Brackenbeck

by Margaret Dickinson

  And Anthony, exerting all his charm, managed to raise a smile from her.

  ‘All right – all right. But I will not attend these villagers, if they come on bended knee.’

  But her vehement declaration was to be proved meaningless. The devotion of a doctor for those in need of care was to prove too strong against even the fury of a scorned woman.

  During the days which followed the fire, Katharine avoided any contact with the villagers and remained at ‘ The Sycamores’ as a mere guest. She heard from Anthony, via Mrs. Rigby, that on the occasions when a doctor was needed, Dr. Summers was required to make the toilsome journey across the moors to Brackenbeck.

  Anthony’s ankle, though much improved, still did not enable him to return to his practice and for the most part, fortunately for Dr. Summers, the people of Brackenbeck remained in remarkably good health.

  Until one August afternoon when Katharine and Anthony were enjoying a leisurely hour in the garden. Anthony had once more hobbled the short distance from the house to the garden seat. It was the first time since the moor fire that they had been able to sit in the garden, for the day after the fire, as if in ridicule, the fine weather had broken and the rain had alternated between heavy downpours or continuous light drizzle for over a week. But now, though the ground was still sodden, the weather had brightened, and it was fine and quite warm.

  Katharine had put on her prettiest afternoon dress of blue shantung with lace trimmings. Her hat was straw with velvet ribbon trimming.

  Katharine and Anthony were deep in conversation on a recent development in medicine, when the distant sound of a deep rumble, which seemed to last an inordinate length of time, disturbed them.

  ‘Whatever was that?’

  ‘I should think it’s from the quarry,’ Anthony replied and their eyes immediately sought the skyline in that direction.

  Silence followed – a deathly silence.

  Then the villagers, who could not help but hear the sound, came running from their houses. Katharine and Anthony from their vantage point on the hill could see them converge in the street and exchange conversation. From this distance they could not, of course, see the anxious faces nor hear the worried questions – but they could guess the fear which surrounds every community whose men are engaged in dangerous work.

  With one accord the villagers began to hurry up the hill: wives and mothers, their children clinging to their skirts; the older men and young boys not yet employed at the quarry. And immediately, Katharine saw, the farm hands too were hurrying from the fields on the hillsides in the direction of the quarry.

  ‘Kate …’ Anthony began.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ was her reply and, with all thought of the incident of the fire driven from her mind, she ran towards the house to fetch her medical bag, pausing only to collect a few instruments and a good supply of dressings.

  Most of the villagers were ahead of her by the time she reached the road leading up the hill and over into the quarry. It was a long twisting track and all the more arduous because of the fear which dwelt in their hearts.

  Above them three men appeared at the crest of the hill and began to hurry down towards them. Katharine saw the villagers quicken their pace towards the men, eager for news.

  There could be no doubt that something disastrous had happened.

  Katharine’s breathing became laboured, she was unused to climbing at such a pace. Her heavy skirts hampered her progress and her black bag became a leaden weight.

  The two parties had converged and the tale was being told, but Katharine could not yet hear. She saw one of the boys turn and run back down the hill towards her.

  ‘Dr. Stafford, Dr. Stafford,’ his cry reached her ears. ‘I’ll get Dr. Stafford.’

  ‘No, Dr. Summers,’ one of the women called after him.

  Katharine hurried on again, her lungs bursting. The boy flew down the track towards her and would have passed her had she not stopped him. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Accident at the quarry. Mr. Jim and Mr. Tom is trapped, probably kill’t.’

  And he ran on, determined to fetch someone he thought could help.

  Katharine turned her face towards the waiting knot of villagers who, their eyes following the running figure of the boy, had now seen her coming. Katharine tried to run as best she could, and breathless, she reached them.

  She saw the naked distress in their eyes and she saw too that still they thought she could not help them.

  ‘Why are we wasting time here?’ Katharine asked, and without waiting for a reply she marched on up the hill.

  The men from the quarry fell into step beside her.

  ‘There’s nowt thee can do, miss.’

  ‘There might be.’

  ‘There be only a narrow tunnel down, miss, none of us can get right through. Luke got so far, but there’s a reet narrow piece where a huge rock’s fallen and left such a small hole none of us could get through,’ said another. ‘ We’ll have to dig them out.’

  ‘It’d take days,’ muttered a third.

  ‘Can you hear anything of them?’ Katharine asked calmly.

  ‘Ay, ay, we have,’ the first man, whom Katharine knew as Luke said. ‘Jim can get as far out as the other side of this big rock we’ve been telling you about.’

  ‘Are they badly hurt, do you know?’

  ‘Jim says – Tom’s leg’s badly smashed up.’

  ‘And Jim?’ Katharine felt her heart beat faster. No doubt it was a tiring climb.

  ‘He says he – mind you, he’s not one to complain – he says he’s just hurt his arm.’

  ‘We’ll never get them out,’ moaned one of the men.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Katharine swiftly. ‘They’re alive. You must.’

  ‘Of course we must,’ said Luke. ‘Don’t talk so soft, George.’

  ‘Are there just the two of them, no one else at all?’ Katharine said.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Luke, who was obviously the senior man now that Jim and his brother-in-law were absent.

  ‘See, miss, they goes in to set the explosive. No one else is allowed to do it, because of the danger.’

  ‘Do you mean they were still in there when it went off?’ Katharine asked in alarm.

  ‘Nay, nay, they were setting it when the sides of the tunnel gave way behind them. They’re in no danger from the explosive itself.’

  ‘But plenty from the rock. That tunnel where they are could go any minute,’ said the pessimistic George.

  ‘Oh no.’

  A woman’s wail behind them made them all turn. Mary Gifford had heard most of their conversation. The anguish on her face was pitiful. Though the whole village was concerned, only she would bear the double grief if the two men could not be rescued. Mrs. Johnson, a kindly middle-aged woman, whom Katharine knew by sight, put her arm about Mary’s shoulders.

  ‘Now, now, lass, they’ll get out, never fear.’

  They came to the top of the hill and Katharine saw before her for the first time, the quarry around which the lives of most of the villagers revolved.

  The twin arms of the two cranes, silhouettes against the sky, formed, by accident, an ill-omened cross.

  Katharine felt Luke’s hand on her arm.

  ‘This way, miss. O’er t’judd wall,’ and she gave him her hand as he helped her over the wall which surrounded the brink of the quarry.

  ‘Now down huggers’ ladder, miss. Reckon you’ll manage it, d’thee?’

  ‘Yes, if you’d be good enough to take my bag. Thank you.’

  And Katharine lowered herself down the ladder with very broad rungs set closely together.

  Soon she was standing with Luke at the bottom of the ladder, the quarry sides towering above her. The stone, she noticed briefly, was cut out in huge steps, like a giant’s staircase. The village women climbed down the ladders without assistance and the children, with a mixture of the fear and yet delight in the unexpected visit to the quarry, swarmed all over.

  The villagers
, though they still disbelieved her ability to help them, now no longer seemed to resent her presence. They reached the part where the work had been going on, and here several more men stood or knelt at the small opening which was obviously the tunnel where the men were trapped.

  ‘What actually happened, Luke?’ she said, looking at the cliff-like rock face and then at the heap of smaller, broken rocks before her.

  ‘Well, see there was this long passage-like gallery, see through there,’ he pointed, ‘open to the sky, you see. We’d been quarrying along this particular seam, y’see, for some time. Then we comes to this massive piece and Jim wanted to get it out as big as he could for a big millstone needed over Halifax way. He decided to go in and set small charges the size he wants the stone – to crack it away, like. That were going all reet, but,’ he pointed skywards. ‘Us reckons there must have been a fissure in t’rock and the sides decides to cave in reet this minute.’

  ‘But didn’t Jim know they were unsafe?’

  ‘They’ve been safe as houses for weeks, miss. It’s the rain we’ve had, weighted it, it did. Does tha see?’

  Katharine was not sure she did, but her job was not an enquiry into the accident but to get to the injured men. Again she looked at the fall of rocks. Miraculously, a small tunnel had been left when the rocks fell. Though the tunnel had been blocked in several places at the start, Katharine learnt, Luke had been able to remove all obstructions until he had come up against a massive piece of rock which could not be moved. It would take them hours to dig the two men out, for the narrow part of the tunnel was a long way in, near where the two men were trapped, and long before that Tom’s leg would need attention. Unattended for such a length of time, it could easily result in the subsequent loss of his leg.

  Katharine knew she must at least try to reach the injured men. The hole left by the fall of rock may still be too narrow even for her, but she must try to get through.

  But she knew something else too. The danger to herself was great.

  ‘Here,’ she said to Luke. ‘Tie a length of rope to my bag.’

  ‘What are thee about, miss?’

  She looked at the creased face of the middle-aged man before her.

  ‘I’m going to them, of course.’

  ‘But thee canna. ’Tisn’t safe.’

  ‘Mary,’ Katharine called. Mary Gifford came forward, the tears coursing down her cheeks. Mrs. Johnson moved forward too, her arm still comfortingly about Mary’s shoulders.

  ‘Be brave, Mary, they’ll get them out. Here, I need your help. Ask the ladies to stand round me, will you, whilst I take a few of these bulky petticoats off, and will you take them for me?’

  ‘We’ll help thee, miss, if tha can do anything,’ Mrs. Johnson said.

  Katharine’s suggestion was carried out swiftly and with no argument from the women. They seemed stunned by the accident and Katharine’s calm organisation met with no opposition from them.

  But as she returned to the tunnel opening, George spoke.

  ‘Thee’ll be kill’t as well, miss. Thee canna go.’

  ‘I can and I will,’ Katharine said calmly. ‘There’s not one of you can get through, and if you got there, what could you do?’

  Luke scratched his head.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ he muttered. ‘Jim wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘Jim’s not here to argue the point,’ Katharine said. ‘I take full responsibility. There’ll be no blame on anyone else, only on myself. Now Luke, will you be good enough to tie the rope round my waist so that my bag is pulled along after me as I crawl in.’

  George knelt down by the tunnel, whilst Luke tied the rope around Katharine’s slim waist.

  ‘Jim can you hear me?’

  A distant murmur was heard.

  ‘The lady doctor reckons she can get to you?’

  ‘No.’ The bellow came distinctly. ‘She’s not to be so foolish.’

  ‘But Tom’s leg, what about it?’ shouted George.

  There was silence.

  The waiting villagers could feel Jim’s agony. He needed medical attention for Tom and yet he could not entertain the idea of a third person being endangered too.

  ‘She’s not to come,’ came the reply after a moment, presumably when Jim had consulted Tom.

  ‘George, will you please move out of my way,’ said Katharine, still maintaining the calm tone of voice.

  ‘You heard what he said,’ began Luke.

  Katharine turned, her eyes flashing.

  ‘Luke, there are injured men in there. I am, whether you will acknowledge it or not, a qualified doctor. I pledged my life to save others. Now will you allow me to get on with trying to do so?’

  The villagers remained silent and watchful, whilst Katharine knelt down and wriggled into the hole.

  The darkness ahead as she moved forward engulfed her as the last glimmer of light was blotted out by her own body. The tunnel was painfully narrow. Sharp stones threatened her every movement and soon her scalp tingled as her head kept hitting the top of the tunnel, whilst her elbows were chafed and became painfully sore. Her shoulders ached with the effort and she began to sweat, whether from the exertion or fear of the enclosed space, she knew not.

  Slowly and painfully she moved forward. She could see nothing but blackness, could hear nothing but her own difficult breathing and the scraping sound of her movements. Her medical bag bumped along behind her, at times catching against a rock and pulling at her waist so that the rope felt to be cutting her.

  ‘Are thee all right,’ came a faint shout, but whether it was from those behind her or from Jim in front, Katharine could not tell. She paused.

  ‘Yes,’ she panted, and again louder in case they had not heard. ‘Yes.’

  Then without doubt from ahead came Jim’s voice.

  ‘Miss Harvey, you’re to go back. I command you to go back.’

  Katharine though far from feeling happy, could not help being amused at the arrogant authority in his voice.

  ‘There’s no – going back, Mr. Kendrick – sir.’

  And again she moved forward.

  Again Jim was shouting to her, but unless she kept still, her movements drowned his faint voice, and she chose to ignore his orders.

  It seemed hours that she continued in this way, like some terrible nightmare when she wished to wake up and find it all unreal.

  But it was all real, painfully real. She reached the part where the tunnel became so narrow and here were her worst moments. The space left by the rock looked ridiculously small even for her slight frame. She squeezed herself into the small aperture and for a time it felt as if she were buried alive. Panic was all too near, but just as she felt she could bear the pressure no longer, the tunnel widened again.

  ‘Are you all right, Miss Harvey?’ Jim’s anxious voice was quite near now – blissfully near.

  ‘Yes, quite, thank you.’

  On and on she crawled. A glimmer of light appeared ahead. Suddenly, without warning the tunnel stopped and opened out into a small cave. And at once Jim’s strong arms were helping her from the tunnel and lifting her upright. What bliss it was to stand again.

  The light from a small lamp shone full on her face as she smoothed her dress and began to tug at the rope around her waist.

  ‘Miss Harvey, Katharine …’ Jim’s voice was deep, his hands still on her shoulders. ‘You shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now. Let me look at Tom.’

  Katharine had already seen the figure lying in the shadows on the far side of the small cave-like hole in which Tom and Jim had been saved from a worse fate. Jim’s strong, yet gentle, fingers untied the rope and he held her bag for her.

  Poor Tom was writhing in agony and moaning softly. Katharine knelt before him and swiftly her gentle hands moved expertly over his body searching for broken bones. All was well until she came to his right leg. The dim light showed her the torn trouser leg soaked with blood and when she gently pulled back the cloth it was to reveal a
sickening sight of blood, and torn flesh, but miraculously, no broken bone.

  She heard Jim draw a sharp breath. But to Katharine this sort of sight was nothing new. She had seen many such sights, and worse, in her training. Her one thought was to do the best she could in the dreadful circumstances of poor light and dirty conditions to save Tom’s leg. The wound was ugly and painful and sepsis was a grave probability from all the dust and dirt in the wound.

  ‘He’s lost a lot of blood,’ Jim said softly.

  ‘Yes – but it’s as well in a way. It’s nature’s way of cleansing the wound of much of this dirt. But I’m afraid there’s still a lot we’ve got to get rid of. Jim, can we not get any better light?’

  ‘I’ll try, but we wanted to save it as much as possible.’

  He held the light as near to Tom’s leg as he could.

  ‘That’s better. Hold it there, will you? Tom, I’m going to put a tourniquet on your leg, well above the wound and then raise your leg, to try and stop the bleeding, so that I can work on the wound.’

  Tom, obviously in considerable anguish, merely nodded.

  This done, Katharine turned to the wound itself.

  ‘If only the conditions were not so hopeless,’ she muttered to herself more than to the two men. Though she had intended that neither should hear her exasperation, especially Tom, it appeared that Jim, ever attentive, had not missed her words.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Katharine but I can get no more light.’

  ‘It’s not that, Jim,’ she reassured him quickly. ‘It’s not your fault at all, but without the ordinary facilities of cleanliness,’ she spread out her own dusty fingers, ‘let alone proper sterilisation of my instruments, I hardly like to start. However,’ she opened her bag and took out a large bottle, ‘this is a carbolic solution. If I wipe my hands and all my instruments with this, perhaps we may win.’

  Katharine worked swiftly and gently, cleansing the whole area of the wound with gauze soaked in antiseptic lotion. On the bleeding points she applied pressure-forceps. Gently and cautiously, she untied the tourniquet and saw that the severe bleeding had been arrested. She then tied ligatures round the points held by the forceps. Finally, removing the forceps, she covered the whole wound with a gauze dressing, held lightly in place with bandages.