End of the Line

Chapter One. An Old Wives Tale

Chapter One.  

An Old Wives Tale. 

5a.m. Annie Benson, the household matriarch, had finally succeeded in teasing the dying embers in the cast iron grate back to life. As she warmed a pan of milk over the rekindled flames, she could hear her eldest son, Sid, out in the washhouse, dousing himself under the only cold-water tap they possessed. Her four other children still slept in the larger of their two bedrooms, and George, her husband, was still on the night shift, toiling at the coalface. 

Just as she poured the hot milk over the sugared chunks of bread, Sid, naked from the waist up, entered through the  kitchen door, vigorously towelling his goose fleshed upper torso. Annie placed the pan to one side of the grate and then picked up her son's shirt, airing on the clotheshorse in front of the fire. As she waited for him to finish, she held the warm flannel to her cheek and secretly gave him an admiring glance. My, he's a fine strapping lad, she thought. No wonder he's popular with the young lasses. 

"I'm done Ma."  

She handed the shirt to him. His thoughts must have been elsewhere. The garment escaped his grasp and fell to the flagstone floor. 

"Oh God no!" groaned Annie, her hands reaching for her mouth. 

Sid obviously knew what she was thinking. He grasped her by the shoulders, looked her directly in the eyes, and shook her gently. 

"Don't be daft Ma. It's only an old wives tale. There's nothing to it. I'm going to be O.K." 

Annie was not convinced. 

3.45p.m. Annie was standing on her recently scrubbed front step chatting to her friend Gladys about the death of the King. Simultaneously she kept a watchful eye on her children playing hopscotch in the street. The sound of the pit siren interrupted their chatter. Annie glanced over her shoulder at the hall clock. Something was wrong. The day shift normally ended at six.  

Almost in unison, the front doors of the terraced cottages opened. Worried wives hovered on the steps, half in, half out, dreading the signal that every miners woman feared. The siren moaned again. The repeated sound brought Annie's husband George clattering down the stairs. 

"Must be summat wrong down at t'pit," he muttered as he struggled in to his work clothes. "I'll get myself down there and see if I can help. You look after t'kids. I'll go and fetch Sid." 

When George arrived at the mine, he found a horde of day shift workers milling about the pit gates. "What's going on?" he asked one of the miners. "We were ordered to evacuate the mine. There's been one hell of an explosion..Apparently something went wrong with the winding gear in the main haulage way, starting a fire that spread like you wouldn't believe." 

"Did everyone make it out?" 

"Fraid not. The lads working on the far seam are trapped, more than a hundred of 'em." 

George had worked the far seam. It lay under the sea, about five miles from the pithead, one hundred and thirty fathoms down. 

"Has anyone seen my lad?" 

No one responded. Sid must be among the trapped. There was something to that old wives tale.

Thanks for taking a look at this family history. If you have any ideas on how to improve the story please comment. Don't forget to VOTE but only if you are enjoying the tale.