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.Nulli Secundus -
'Second to None'
by Terence Cardwell
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Chapter
Sixteen - Picking and choosing
Many of the Coldstreamers believed that now they had
completed their training life would be easier, with less
hard work and exercise, but they were sadly
disappointed. Only two weeks after their passing out
parade they were back on familiar ground, the main
training ground for all the troops.
They were just finishing a ten-mile march carrying
seventy-five pound packs on their backs— the usual
weight of a Coldstream soldier’s army pack. The squad
arrived at their camp with aching backs and sore feet,
exhausted from the long march.
‘That has to be the longest bloody march I’ve ever
done,’ Bob said, dropping his pack on the ground
alongside the others.
‘What’s up Bob, you getting weak in your old age?’
George replied. ‘We found it a piece of piss. That
right, Jack?’
‘Just a casual country walk, no trouble at all,’ Jack
smiled, holding his back with both hands. The ache was
almost like an old friend, he had it that often, from
the mining.
‘Sometimes I wonder why I joined up,’ Bob said, ignoring
their comments. ‘There’s got to be easier jobs than
this.’
‘Well it’s not blood mining, that’s for sure,’ Jack
snapped back, no longer smiling.
‘I
assume you don’t like mining,’ George replied, knowing
how all the ex-miners hated their previous jobs.
‘It
took me a long time to get away from that hellhole and
I’ve no desire to go back— far too many bad memories,’
Jack said, shaking his head. ‘Some you would never
believe.’
‘Yes, I’ve got a few of my own,’ Bob added. ‘And like
Jack said, some you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Tell us about it,’ Jim said. ‘I worked in a smithy but
I get the feeling I was one of the lucky ones even if it
was hard work.
‘At
least you got to work in daylight without that coal dust
irritating you all day, and the risk of being killed
always there,’ Bob said, rubbing his neck, again feeling
the irritation from the black dust mixed with his sweat.
‘We worked for a pittance, didn’t we Jack?— a miserable
wage that you couldn’t survive on, while the bloody
owners ran around in big fancy cars. One of ’em was an
Earl or Marquis or something like that. They say he even
rebuilt a Roman castle from ruins and then lined the
roof of one of the rooms with real gold. With the damn
money we should have been paid.’
‘That was the Marquis of Bute,’ Jim said. ‘I read about
him some time back. He built Cardiff Castle, and a
bloody fine building it is, too.’
‘Well, we never saw his money— or much of it anyway— but
I hear it is improving now. At least they can survive on
what they get. Even if the old man cops it, the widow
gets a few bobs’ pension. Not like the old days,’ Bob
said.
As
memories flashed into Jack’s mind George noticed Jack
shudder.
‘That stir some bad memories for you Jack?’ George
asked.
Jack shook his head and sighed. ‘You could say that.
Some things are better off forgotten. But I can’t get
rid of these memories. Wish I could.’
‘Maybe if you tell us about them it might help you get
rid of them,’ George suggested.
‘Mmm, not sure about that,’ Jack said. ‘There’s too many
of ’em. But there was one time in particular that really
got to me. It happened before I went down the mine, and
almost put me off trying to get a job down the pit.’ He
sat on his bed and took out his pipe, taking his time to
fill and light it. He thought for a while, deciding
whether to tell the story or not.
‘Hey Jack, it’s better out than in,’ George said,
squeezing his arm. ‘It’s better off shared with your
mates.’
Jack looked at them and nodded, accepting George’s
words. ‘I was twelve, and worked with the women and kids
under thirteen, picking slag and stone off the conveyors
and throwing it into the skips. The only thing that kept
me going was knowing I’d be working down the pit in
three months, where I’d be doing what I thought was real
work and getting an extra shilling a day. Conveyor work
was the same thing day after day, week after week, each
day no different to the next. Picking and throwing.
Picking and throwing. Over and over till it dulled the
mind.’
‘Is
that why so many coal miners are thick?’ Jim
interrupted.
‘The thick ones are the ones that stayed there,’ Bob
retorted. ‘The smart ones are in the Army.’
‘Changed your tune, have you Bob?’ Jack asked, drawing
on his pipe.
‘Never thought otherwise. Like you said, anything’s
better than the pits.’
Jack nodded and continued. ‘We didn’t have much to look
at except the big cage wheels spinning round, pulling
the mine cages up as they brought the coal to the top.
‘One of our favourite pastimes was watching the trains
blow steam everywhere as they tried to pull the full
coal wagons. Their wheels would slip and spin on the
rail tracks as they tried to move those wagons. You’d
swear they wouldn’t move, then the wheels would grip,
then slip as the wagons started moving. Then the train
would pick up speed, and off it would go, panting in a
cloud of steam and belching soot and smoke as it
disappeared into the distance.
‘Well, this day the wind was freezing cold and blowing
around the tin walls that were supposed to protect us.
The coal dust was everywhere. We were covered in coal
dust that kept blowing in our eyes, irritating the hell
out of us. It was bloody cold I’ll tell ya. I had my
thick jacket, trousers and scarf on, and I pulled my
sleeves over my hands to try to keep them warm, but I
had to lift the slag so it didn’t help much.
‘Thomas, my brother, and I talked all the time about
escaping and joining the army as soon as we were old
enough. We both wanted to join the Guards. He wanted the
Grenadiers and I wanted the Coldstreamers.’
‘Why the lilywhites?’ George asked, using the slang word
for the Coldstream Guards.
‘‘Cause we’re the best and don’t come second to no one.
One of my Dad’s philosophies,’ Jack replied, poking his
pipe at George.
‘Now where was I— oh yea, the sorting. Well anyway, I
was doing the same old thing and I hear the leading
hand, Cecil Downs, yelling out. I look down and see him
at the bottom of the conveyor. He yells out again over
the noise of the conveyors.
‘Hey Jack, you and Ben get your backsides down here,
quick smart.’
‘Now what have we done?’ I ask Ben who’s next to me.
‘I
don’t know, but it looks like we’re in the shit. Have
you been throwing slag again?’ he says.
‘Not this week,’ I say and push him towards the leading
hand.
‘When we get to the bottom of the conveyor we walk over
to Cecil. He’s a real miserable piece of work. Not much
more than five foot in his boots and skinny as a rake,
and with a permanent sneer on his face from where a coal
fall hit it. His arm’s shrivelled up a bit and he can’t
straighten it. He was no good down the mine so they gave
him the leading hand’s job on the conveyors. He only got
a low wage and I think he blamed all of us for it.
Everyone hated him. We never saw him smile or have a
good word to say about anyone.
‘You two grab that flat cart over yonder and get your
arses down ta pit head, quick smart,’ He snaps at us.
‘We
go to the old wooden flat top cart and pick up the front
handle, one of us on each side. It’s a bugger to pull
’cause the big wooden wheels bounce over the lumps of
slag that are everywhere.
‘I
ask him, “What do you want us to do?’ And he snarls at
us. He looks at me like I have a right nerve to even
question him. He balls his fist and for a moment I think
he’s going to give me a clout. Any road, he thinks the
better of it and just snarls, ‘Mind your business. Just
get your sen down ta pit head. You’ll find out soon
enough.’ You should have seen the look of pure malice
and hate on his face. It still gives me the creeps.
‘As
we pull the cart towards the pithead I suddenly get an
inkling of what it might be and what we might have to
do. I’d heard about the old cart being used for all
sorts of things and I begged God for it not to be what
was in my mind. I’d heard stories from other kids who
had to do it. They said it was horrible and they would
never forget.
‘I’m not very religious but at times like that I wish I
was. I thought then that God might listen to me better
if I was more religious.
‘Ben sees I’m worried and asks me what’s wrong but I
just shake my head. I’m tempted to tell him of my
suspicions but that would be too cruel, so I say
nothing.
‘As
we get closer to the pithead I see a small group of
people crowding around something on the ground and I
know my worst fear is true.
‘I
ask one of the miners what happened. His face is black
from being down the pit and his eyes are sort of
staring.
‘It’s another one. Those bastard owners. They don’t give
a toss.’
‘I
look through the circle of miners and see something on
the ground covered in a canvas.
‘Another miner grabs my arm. “Here lads, hold that cart
steady,” he says. Then he leans over and picks up the
thing on the ground, helped by another miner, and swings
it up onto our cart. They make sure the canvas stays on
as they lift it up.
‘Me
and Ben are bloody terrified ‘cause now we know for sure
what’s on the cart. I ask the miner who it is and it
shakes me bad when they tell me it’s one of my footy
mates. He was in our soccer team when we played on
Sundays.
‘I’ll never forget what he said.
‘“It’s young Henry Botterill. Poor bugger got killed
when a part of the roof fell on him. Just one piece, as
big as this cart, fell out of the roof with no warning
and bang, straight on top of Henry. He was a good lad
too. Loved them horses, he did. They should have used a
lot more props to hold the roof up but they’re too
bloody tight to spend money. Now this poor lad’s dead.
There’ll be more to follow, you mark my words. Worst
part was lad had only been down in the pit three
months.”
‘He
walks away shaking his head and joins the other miners
at the cage to go back down the pit. I think of me going
down the pit in three months. Up till now I’ve been keen
as mustard to go. Now here’s my mate who had only been
down there three months and he’s dead. It took the fire
out of my tail, I can tell you.
‘Ben looks at me and I can tell he wants to do the same
as me— drop the cart and bugger off, but before we can
we hear a voice.
‘Well, don’t just stand around here all day.’ We turn
around and see the shift foreman waving his arm.
‘You knows where Henry lives, tek him ‘ome to his mum,
she’ll have to tek care of him.’
‘I
look at the canvas covering the body but I can’t believe
it’s Henry under there. My mind is screaming at me to
run. To try and escape, and hide somewhere and pretend
it never happened. That it’s just a horrible dream.
‘But would you believe my bloody hands won’t let go of
the cart and Ben’s in tears sobbing his heart out.
‘The foreman pushes us and growls, ‘Come on, let’s have
ya,’ making us start walking. But as we pull the cart it
wobbles over the stones and shakes off the canvas
covering Henry’s body.
‘We
both hear it slide off and turn around to see Henry. His
face is torn open on the left side and you could see all
his teeth and gums. His head is pushed in and his
eyelid’s torn off, his left eye’s hanging out of his
head. Blood’s all over his face and in his hair. His
left arm’s bent at a funny angle and pieces of bone are
poking out. His chest’s squashed flat and his clothes
are matted with coal dust and blood.
‘It’s the most horrible sight I’ve ever seen and we
both freeze in terror. We can’t take our eyes off him.
The sight of Henry like that will be burnt into my mind
forever.
‘I
feel my breakfast coming up and try to hold it down, and
nearly succeed till Ben starts throwing up, groaning
from the effort, so I end up joining him.
There we are, both trying to hold the cart up and
throwing up at the same time. It was one of the worst
moments of my life.’
‘Thank God I’ve never had to do that,’ Bob interrupted.
‘And I thought I had it bad.’
‘Hot forges are fun compared to that,’ Jim added.
‘It
gets worse,’ Jack said after a short pause. ‘The foreman
says, “Come on, haven’t you seen a dead body before?’ as
if we saw them all the time. And he puts the canvas back
on Henry and tucks the sides in as if he was in bed.
‘There’s no good standing there, lets tek him ‘ome,’ he
says, and gave us a push, and follows us as we pull the
cart down the road.
‘Ben’s crying and I realise I am too, and I want to
scream. When we get down towards the miners’ cottages I
see all these women standing outside their doors
watching us coming. They knew why we were pulling the
cart and every one of them was wondering whose husband
or son it was on the cart.
‘Most of them are white and sick with fear, holding
their hands together praying it isn’t for them. Some of
them have to sit on their doorsteps because they’re
shaking that badly.
‘We
must have looked like the angels of death as we came
towards them. I’ve never felt so hated in my life. It
was a real strange feeling, like you had this power of
life and death, and could make them sad or happy.
‘As
we go past, a lot of them clap their hands and says
things like ‘Thank God’, or ‘Bless you’; or they would
start crying from relief. Then they realise it’s someone
else and you could sense the guilt as they watch us walk
past.
‘The women know the consequences of losing a husband or
son down the pit. If their husband or son dies they get
no pension or any help from the mine. They’re allowed to
stay in the cottage as long as they pay the rent, and
the miserable owners won’t even drop the rent for them.
Bloody mongrels.’
‘Now I know why you got so upset,’ George said. ‘But
it’s improving now, is it Jim?’
‘From what I heard they give the widows a small pension
from this new coal miners union, and they also subsidise
the rent. But I’m blowed if I know where they get the
money from,’ Jim replied.
‘Every miner puts fivepence a week in and that builds up
their coffers,’ Jack said. ‘It’s been a godsend for
those poor widows, but in them days they had bugger all.
They had to make do with best they’d got, and that could
only be got by sewing or some such thing.
‘Worst of the lot was the poor lasses who had to sell
themselves to the miners to get a bob or two. Some of
the miserable buggers would be there within days of a
woman losing her old man.
‘Anyhow, these women are real happy when we go past them
and a couple come and ask who it is, but I can’t speak.
The foreman tells ’em it’s Henry and they all say what a
nice lad he was.
‘Ben says, ‘There’s Henry’s house,’ and points to the
end of the street.
‘I
look up and see this old lady standing outside her door,
watching us coming. She holds her hands to her mouth and
is talking to herself, probably saying a prayer.
‘I
try to look away but I can’t take my eyes off her, and
as we get closer she sees me looking at her and must
realise we’re coming to her, ‘cause she starts shaking
and sobbing and rocking backwards and forwards.
‘There’s two kiddies about six and eight holding on to
her dress and they wrap their arms around her legs when
the see her sobbing.
‘We’re nearly there and I hear the kiddies asking,
‘What’s wrong, Mummy? Why are you crying?’
But the woman says nothing, just lowers her hands and
holds them to her as we stop in front of her cottage.
‘The foreman takes off his hat and says, “I’m sorry, Mrs
Botterill. It’s Henry. A big lump of coal fell on him.”’
‘You can see he isn’t sure what to say. He’s turning his
cap in his hands as he looks up and down. He can’t look
her in the eye.
‘The sight of the heartache on that woman’s face is
terrible to see. she says, “I lost my Ted nearly a year
ago in that bloody mine and now my Henry. He was such a
good lad, looked after us well he did, now I’ve got
bugger all. I don’t know how I’ll cope.’
‘She’s staring at the canvas over Henry and sighing. The
tears are running down her cheeks.
‘Oh
well, bring him in and put him on his bed,’ she says,
straightening up.
‘Thankfully a number of the other women have followed us
and they go up onto the veranda and put their arms
around Mrs Botterill.
‘We’ll look after you Mavis. We won’t let you go
without,’ they say.
‘Yes Mavis, we’ll take care of you, don’t you worry,’
the other women agree.
‘It’s bloody amazing, you know. This foreman who we
thought was a right hard bastard walks up to her and
holds her hand and says, ‘Yes, missus. I’ll make sure
you’re cared for. I promise you. You’ll be right.’ And
she looks him in the eye and gives him a hug and says,
‘God bless you,’ and kisses him on the cheek. It must
have meant a lot to her when he said that.
‘Later on I found out why he said it.’
‘What? Was he getting ideas of paying her a visit?’ Bob
asked.
‘No. Nothing like that, I’ll explain later. Turns out he
was a good lad.
‘Anyways he walks back down the steps and says to us,
‘Jack, you take his feet. Ben, you take the middle and
I’ll carry his top end. But keep the cover on. Don’t
want to upset the ladies any more than we have to.’
‘I
look at Ben and he’s staring at me with wide open eyes.
You can see he doesn’t want to touch the body, and
neither do I. We’re hoping the women will come forward
and get him, but they didn’t move. So we push the canvas
underneath to make sure we don’t touch him and carry him
into the cottage.
‘He’s lighter than we expect as we carry him in to his
bedroom. I couldn’t help seeing he had pictures of
different soldiers all over his bedroom wall. Obviously
he wanted to be a soldier too, poor bugger.
‘We
get out of there quick as we can to get away from all
that crying and heartache, and get hold of the cart; but
the foreman makes us wait while he speaks to some of the
women.
‘“Ladies I’m going to ask you to do something for Mavis
that won’t be easy,” he says to them.
‘“Yes, certainly, whatever you want,” they say, eager as
anything.
‘“I
want you to clean and tidy up Henry before Mavis sees
him. Can you do that?” he says. You could see they
wasn’t so eager anymore but bless ’em they agree, even
though they know they’re about to do one of the worst
things in their lives.
‘We
take off back to the mine, and for once getting back to
that coal sorting doesn’t seem so bad after all.
‘As
we’re going back I hear a clattering of horses’ hoofs
and watch this horse and buggy with a driver and two
people sitting in the buggy dressed up to the nines.
It’s the mine owners, and they stare at us. I’m sure
they knew why we were pulling that cart ‘cause when they
saw us looking they looked straight ahead and ignored us
as they went past.
‘“Bloody miserable sods, if they had bought more props
Henry would still be alive,” I say to Ben. The foreman
hears me and says, “Now that’s not nice talk. You can’t
talk about the owners like that. You could lose your
job, then where would you be?”
‘I’ll never forget what I say to him. “In a few years
I’ll be old enough to join the Army. Then they can all
go to hell.”
‘“Well you’ve got a long wait till then so you might as
well make the best of it,” he replies.
‘After that we never say another word till we get back
to the mine. All I could think of is, I’m going down a
mine where people get killed all the time and I’ll spend
every day worrying about the roof falling on me or
worse, being trapped down the mine and dying of hunger
and thirst.
‘After that the Army couldn’t come quickly enough.
‘You said there was something about the foreman. What
was that?’ George asked.
‘It’s surprising how you can make a wrong judgment about
people, especially when you’re only twelve. Would you
believe that foreman joined the coal miners’ union and
was instrumental in bringing about the widows’ pension
that Jim was talking about earlier?’
‘What a small world. Who’d have thought that a bloody
foreman would join up with a union,’ Jim said.
‘What say we go find a beer and have a drink to coal
miners?’ George said, standing up.
‘Better still, to coal miners’ unions,’ Jim added.
‘Bonzer idea,’ Jack replied and they followed George
towards the pub.
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