End of the Line

Chapter Two. The Wellington Pit Disaster

Chapter Two 

The Wellington Pit Disaster

All through the long twilight, George stood at the pithead, watching as the cage to the main shaft rose and fell, transporting exhausted rescue workers to and from the disaster site. They were obviously dispirited, finding no one, and confirming that a blazing inferno was blocking the main tunnel to the trapped miners. 

"Any ideas?" asked the leader of one of the rescue teams, addressing the assembled miners from atop a coal cart. 

"How about trying the backdrift? Maybe we could reach them that way," suggested one miner. 

"We've thought of that, but it's most likely that the fire has spread there too." 

"But you don't know that for sure. My lad's back there. Let's give it a try," yelled another.  

"Any volunteers?"  

George rushed forward.  

Annie, who had left the children in the capable hands of her eldest daughter Mary, arrived at the pit just as George was about to descend into the depths. She called out to him. Miraculously he heard her above the wails of the huge crowd that had gathered. He approached. There was no need for words. She could tell from the haggard look on his face and the stooped shoulders that Sid must be among the trapped. Their fingers interlocked through the link fence. Their eyes shared the agony in complete silence. 

"I'm going to get him Annie. I'm going to get him. I promise," whispered the distraught father as he turned away and headed back to the pithead. 

"Be careful Pop. We don't want to lose you too," she called after him. He glanced back and blew her a kiss. "I love you too," she muttered to herself as she waved what could well be her last goodbye. 

The rescue party had travelled more than a mile along the backdrift, when the first canary fell. There was no smell. It had succumbed to odourless gases generated in the fire raging somewhere in the mine. A little further, and the safety lamps began to splutter. In the failing light, George was the first to spot the cloud of black vapour rolling along the tunnel floor towards them. The escaping gas was carrying fine coal dust with it. As they advanced the cloud rose, first to their knees, then to their waists, higher and higher, covering everything it touched in wet soot. Soon black slime covered the men from head to toe.  

"This is impossible. We're going to have to turn back," said the group leader. The others nodded in agreement and reluctantly started to retrace their steps. 

"Hold on a minute. Didn't you hear that?" exclaimed George. The rescue team halted, listening intently. "There it is again." It was a distinct knocking sound, coming from further down the tunnel. Without any thought of personal safety, George and another rescuer grabbed a stretcher, pulled moistened kerchiefs over nose and mouth, and hurled themselves into the fumes. The others, after a momentary pause, followed. Luckily, the tunnel was narrow. Their battery-powered lamps could no longer penetrate the gloom so they had to slowly feel their way along the tunnel sides. Soon they started to experience the headaches and dizziness associated with gas poisoning. If they continued much longer, they would lose consciousness. George bravely took the lead. He fought on, stumbling along in the dark until he tripped over the prostrate body of a miner still gripping a pickaxe. Another miner lay nearby. They were unconscious but still breathing. 

Immediately the accompanying first aiders placed the two miners on stretchers and hurried them away to the medical centre at the pithead. George followed, vomiting uncontrollably. The rest of the rescue party, buoyed by their success attempted to advance further along the back drift, but it was hopeless. They would need special breathing apparatus to make it through to their trapped colleagues.

Weir and Kenmore, the two rescued miners, slowly revived when given oxygen and within half an hour were able to supply valuable information. George on a nearby bed listened intently. They had been with the group working deep under the sea about two miles beyond where the initial explosion had occurred. As soon as he became aware of the accident, the foreman in charge of the work party had gathered his men together and attempted to lead them back to safety along the back drift. All had gone well until they had come to a series of double doors leading in to the tunnel. On opening the doors, they found the air beyond to be incredibly foul. So foul that the foreman recommended they return to the coalface where the air was still breathable. There they could bunker down and wait for rescue.  

"But you didn't wait," said George. Why not?" 

"We thought we could make it through the backdrift, and volunteered to try," said Weir, the older of the two rescued miners. "The others thought we were crazy and tried to talk us out of it, but I didn't have much choice." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Billy, my son, was there too. I felt this way at least one of us might survive." 

"And you, Sam?" asked George, turning to Kenmore. 

"My brother," said Kenmore, still struggling for breath. 

"Did either of you see my son Sid there? Sid Benson. The big lad working as a lamp carrier." 

"Yes, he was there," said Weir. 

And maybe still alive, thought George.

Special rescue teams, equipped with the latest Wegg and Mecro breathing sets that could provide breathable air for up to seven hours, arrived from nearby pits. With these sets, miners could survive in even the deadliest gas. Again, George volunteered. Again, they entered the backdrift. This time it was not the gas that stopped them, but the heat. As they advanced, the temperature climbed higher and higher. It became so hot that the nameplates soldered to their helmets began to melt. Another explosion must have occurred, blasting through the coal seam forming a breach connecting the main shaft to the back drift through which the flames had spread. There was no way through. 

Thursday dawned on a white-faced crowd, the majority lost in silent prayer. Annie was still there, standing at the link fence, looking and hoping. George refused to give up. All through the day, he worked with other rescue parties, many from other pits and equipped with the latest rescue devices. Together they fought to reach the men, their desperation fuelled by a continuous stream of rumours.  

Rescuers had heard knocking.  

Some miners had found their way out using an old horse shaft.  

Others had tunnelled under the sea into a neighbouring pit.  

All proved false.  

So it continued well into the following night, the rescuers increasingly feeling that the situation was hopeless. Management finally decided to call off the rescue attempt at 2a.m. on the Friday morning. Disconsolate miners closed off the workings, entombing the victims.  

For almost an hour after the announcement, George and Annie, grief stricken and exhausted clung to each other in the pouring rain. Eventually, emotionally spent, they turned and wearily made their way up the hill to their home. They had four other children to care for.