I put the thought to the back of my mind and busied myself, checking the first-aid boxes and blankets. To my surprise, a few blankets were missing, four in total. I decided to replace them, although, underneath my calm nursing exterior, I was fuming.
‘I can’t believe it,’ I remarked to Stewart, one of the first aiders and my guide for the day. He was equally disgusted by the ‘theft’.
‘How bad is that?’ he said, shaking his head in despair.
I was still muttering away about it as the cage approached ground level and I stepped out into the yard. As I did, the red-faced banksman was waiting to greet me.
‘Er, Sister, can I have a word, please?’ he asked a little sheepishly, beckoning me away from the men.
I followed him over.
‘I think I owe you an apology,’ he began, looking awkward. He fixed his eyes downwards on the tips of his steel-capped pit boots.
‘Why?’ I asked, my mind still full of the missing blankets.
‘Because I frisked you. I mean, I frisked you, like the men. I’m sorry, Sister, but I was stressed out, and I didn’t realise it was you. I thought you were one of t’lads.’
I smiled as I remembered earlier. Of course, he’d mixed me up with the miners. It all made sense now. But the more I thought about it, the more I wasn’t sure whether to thank him or slap him! I had my name written across the front of my helmet in bloody big capital letters – wasn’t it clear I was a woman?
‘It’s okay, no harm done,’ I said, smiling graciously through gritted teeth.
‘It’s not that, Sister. It’s just I have to watch these buggers. They’re sods for trying to sneak stuff down there, so I have to keep me wits about me. There’s 10 men after me job and, if I don’t watch it, one of the sneaky buggers will set me up to fail,’ he said, his face colouring.
‘Don’t worry, it’s forgotten,’ I insisted.
As soon as I reached the confines of the medical centre I began to see the funny side and started to laugh. The banksman had been mortified by his actions, but I was beginning to get used to the miners and their funny ways of doing things.
I replaced the missing blankets but, a month later, when I carried out my next routine check, I found they were missing again. It made my blood boil because this wasn’t someone being sloppy and not putting them back – we actually had a thief on our hands. The blankets were vital in the case of emergency, especially if we had a stretcher case or if a miner had suffered shock. The blanket thief must have been pretty desperate to steal the very thing that could make the world of difference to themselves or one of their colleagues in the event of an accident. As I wondered what to do, the door of the medical centre opened and Bill walked in.
‘You’ll never guess what,’ I began.
Bill shook his head. ‘What?’
‘Someone’s only gone and stolen the emergency blankets again.’
Bill’s mouth fell open. ‘Yer joking me?’ he gasped. Bill had worked there for years and he thought he’d seen it all, but this was a new low.
‘I’m not. And, if I catch who’s done it, I’ll … I’ll …’
To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I’d do because I was so angry that a miner could put his colleagues in danger. Instead, I decided to put pen to paper and write the thief a note:
To Whom It May Concern,
I am concerned about the stretcher blankets, which have been going missing. If any man thinks he is more entitled to a blanket than a man who has been seriously injured, then he should call in at the medical centre where I will give him a blanket for free, so he will leave the blankets in their rightful place – the stretcher container.
Sister Hart
I put down my pen and read it back to myself.
‘Do you think it’s a bit strong?’ I asked Bill.
He took the note from my hand and read it.
‘No, gie o’er. It says exactly what it needs to say. It’s bang on, that,’ Bill said, prodding the note with his finger. ‘Let’s just hope it pricks someone’s conscience.’
I took the notice, copied it out two more times, and pinned one up in the lamp cabin, the checks office and finally on the wall at the dirty end of the showers. I needed to ensure that every miner read it. A few days later, Bill had some news.
‘I’ve just been in t’waiting room and guess what I’ve found.’
I looked up from the paperwork on my desk. ‘Go on, surprise me.’
‘Four stretcher blankets, all clean and neatly folded. Someone’s left ’em in there, just inside t’door.’
‘Never!’
Bill nodded. ‘It’s true! Come on, come and have a look if you don’t believe me.’
I got up from my chair and wandered over towards the door. Bill was right.
‘So, the note, it worked then?’ I said.
‘Looks like it, Sister.’
The blankets had been returned to their rightful place. I realised then that all the miners looked out for one another, and when the thief, whoever he was, realised the knock-on effect his actions would have on his colleagues, his conscience got the better of him. I felt satisfied that the note had appealed to his better nature.
A couple of weeks later, I was in the medical c
entre when one of the pit deputies knocked at the door.
‘Hi, what can I do for you?’ I asked, showing him through to the treatment room.
‘It’s me finger, Sister,’ he said, holding up the offending digit to show me. ‘I’ve trapped it and got mesen a black nail.’
Black nails were a common injury down the pit as miners were always getting their fingers caught and trapped in the dark.
‘No problem,’ I told him. ‘We’ll soon have you sorted.’
Normally, a black fingernail is caused by the build-up of blood behind the nail. They look terrible and are extremely painful. Usually, I’d ease the pressure by heating up a paperclip and popping the nail to release the blood and pressure. But I’d just taken delivery of a new and better tool to do the job – a small, sharp drill.
‘I’ve got just the thing. I’ve been dying to use it. It’s brand new, so you’ll be the first to try it,’ I said, taking the new equipment out of its sterile packaging, the enthusiasm rising in my voice.
‘Erm …’ the deputy said, wincing as soon as he saw it. ‘Actually, it’s not too bad, Sister. It’s not that painful. I think I’ll just …’
He turned towards the door.
‘Nonsense. It’ll only take a mo, and we’ll soon have you sorted. Now,’ I said, grabbing his hand in mine, ‘just put your finger on the table and hold still.’
The miner was standing to the side of me as I positioned his index finger flat on top of the work surface.
‘Just put your hand on there like that,’ I said, holding it still as I started up the drill. It immediately fired into life, making a shrill, whizzing noise, similar to the sound heard in a dentist’s surgery.
I was so busy looking at the deputy’s finger that when I felt his weight slouch against me, I became annoyed.
‘Could you stop leaning on me?’
But the more I drilled, the more he leaned, until soon I could feel his whole body weight against me. The deputy was a big man, standing around 6 feet tall and weighing 13 stone, so his weight was knocking the accuracy of my drilling. In fact, the more I drilled, the more I felt him, until he’d almost knocked me off my feet.
‘For goodness’ sake, will you stop leaning against me!’ I snapped. ‘It’s hard enough as it is without you …’
As I let go of his hand and turned to face him, he slid straight to the floor, as delicate and as graceful as a ballet dancer. He’d passed out, but only for a matter of minutes.
Bill, who’d been using the toilet next door, heard the commotion and came running in. He saw the deputy lifeless on the floor, and for a moment he looked at me as though I’d killed him!
‘He’s passed out!’ I exclaimed, putting the drill down on the side. ‘Here, help me sit him up.’ I hooked my arm under the deputy’s armpit for leverage.
Once we’d checked him over to make sure it had been nothing more sinister, we propped him against the wall where he finally started to come around.
‘What happened?’ he asked, dazed and slightly confused.
‘You passed out.’
He looked up, blinked and, for a moment, took in his surroundings, trying to register where he was. He rubbed his eyes but flinched as he remembered the pain in his finger. He held out his right hand and looked down anxiously at his fingernail.
‘It’s all right, I’ve finished the drilling,’ I reassured him. ‘I think it was the noise that set you off.’
The deputy shook his head. ‘Bluddy ’ell, I feel such a fool.’
‘Don’t. You’re not a fool. If anyone’s a fool here, it’s me. I thought you were leaning on me!’
His eyes widened as I explained what had happened, and then his face slowly began to colour with humiliation. Despite our protests, the mortified deputy clambered to his feet, but he staggered as his big, heavy frame tried to regain its balance.
‘You won’t, er, tell anyone, will you?’ he begged.
Bill and I looked at one another. ‘Course not,’ I replied. ‘But what I would like you to do is to sit back down so that I can check your blood pressure.’
After a normal reading, I asked him to sit and wait for five minutes longer before leaving the medical centre.
‘How’s the finger?’ I asked as he finally got up to leave.
‘It’s much better, Sister. Ta very much.’
True to our word, Bill and I never told a soul. The deputy was in charge of 1,000 or so men. Miners are a tough breed, and he knew he couldn’t run the risk of them finding out; otherwise, his image would’ve been shot to pieces.
If I’d thought I’d seen everything then I was wrong. A month or so later, I had a phone call to say the first aiders were bringing a miner out on a stretcher.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ I asked the deputy in charge.
‘Well, I don’t really know what to say …’ he began, sounding a little flustered.
‘Listen, I’m a nurse,’ I said, shaking my head in frustration. ‘There’s nothing you can say that will shock me, so you might as well just tell me straight.’
I heard the deputy clear his throat and then he spoke. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you as it’s been told to me. The man has got, er, well, he’s got three balls,’ he said. There was a pause as he waited for my reaction.
‘Three what?’ I exclaimed, thinking I’d misheard him.
‘Er, um, he’s got three balls. That’s it. I don’t know any more, Sister, so don’t ask me. Anyroad, they’ll be there with you soon.’ And with that he hung up, leaving me with the dial tone. I turned the telephone receiver in my hand, looking at it as though it had just bitten me, before dropping it back in its cradle.
Three balls? Had he really just said that? Surely I’d misheard him. I’d been a nurse for years. I had lots of experience in different hospital wards but I’d never, in my whole nursing career, seen a man with three testicles before!
Moments later, I heard the sound of footsteps. I stood up and waited for the patient as four stretcher-bearers brought him in.
‘Put him over there,’ I said, indicating towards the trestle legs. I knew I needed to examine him. I looked at his face, which was contorted with pain while his whole body writhed. I washed my hands – we didn’t wear rubber gloves at that time – and as I turned around I noticed that the stretcher-bearers were still standing there.
‘Is everything all right?’ I asked, half expecting them to furnish me with more medical information.
No one spoke. Instead, they all looked a bit shifty, although it was clear that they had no intention of leaving.
‘You can go now,’ I instructed. No one moved, so I repeated myself: ‘I said you can go.’
One of them glanced across at the others with an awkward look on his face.
‘Er, it’s just we’ve never seen a fella with three balls before, Sister, and we really wanted to see it,’ he mumbled.
I shook my head in annoyance. ‘Well, you’re not going to, either. So just go,’ I said, raising my voice and pointing towards the exit.
I shooed them out of the medical centre, slamming the door behind them before beginning my examination. It transpired that the miner had recently undergone a vasectomy but had returned to work too soon after the operation, so he was still carrying a lot of excess fluid in his testicles. Not only were they causing him great pain, they were also extremely swollen, giving the appearance of three, not two, ‘balls’, as the deputy had put it. Other than administer painkillers, I wasn’t sure what to do, so I telephoned the village doctor, who also happened to be the miner’s GP.
‘Hello, it’s Sister Hart from Hatfield pit. I wonder if you could look at a patient as an urgent case for me. The ambulance will bring him over to you.’
‘Yes, of course, Sister,’ the doctor replied. ‘Now, what seems to be the problem?’
I scratched my head and looked at the telephone receiver in my hand. Where should I start? I remembered the awkwardness of the deputy and decided to take my lead from him.
‘Well,
it’s like this. I’ll tell you exactly as it was told to me. I have a patient here who has three testicles …’
Thankfully, the doctor realised that the man’s discomfort had been related to his vasectomy and signed him off work for a long time.
Afterwards, I made it my mission to introduce myself to all the doctors in the surrounding area, should I ever need to speak to them about any miners who were their patients. Also, I wanted to let them know that I was able to perform nursing tasks. With the GPs’ permission, this included everything from syringing ears and taking out stitches to checking blood pressure, changing dressings and giving out diet advice. It not only eased the burden on the doctors’ waiting lists, it also saved the miner taking valuable time off work and allowed him to keep his wage packet full.
There was a main practice in Hatfield village, which had six doctors, and another single practitioner in the village of Stainforth. However, my first port of call in an emergency was Dr Macdonald, the Chief Medical Officer with the National Coal Board, who was based at Doncaster, although the doctor who usually came was Dr Walters. He was based at Hatfield surgery and knew all the men at the pit.
But there were some things doctors couldn’t help with. By now the men were used to seeing me, as my inspections and underground visits had increased to once a fortnight. I’d often venture underground to collect water samples to test its purity to ensure the men weren’t exposed to anything that might cause a nasty skin rash. If a miner did develop a reaction working underground, I’d send samples off to be tested to see what we were dealing with so that he could be treated accordingly. Once we were infested by a plague of red mites, which had travelled underground in a pile of timber. The mites became a nuisance when they crawled into the men’s socks and bit them on their ankles, leaving them both swollen and sore. In the end, they became such a problem that we had to call in pest control.
Hatfield pit stretched all the way underground to Thorne, a village situated 4 miles away. Thorne was our egress, or escape route, if ever needed. I walked over there a few times, taking a series of tunnels and walkways, some of which ran underneath the canal. It was strange that hundreds of feet above daily life continued, with canal boats and barges sailing tranquilly over our heads. I tried not to think of them or all the water the canal held.