Veronica Clark - At the Coalface - The memoir of a pit nurse

HarperElement

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London SE1 9GF

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First published by HarperElement 2015

FIRST EDITION

© Joan Hart and Veronica Clark 2015

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015

Cover photographs © Photograph of author supplied by author (Nurse); Selwyn Tait/Sygma/Corbis (background)

Joan Hart and Veronika Clark assert the moral right

to be identified as the authors of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780007596164

Ebook Edition © July 2015 ISBN: 9780007596171

Version: 2015-06-22

For my husband, Peter

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

1. The Year of the Floods

2. Nurse in Training

3. Mishaps on the Wards

4. Going Home

5. A Miner’s Nurse

6. Cuddles and Infertility

7. Babies and Bicycles

8. A Heartbeat from Death

9. At the Coalface

10. Nurse in Pit Boots

11. Practical Jokers and Perfume

12. Birthday down the Pit

13. Medical Emergencies and Marriage Guidance

14. Chewing Tobacco and Cursing in Casualty

15. The Mines Rescue Service

16. Bentley Pit Disaster

17. Rubber Gloves

18. The Miners’ Strike

19. Bird Woman

20. Noel

21. Target

22. End of the Strike

23. Loss

24. Eternal Nurse

Acknowledgements

Glossary of Mining Terms

Exclusive sample chapter

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Dropping the telephone receiver back down into its cradle, I jumped to my feet and closed the door. My pale blue overall was still grubby with coal dust from my pit inspection the day before. I was a nurse on call, in charge of thousands of miners, and right now one of them needed me. I clamped the palm of my hand against my hard hat and ran along the pathway towards the lamp cabin. With my metal checks jangling inside my pocket, I grabbed my lamp, battery pack and self-rescuer canister, and clipped them onto the side of my belt. It was still early and grey clouds swirled overhead. The air was thick with industrial noise and the threat of immediate rain. My pit boots picked up pace as I dashed from the lamp cabin towards the shaft side where the doctor was already waiting. The noise from the winding house groaned and creaked as the giant drum turned and toiled inside. The fans spat out air thick with coal dust as an avalanche of noise hissed above our heads like a steam train.

‘Hello, Sister,’ Dr Macdonald called.

‘Hello, Doctor. I’ve brought the amputation kit,’ I shouted above the din as I held the bag aloft to show him.

‘Good. Are you all right?’

I nodded, although my heart was pounding with fear and adrenalin. My fingers trembled and the palm of my right hand was sweating as I clutched the handle of the surgical kit. It contained artery forceps, a tourniquet, sterile saw and knives of varying lengths. The thought of it alone made me sick with nerves, and I prayed that we wouldn’t have to use it.

We approached the banksman, who checked we were ready to go.

‘No flammables? No battery-operated devices?’ he asked as a matter of course.

Dr Macdonald and I shook our heads. We knew the safety drill. He opened up the cage and loaded us into it. We switched off our headlamps as he pulled down the chain-mail shutters, enveloping us in virtual darkness. I felt reassured by the blackness because I didn’t want Dr Macdonald to see the fear in my eyes. The cage rattled into life as we began our descent, hundreds of feet to the pit bottom below. Clouds of white steam billowed up around the edges, making it feel like a journey into the depths of hell.

‘What information do we have, Sister?’ Dr Macdonald asked.

I tried to remember what I’d just been told.

‘It’s a man, in his early twenties. He’d been riding on the conveyor belt at the end of his shift, but he didn’t manage to jump off in time. His leg got mangled in the machinery.’

‘Oh,’ replied Dr Macdonald, his voice cutting through the darkness.

‘It’s an amputation,’ I continued, ‘though I still don’t know if it’s partial or complete. The deputy and first aiders are with him now.’

Moments later, the cage shuddered and chains rattled as we came to a halt – we’d reached the pit bottom.

‘Ready, Sister?’ Dr Macdonald asked. He switched his headlamp back on and my face was illuminated in a circle of golden light.

I reached out a hand and switched on my lamp too. The white circle of light waltzed around on the pit wall opposite.

‘Ready,’ I replied as we stepped out of the cage.

Suddenly a face loomed into view. It was the onsetter.

‘The paddy train is waiting to take you inbye to district.’

I took a deep breath and climbed on board. As the train trundled off into the darkness I wondered what would be waiting to greet us at our destination.

The boat was unsteady as it floated along the street. Inside the house my mother was huffing and panting as her contractions quickened with every minute.

‘Where’s the bloody midwife?’ she screamed – her cries so loud that the neighbours heard every word.

Moments later, a small rowing boat bobbed outside.

‘Hang on, I’ll fetch the ladder,’ my father called down from a bedroom window at the top of the house.

The midwife clambered out of the boat and placed an uncertain foot onto the ladder. The rungs felt slippy and unsure beneath her feet as her eyes darted nervously to the filthy brown water swirling below.

‘I’ll grab your hand when you reach the top,’ Dad promised. He didn’t care what it took to get her in; he just wanted her to hurry up.

A large bag dangled precariously from her arm as she climbed upwards, one rung at a time. My father was waiting to greet her. With one arm around her shoulder and the other to steady her, he helped the midwife climb in through the open bedroom window.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ he gasped, smoothing a hand through his hair. His face was fraught with worry as his eyes signalled over towards the bed where my mother lay.

‘I think the baby’s on its way.’

The midwife nodded dutifully, took off her overcoat and rolled up her sleeves. I’d caused them all quite a lot of fuss, apparently, but less than an hour later I emerged naked and blinking against the harsh light of the world.

‘It’s a girl!’ the midwife announced, wrapping me in a clean sheet. ‘Congratulations.’