Idris’s mouth opened to volunteer to stay and keep searching, alone if necessary, but he failed to voice his frustration. He was exhausted. They all were. They couldn’t carry on indefinitely, least of all him.
One of the other men laid out two old sheets and the bodies were lifted onto them. They carried them back along the heading to the main level.
* * *
As the men in Idris’s rescue team stepped out of the fitting and blacksmiths’ shop, the overman in charge of the shift approached Mr Meredith. His clothes were tattered and he was limping.
‘Sir, could I have a word? I’ve not long got to the surface. At the end of Number One Heading, I was.’ He leant forward to let out a barking cough. ‘Sorry, still a bit of afterdamp in my lungs. Was out cold for a bit.’ He composed himself. ‘Someone told me that Jory Damerell, Hector Harris, Fergal McGee and Earnest Owen haven’t been located yet. Sir, I was patrolling the area not long before the explosion, between Harries Heading and Death Road. I saw them there together.’
Jory was down there too? ‘What about Gwilym Owen?’ asked Idris urgently. He realised he was butting into a conversation between his elders and betters. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said, when he realised he should have left the talking to Mr Meredith.
‘That’s all right, Hughes,’ said the manager. ‘I can understand you’re worried about your friend.’
‘Don’t rightly know about him,’ said the overman. ‘Didn’t see him with them.’
Was that good or bad? Either way, it was becoming less and less likely he’d survived. It was even possible he’d never be found. It happened. Idris’s stomach churned.
‘Thank you for the information,’ said Meredith. ‘We will task the next rescue team with searching that area.’
‘Sir, can I join that party?’ said Idris.
Meredith patted his arm. ‘You’ve worked hard and you should have a rest. Go home, have a sleep. If Mr Owen’s there, the next team will find him.’
Idris couldn’t argue with that. He did desperately need to sit down, lie down even. ‘Very well, sir.’
In the lamp room, Anwen and the nurses were sitting against the wall. Anwen had her eyes closed, as did Martha Simms. There was no one else in the room.
‘Mr Hughes,’ said Sister Grey, standing. ‘What’s the latest news?’
Anwen half opened her eyes, snapping them wide when she realised Idris was there.
‘We’ve just brought up Philip Hubbard and young Ifor Ellis.’
‘Ifor Ellis?’ said Anwen in a strangled voice. ‘Oh no.’ Her lower lip wobbled as she wept easy tears.
Idris wished it was acceptable for men to weep so readily. He would have shed many a tear. He ducked down, sitting next to her, taking her hand tentatively. She didn’t pull away, so he allowed his fingers to surround hers completely. ‘Only five left,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope they find them soon.’
‘Six, if you count my father.’
‘Aye. Has my mam gone home?’
‘Yes. She left soon after you did, saying she’d relieve me later.’
Sister Grey took hold of the nearby broom to sweep up some dirty dressings, swabs and bandages from the floor. Nurse Simms slept on, her head leaning almost on her own shoulder.
Idris looked up at the clock: six minutes past four. Outside it was already getting light. He and Anwen spoke no more but simply sat, holding hands.
* * *
It was gone six in the morning when Anwen and Idris were ordered home to sleep by both Sister Grey and Meg Hughes, who’d returned to relieve Anwen as she’d promised. Abraham had sloped off home, limping, several hours before, but Anwen knew Rachael was still at the front of the crowd outside, waiting for news.
When Idris hesitated, Anwen said, ‘I’m sure someone will come and tell you if they find Gwilym and his da.’ He was pale, paler than she’d ever seen him, the circles beneath his eyes like bruises.
‘Aye,’ said Meg. ‘I’ll come and tell you. Now home with you before I march you there myself.’
Anwen took Idris’s arm, escorting him out of the door. The air, crisp and fresh, was a salve on her face after the oppressive lamp room. Beyond the yard, several policemen stood, unmoving. Apart from chirping birds there were few sounds. The diminished crowd was silent, still, a seam of sad faces. She’d never heard it so quiet in Dorcalon, where there was always sound: the pit wheel, someone singing, a baby crying, the chatter of friends or workmates. Always the rumble of noise. Beside her, Idris stopped.
‘What is it, Idris, bach?’
‘I don’t think I can go home until they’ve found Gwilym.’
Quite likely he didn’t want to be alone at home, with Meg staying to help the nurses and Isaiah in a rescue party. Jenkin had apparently stayed overnight with a friend. ‘Come to my home.’ In case this sounded improper, she added, ‘Mamgu will be there, and Mam. You can rest on the chaise longue.’
‘I don’t know…’
At the corner of her eye, Anwen saw a figure appear, carrying another. ‘Idris, look!’
Coming across the yard was her father, carrying a prone figure towards the lamp room.
‘Gwilym!’ Idris shouted, running back the way they’d come. Anwen followed him.
Another voice in the crowd was heard shrieking, ‘Gwilym, my Gwilym!’ Rachael Owen broke through the cordon, avoiding the outstretched arm of the old constable, and ran across the yard. He didn’t pursue her.
Madog stopped at the lamp room door, where he tried to push it open with his back. Gwilym must be alive, thought Anwen, otherwise her father would have taken him to the fitting and blacksmiths’ shop.
Idris got to the door, opening it wide for Madog.
‘Oh my goodness,’ called Meg, running towards them, directing Madog to a makeshift bed made simply of blankets.
‘Gwilym, Gwilym? Are you all right?’ Idris cried out.
Sister Grey held out her arms to keep them all at bay. ‘Please, would everyone step away while I examine him? And would somebody please fetch Dr Roberts, who I believe is in the manager’s office.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Idris, scurrying away.
The rest of the party did as Sister Grey requested, apart from Rachael who knelt on the floor next to her son. ‘Gwilym? Wake up, Gwilym.’
Meg leant over to draw her away, holding onto her as Sister Grey bent to feel his pulse. Anwen searched the room for her father, wanting to thank him for bringing Gwilym to the surface. He had disappeared once again.
‘He is alive, isn’t he?’ whimpered Rachael.
‘Oh yes, he’s very much alive,’ said Sister Grey. ‘And doesn’t seem to have any burns, though he’s a bit bruised. A bit overwhelmed with the afterdamp, I shouldn’t wonder. But let’s wait for the doctor’s assessment.’
At this point Dr Roberts appeared with Mr Meredith. Idris, just behind them, pushed to the front, heedless of manners. She knew his main motive in staying up all night was to make sure of his friend’s safety, and she loved him all the more for it.
As the doctor examined Gwilym, using a stethoscope to listen to his heart, his eyelids fluttered open and he moaned softly. Dr Roberts leaned back. ‘Not too much wrong with this lad, I’d warrant, but we’ll keep him here for a while to make sure.’
Rachael burst into joyful tears, hanging on tightly to Meg.
‘Mam,’ said Gwilym, weakly.
Rachael let go of Meg to dip down to his level. ‘Son, where’s your da?’
‘I don’t know,’ came the whispering reply. ‘I wasn’t with him when the explosion happened. Sorry, Mam.’
‘Don’t be daft with your sorries. You’re safe, that’s what counts.’
Anwen took Idris’s hand. His face was lined with exhaustion. He gazed down at her, smiling briefly. Then his eyes lost focus before they closed and he slipped gracefully to the ground. She tried to catch him but he was too big, too heavy for her. Herbert Meredith caught him instead before he hit the floor. Meg was soon by his side, kneeling next to
Anwen.
‘Idris? Idris!’ cried Anwen. Oh God, not now, when he seemed safe and well. She couldn’t take much more heartbreak.
‘I’m afraid being part of the search team and being up all night has been too much for him,’ said Mr Meredith.
Dr Roberts left Gwilym’s side, his stethoscope in use once more as he examined Idris, still partly held up by the manager. ‘You could be right. But I want to admit him to hospital.’
Meg grabbed Anwen’s arm, gripping it tight. She cried out in pain, the burn on her arm forcefully remembered. Liquid seeped through her sleeve as Meg removed her hand.
‘What is that?’ said Dr Roberts. He lifted her sleeve gingerly to reveal the raw blisters, some now burst, on the length of her forearm. Those standing around exclaimed their horror. ‘My dear, how did you get such a bad burn?’
‘I spilled hot fat on my arm when I was cooking Da some bacon.’ Now it was exposed and she had time to take notice of it, the dull smarting transformed to an unbearable stinging. She bit her bottom lip to stop herself whining.
‘Or did he throw it on your arm?’ said Rachael. ‘Abraham told me you’d been arguing.’
She wouldn’t have mentioned it, not now he’d rescued Gwilym, but there was no point in lying. ‘Yes. He lifted the pan and spilled it on my arm.’ Still she tried to make it sound like an accident.
‘Where is he, anyway?’ said Dr Roberts.
‘He left soon after he brought Gwilym in,’ said Sister Grey.
Meg, cradling Idris’s head said, ‘Where’s your uncle Hywel?’
‘Hywel Llewellyn?’ said Meredith. ‘He joined one of the parties, but he went home an hour since.’
‘Someone better knock him up. He needs to look after his family.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
The seat was bumpy and had a wonky leg, but Anwen didn’t care. She wanted only to sit with her darling Idris, the love of her life, as he always would be, whatever happened between them. Nurse Campbell had been pleased to have someone to keep an eye on him, busy as they were with the casualties of the pit disaster.
Anwen held Idris’s hand as he lay on his back, unconscious. She examined his familiar face, still handsome despite its pallor. Meg and Isaiah had been in earlier, departing half an hour before to get something to eat. Cadi had invited them home and was determined to look after them. They’d also wanted to call into Gwilym’s house to see what they might do to help there. Anwen moaned softly to herself. So much tragedy in the last eighteen hours.
Outside the sky was overcast, covering the village in a blanket of gloom. The lights had been put on in the ward.
Gwilym was in the ward next door with three other men who’d survived the explosion. There were another two in Idris’s ward. The final count of thirteen bodies had now all been removed from the fitting and blacksmiths’ shop to the front rooms of their own homes in Dorcalon. There would be a good few days of funerals and mourning to come. The weight on Anwen’s heart made her feel older than Cadi.
She was concentrating so much on Idris’s face, she didn’t notice Dr Roberts at the foot of the bed until he spoke. ‘I’ve been wondering about Idris’s discharge,’ he started.
Anwen jumped, clutching her chest when she realised it was the doctor. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there. His hospital discharge?’
‘No, his army one. I believe he was discharged due to ill health. His mother told me that the army declared him, “Unlikely to become an efficient soldier.” Do you know whether any cause was given?’
‘Apart from him suffering from tachycardia, I’m afraid I don’t.’ The doctor’s eyebrows rose in an admiring gaze, acknowledging her use of the medical word. She didn’t know whether to be pleased he was impressed, or affronted that he was surprised. ‘I think he said his heart regularly beats at a hundred and thirty beats per minute.’
‘I’m surprised he hasn’t requested a visit to investigate a reason and possible treatment.’
‘He’s a proud man, Doctor, one who doesn’t like people thinking he can’t cope.’ She had always known this about him, but it only now struck her that he might also be keen to keep the full extent of his symptoms from her. She looked down at his sleeping form.
Dr Roberts moved on, speaking in hushed tones to the next but one patient, someone else overcome by afterdamp. There was a low muttering, indistinct words, and Anwen realised Idris was stirring. She waited patiently for him to wake up in his own time, removing her hand from his.
When his eyelids were finally fully open, he stared at her as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. His voice cracked as he said, ‘What happened?’
‘You passed out, after they brought Gwilym in.’
‘Gwilym!’ He tried to sit up.
Anwen pushed him gently back. ‘Gwilym is fine, in the next ward. They’ll be discharging him later today.’
‘Your father – he brought him in.’
‘Yes, but he hasn’t been seen since. Uncle Hywel is at my house now, looking after Cadi and Mam.’
‘What had Gwilym been doing – in the mine – on his own?’
‘He told me earlier he was working not far from Philip Hubbard in Number Three Heading when Hubbard started moaning about Edgar Williams to Ifor Ellis. But Gwilym overheard it and gathered something had been stolen and hidden in Number Four Heading, which had apparently been shut.’
‘That’s right. Hubbard as fireman reckoned there was some firedamp there. Williams forbade us all from going near it.’
‘Gwilym heard Mr Hubbard ask why they couldn’t just sell whatever it was and get the money. He asked Ifor if he’d help him sneak some of it out, but Ifor said he wanted nothing to do with it because his mother would kill him.’ Anwen gasped at her own words, realising the cruelty of them. ‘Poor lad, only fourteen.’
Idris took her hand where it lay on the bed next to his. ‘It’s just a saying, cariad, it’s not your fault. What happened next?’
Anwen pulled herself together. ‘Hubbard hadn’t realised Gwilym was there in the dark, so Gwilym took one of the crossroads to Number Four Heading while he was near it. He said he turned down his lamp to test for firedamp, and there wasn’t any. I don’t know how that works.’
‘When you turn your lamp down, it looks like there’s a pale flame above it if there’s firedamp in the air.’
‘Anyway, he found a huge stash of whisky, spirits and tinned food behind a tall stack of rocks. It was then the explosion happened. The fact he was that much further away, and in another heading, probably saved him, though he lay unconscious for a long while. First thing he knew, my father was pulling him up. They struggled back to the main level together.’
‘So, your father is a hero?’ For a change was left unsaid, but Anwen almost fancied she heard it.
‘I dunno about that.’ She told him about the things she’d found stashed in Sara’s room. ‘And why did he break away from the group in the first place and disappear? I can’t help thinking he had the same idea as Philip Hubbard, to go and get some of the stolen goods to get them out of the mine.’
‘I can’t even see how he’d have managed that. Maybe a coupla bottles hidden in his jacket, but that’d be it. Presumably Edgar Williams was planning on getting it out during the night, maybe bit by bit, to sell.’
‘Well, since my father has disappeared again and Philip Hubbard is one of the fatalities, there’s only Mr Williams to ask. We should pass this on to the police.’
Idris squeezed her hand gently. ‘Be careful, Anwen. You don’t want someone overhearing you tell the police and taking their revenge.’
Like Da, she thought, a profound loneliness assailing her. If your own father was willing to tip boiling fat on your arm and throw your mother down the stairs, who knew what he was capable of? Her arm smarted constantly, but at least the bandage Sister Grey had put around her arm was hidden by her loose sleeve.
‘Gwilym’s father! And Jory. And the other men. Oh God. Have they found them?’ Idris attempte
d again to sit up, giving up part-way as Anwen’s arms shot out to prevent him.
Anwen had been dreading this question, hoping he would be a little stronger before he remembered. She knew she would cry again by the time she’d finished explaining. She had to give an answer, though. If she didn’t, he’d guess anyway. She swallowed hard.
‘They were brought up at ten o’clock this morning.’
‘Brought up? All of them?’ His voice was expressionless.
‘I’m sorry. Gwilym’s father didn’t survive. Nor Jory.’
There was a pause before he said, ‘What about the others?’
She shook her head. ‘Hector Harris and Fergal McGee were all found with Mr Owen, already… well, already passed on. They reckon it was instant. They were the last four missing. Everyone’s accounted for now.’ Except my father.
‘I see.’
‘They were where the overman said they’d be, between Harries Heading and Death Road. It’s where the explosion took place.’ Anwen took a deep breath. ’And there’s one more thing. Samuel Bevan. He died a couple of hours ago.’ Please, please don’t let me cry.
Idris shut his eyes tight. The next thing she knew his body was jerking. She wondered at first whether he was having some kind of fit. Then she saw the tears flow down his face and heard the long keening note. It was too much for her: she burst into tears.
They clutched each other’s hands, sobbing in unison until they were both spent.
* * *
Later that day, Anwen headed out to pay a visit to Sergeant Harries. About to turn onto Gabriel Street she noticed Abraham Owen, stooping and ambling along in a way he never had. He’d aged ten years in the last two days.
‘Ah, Anwen. I’ve just been to the field up yonder.’ He pointed to a small piece of rough ground beyond James Street. ‘Helped bury the ponies, I did. Least I could do to give them a send-off, after all the years I worked with them. Only half of them left, there is.’ He wiped a stray tear from his cheek. ‘Can’t hang around doing nothing, waiting for a funeral, can you? Can’t believe we’re burying my oldest son tomorrow. It’s not right, outliving your children. You’re not planning on coming to see Earnest laid out, are you?’
Heartbreak in the Valleys Page 32
