by Joan Hart
I started to undo the laces on Ray’s boots. As I unfastened them, I heard a swishing sound coming from within. It was only when I removed them that I understood why – they were full of blood. The doctor erected an intravenous drip of saline, and Ray was given an immediate blood transfusion. A few hours later, when his condition had stabilised, he was admitted to a men’s ward. Pat and I remained there so that we could speak with his wife who, it transpired, was also a nurse.
‘How is he?’ she cried, dashing over to his bedside.
I explained what had happened and watched as her expression changed from one of concern to one of terror. Being a nurse can sometimes be a hindrance, because she immediately understood the severity of her husband’s injuries. Within the hour, Ray was surrounded by his loved ones, so we knew it was time for us to leave. As we did, his wife followed us down the corridor.
‘Thanks for looking after him,’ she said, gently clasping her hand against the top of my arm.
‘I’m sure he’ll be okay from now on,’ I said, trying to reassure her. She nodded gratefully, turned and was gone – back to her husband who, despite a severe head injury, had survived.
Exhausted, I climbed back into the pit ambulance, which was parked outside in the hospital car park. It’d been quite a day, but we still needed to go back to the colliery and report the incident to the pit manager. The driver turned the key in the ignition and the vehicle fired up and juddered back into life. As we pulled away, Pat turned to face me. I could see that he really wanted to say something.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Nothing,’ he smirked.
‘What? What is it, Pat?’
‘It’s nowt.’ He chuckled, shaking his head, but soon he could hold it in no longer. ‘Well, it’s just that, yer know, you certainly told that nurse where to get off, didn’t you, Sister?’
My face reddened as I remembered how I’d lost my temper and called her a few choice names.
‘Well, I mean, you could see how serious Ray was!’ I huffed, trying to justify it.
‘It’s not that, it’s just, well, I didn’t know you could swear!’ Pat smirked.
The driver swivelled towards us in his seat, his eyes half on us and half on the road ahead.
‘Why, what did she say, Pat?’ he asked.
‘Well, I don’t like to repeat it, but it was filth, pure and utter filth! I didn’t even know Sister knew such words.’
I nudged against him with my elbow. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Pat,’ I said, grinning and giving him a sly wink, ‘so don’t you ever push your luck!’
The three of us laughed as the ambulance taxied along the road and made its way back towards the colliery yard.
Ray was off work for a long time afterwards, but as soon as he came back he popped his head around the door of the medical centre to see me. He needed to be examined and signed as fit to return to work.
‘It’s good to see you back. So, how are you feeling, Ray?’ I asked, inviting him to sit down.
Ray did so and folded his coat across his lap. ‘Oh, I’m much better, Sister. And, thanks, yer know, for everything you did for me after t’accident ’n’ all.’
‘No problem, Ray, although you almost didn’t make it in the ambulance, you know,’ I confessed.
‘What’s that? Why, Sister? Was I losing a lot of blood or summat?’
‘Well, there was that, but no. We nearly choked you to death with a bandage.’
Ray pulled a puzzled face.
I explained how he’d nearly been strangled on top of his serious head injury. ‘But don’t worry,’ I added. ‘I’ll just make sure we tie it a little looser in future.’
Ray looked down at the floor and began to laugh. It was a big, deep, hearty laugh, which made his heavy shoulders shake up and down.
‘Yeah, just try not to kill us next time, eh, Sister?’ he said.
‘Oh, we’ll try our best.’
With that we both fell about laughing. Our laughter carried through the open medical centre window and trailed across the pit yard. Ray had given us quite a scare, so it was good to see him back. Despite a nasty scar to the side of his head, he’d not only made a full recovery, but he’d also retained his sense of humour. To be honest, I think he was just glad to be alive to tell the tale. Ray, or Curly, sent me a bottle of whisky every Christmas after that as a thank you for saving his life.
15
The Mines Rescue Service
With Peter on the mend, the next few years had passed by without incident. Peter was coping with his health on a day-to-day basis, although he became easily tired when he exerted himself and he also had terrible problems with circulation in his legs where the surgeon had removed his main veins for his heart bypass. Still, I got into a routine where I’d call home around midday, just to check he was okay. To be honest, I also telephoned because, deep down, I knew I’d be able to reach him quickly should I need to. Each morning, I started work at 8 o’clock, finishing in the afternoon around 5, when I’d either cycle home or Peter would pick me up in the car, depending on how he was feeling. Although his health had improved considerably since the operation, it didn’t stop me worrying about him when I wasn’t there. It’d just reached noon one day when I picked up the telephone and dialled home. I let it ring for ages, but there was no reply. It was odd because Peter was always there.
Maybe he’s in the garden? I reasoned, putting the telephone receiver back down.
Over the next few hours I tried again and again, but there was still no answer. It worried me. I paced up and down the office, wondering what I should do, when Frank walked in.
‘What is it, Sister?’ he asked as I sat down, picked up the phone and dialled home for the umpteenth time.
‘It’s Peter,’ I said, twisting the mouthpiece away. ‘I’ve tried him time and time again but he’s not answering.’
I started to feel a little frantic. My stomach ached with nerves as I racked my brains for a reasonable explanation.
Had Peter mentioned anything about nipping out? No, I thought, he still wasn’t well enough to travel too far on his own.
Frank tried his best to reassure me. ‘Maybe he’s just nipped to the shops or something? I’m sure he won’t be far.’
But I still felt uneasy.
‘Look,’ he said, taking my coat from the peg. ‘I’m sure Peter’s absolutely fine, but if you’re this worried, then you should just nip home and check.’
I looked at my coat in his hands and back at his face.
‘But what about work?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Frank replied. ‘I’ll man the phones and hold the fort. You get yourself off because you won’t rest until you know he’s okay.’
I jumped to my feet. Frank was right; there was only one way to know for sure. I pulled on my coat, collected my bicycle from outside and rode home as fast as I could, taking side roads and snickets to make the journey a little quicker. It only took me 15 minutes to get there, and by the time I arrived I was sweating and exhausted. I propped my bike up against the wall and wandered around the back of the bungalow. As soon as I turned the corner I spotted the bedroom curtains. They were still drawn – exactly as they’d been when I’d left for work earlier that morning.
Peter would never leave the curtains drawn, I thought randomly. I glanced at my watch. It was 3 in the afternoon! My stomach flipped with fear. Something was wrong.
The palms of my hands began to sweat as I walked to the front. I didn’t know what to do. I had to check on him but I was too frightened to go inside – I didn’t want to find him on the bedroom floor. My mind raced as I looked around, and that’s when I spotted it – Ernie’s house.
Ernie, of course! He’ll know what to do.
Ernie lived two doors away. He was a lovely bloke, in his mid-30s, almost 10 years younger than us, and he wasn’t just a neighbour but a good friend too. Taking a deep breath, I knocked at his door.
‘Hello, Joan,’ Ernie said, smil
ing down at me on his doorstep. But his smile disappeared when he noticed how worried I looked. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Oh, Ernie, it’s Peter. I’ve been calling him all day but there’s been no answer. I’ve just cycled back from work, but the bedroom curtains are still drawn, and Peter would never leave them closed, not in the middle of the day.’
‘I see. Do you want me to go in and check on him for you?’
‘Would you? It’s just … I don’t think I can. What if Peter’s collapsed? What if …?’ I said, my voice trailing off to a whisper as I imagined the worst-case scenario. I took a deep breath for courage. ‘I can’t, Ernie. I can’t bear to go inside because I’m frightened.’
‘Come on,’ he said, closing the door behind him. ‘Let’s go.’
My heart was in my mouth as we headed back to the bungalow. Ernie stood on the step and tried the door handle. ‘It’s locked.’
A feeling of dread shot through me.
‘I locked it when I left for work this morning,’ I recalled.
‘Have you got any keys?’
‘Yes, I have. They’re in my handbag somewhere.’ I scoured the contents with trembling hands. ‘Here,’ I said, holding them aloft. The keys dangled and jangled between my fingers, but I remained rooted to the spot.
Ernie took them from me. ‘You stay here while I go in and check on Pete.’
I watched as Ernie turned the key in the lock and let himself in. My ears strained as I listened for voices, for a clue as to what had happened to Peter. I heard Ernie’s footsteps and the sound of doors opening and closing as he made his way around the property from room to room. I heard him call out Peter’s name, but there was no reply. I steeled myself for the worst. Moments later, Ernie reappeared in the doorway.
‘There’s no one here,’ he said.
Relief flooded through me but at the same time I felt confused. I looked around but there was still no sign of him. The garage door was closed, so he hadn’t gone out in the car.
Ernie and I had just started to speculate where he could have got to when the sound of a car engine growled as it approached. Peter drove in and parked on the driveway. As soon as he saw us, he gave us a big, cheery wave, but as he pulled on the handbrake he glanced down at his watch and wound down the window.
‘You’re home early,’ he said as he turned off the ignition.
‘Peter, where on earth have you been?’ I cried.
The passenger door swung open, and from behind his head another figure appeared. It was Wilf, an elderly neighbour. I must have looked shocked because Peter suddenly sounded really concerned.
‘Has something happened? Are you all right?’ he said.
‘I’m fine. It’s you!’ I snapped. ‘I’ve been really worried about you. I’ve been calling for over two hours, and I thought … I thought …’
My voice trailed off as emotion choked in the back of my throat. Now I knew he was okay, I wanted to kill him!
Ernie looked down at his feet and so did Wilf. They both knew how ill Peter had been.
‘Well,’ Ernie smiled, his voice breaking the tension, ‘I guess all’s well that ends well.’
‘Yes,’ Wilf chipped in brightly. ‘And thanks again, Peter. I really appreciate it.’
Once we were alone, I fixed Peter with a steely stare. I couldn’t help it – I was still so angry with him.
‘It was Wilf,’ he said, gesturing towards our neighbour who was busy making a quick exit down the garden path, followed by Ernie. ‘He was going to the cemetery, but he was running late and he was going to miss his bus. You know where it is,’ he said, pointing off into the middle distance. ‘It’s miles away and he had to catch two buses, so I told him I’d give him a lift.’
But I was still standing there with both hands on my hips. ‘You should have let me know. You know I always call at 12.’
All the time I’d been fretting that Peter had collapsed at home when, in fact, he’d been busy visiting the dead. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
‘Why, you didn’t think … did you? Is that what you thought?’ Peter began to laugh, although I still couldn’t see the funny side.
‘I’ve been ringing you for two hours. I’ve been worried sick!’ I shouted as I marched over towards the car. ‘Come on, hurry up! You’ll have to give me a lift back to work.’
Ernie and Wilf waved goodbye from the garden gate as Peter climbed into the driver’s seat. He was grinning away because he thought the whole thing was bloody hilarious, which only served to infuriate me more.
‘Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again!’ I yelled at him.
Looking back, I suppose I should’ve known better. Peter was just like me – he was the first to help anyone in distress. Only, I was his wife and his nurse, and it was my job to look after and worry about him.
Work continued over the next few years in a blur of medicals for each new intake of cadets. They would take place at the main Doncaster office, where the Coal Board doctors and the Mines Rescue Service (MRS) were based. The MRS was a team made up from the crème de la crème of miners. Not only were they physically in tip-top condition, they had an encyclopaedic knowledge of each mine and were all excellent first aiders.
The rescue team lived with their families in individual apartments close to the headquarters. The building also housed an aviary of canaries, which were used to detect harmful gases underground, particularly carbon monoxide. If there was a fire or explosion underground, the team would carry one of the canaries down in a cage. If the bird became distressed, it was a sign that the pit was unsafe and the miners should be evacuated. The canaries were lovely little things, and these big, tough men were crackers on them. In many cases they loved and treasured their little feathered friends more than they did their wives!
‘’Ere, you seen this one, Sister? She’s a beauty,’ one of the rescue team said, beckoning me over. He smiled as he pushed a fat finger in between the wire mesh and pointed at the little yellow birds.
‘Which one?’ I asked as they fluttered and chirped around inside. They all looked exactly the same.
‘That one, over there. Can’t you hear her? She’s got a better voice than Shirley Bassey!’ he said, grinning.
I laughed as I watched him. He was completely besotted with the delicate little things, yet, despite their soft, kind natures, these men were as tough as it got. They were on call 24 hours a day, covering a dozen pits throughout the Doncaster area. Wherever there was an accident the men would go. They not only had nerves of steel, they also had stomachs of cast iron. As a rescue team, they faced horrors that would have haunted the next man.
A few months later, I was asleep in bed when the telephone rang in the early hours of the morning. Bleary eyed, I went to answer it. There’d been a fatality at Bentley pit. Although I was the one on call, Jenny, the pit nurse at Bentley, was also on her way, even though she lived over 7 miles away from the colliery. By the time I reached Bentley pit it was 4.30 a.m. and still dark in the colliery yard. Jenny had already arrived so I went to find her. I was dressed in some old jeans and a T-shirt, but Peter had thought ahead and packed my overalls and pit boots in the boot of the car. The MRS was there and already hard at work. As I walked across the yard, a man approached me in the darkness; it was the superintendent of the rescue service.
‘Ay up, Sister,’ he called.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘It’s a contractor. He was working in t’pit shaft doing some repairs. Somehow he’s slipped and fallen all the way down t’sump.’
My stomach turned. The sump was right at the very bottom of the pit – the man must have fallen hundreds of feet to his death.
‘His colleagues tried to pull him out,’ the superintendent continued, ‘but they couldn’t reach him. Its t’sump, you see, it’s covered in about 20 feet of water. We’re pumping it out right now, but there’s a lot of water. We’ll get out what we can and try to recover t’man’s body.’
‘Okay,’ I re
plied. These men were the experts. I just needed to be on hand to help. I instinctively bundled my overalls up in my hand – I had to get changed. I walked over to the medical centre, where I found Jenny.
‘That poor man,’ she sighed as soon as I’d opened the door.
She explained how the contractor had hit the side of the pit shaft on the way down. The impact had disembowelled him, and it had been down to poor Jenny to gather his innards from the pit bottom and place them inside a clear plastic bag.
‘I’ve put them in the fridge,’ she shuddered, still clearly shaken.
The body parts needed to be retained so that the doctor could certify the man’s death.
‘What a horrible way to die,’ she added sadly.
I nodded and shivered as I thought of the unfortunate miner. He must have known he’d die as he plummeted to his death like a stone.
Although the situation was desperately tragic, as nurses we had work to do, and the rescue service still had to recover his body. Jenny and I travelled to the pit bottom to see what we could do to help. When we arrived, they were trying to lower men down in a makeshift metal cage in order to reach the sump, which was situated directly under the pit cage. The actual cage couldn’t be lowered because it would’ve blocked their access, so the men had to improvise. To make matters worse, the sump was not only full of water, but rubbish too, because it had been used as a dumping ground for old mine cars and other bits of unwanted metal. It was painstaking work, but a few hours later the team had managed to partially drain the sump of stagnant water – a mixture of rain and moisture emanating from the pit shaft. They lowered the makeshift cage once again, but this time, as the heads of the team emerged, we heard the sound of retching. It was a young lad, probably in his mid-20s. He was part of the team, yet, unbelievably, this was his first ever rescue. I felt for him, because it was one of the most gruesome ones I’d ever been called out to.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked gently as the team stepped out of the cage onto the pit bottom. The poor lad was crying but waved me away, pretending he was okay. I could tell that he was mortified because he’d not been able to handle the situation.