The Denniston Rose by Jenny Pattrick

diphtheria.
    â€˜Sam?’ asks Josiah, but Frank can only let the tears fall.
    â€˜Well,’ says Josiah, his voice cracking, ‘we’ll have you out in no time, with the good Lord’s help. You have here three champions with the banjo. Take heart, brother.’
    The three men work at the pile with their shovels. Josiah would like to tear at the rock like a demon but he keeps his head. If the rock pile shifts again it could engulf what is left of Frank. Others have arrived now, and John Davies helps with the shovelling, but four is all there is room for, working at the pile. The others ram timber props to either side of the cleared gap to keep the rubble from rolling back in, but the sandstone is loose and it rolls back anyway. Big Andy Fellows takes over from Peter and makes good progress. Josiah’s middle sons, Mathew and David, are further back, holding hands like the children they are, and crying. No one thinks to send them above ground.
    All the time Frank’s breathing is weakening. His mouth is a black hole, his eyes terrified as he hauls at the air.

    â€˜Hold on, Frank, my bonny, we are closing on you,’ grunts Josiah. But all can see there is much yet ahead of them.
    â€˜Is there a lad here?’ shouts Josiah. His own Mathew and David, tear-streaked and shaking, come forward.
    â€˜Are you willing?’ says Josiah to Mathew, the youngest, who is small and thin as a stick.
    â€˜Aye, Dad.’ But he’s frightened enough.
    â€˜We will hoist you onto the pile. Lie flat, not to disturb, and see if you can clear a little space around his neck and shoulders to breathe.’
    â€˜I’ll try.’
    â€˜Good lad. Gentle as a lamb now.’
    David wails like a baby to see his brother hoisted into the dark. Someone puts a grimy arm around his shoulder but David shrugs it off. He curls up on the wet ground, arms over his head until it is all over.
    Mathew lies spread-eagled on the pile of loose stone. His own head is close to his Uncle Frank’s. Gently he pulls away stone after stone. Uncle Frank doesn’t seem to notice.
    â€˜Oo … oo … oo …’ His uncle’s breaths moan like a far-distant owl in the night.
    â€˜The shovels are nearly here,’ whispers Mathew, his little boy’s fingers working away in the dark.
    â€˜Oo … oo … o …’
    â€˜Uncle! Keep breathing. Please, don’t stop now!’ Mathew touches his uncle’s dusty head as gently as he would a baby’s. The head jerks suddenly but takes no breath.
    â€˜Dad! Daddy!’
    Josiah hears his son scream and knows they are too late. Leaving all caution he tears at the rubble with his bare hands, scrabbling up to Frank’s silent head. He passes his screaming son down to waitinghands below. He kisses Frank on each cheek, closes the staring eyes and prays.
    â€˜The Lord be with thee. Go in peace into eternal life, both thee and our dearly beloved Samuel …’ On he prays, his voice echoing in the dark, while the miners touch their smoking caps in reverence for a lost brother.
    Josiah will not pray for the one-armed man.
    Prayers turn to curses later that night when it is reported that Jimmy Cork has been found, alive and (unforgivably) cheerful, drinking at Red Minifie’s, unaware of any accident, so he says. It is also reported that no mine manager gave him permission to check for clean air. His job was to supervise the new clippies, see they came to no harm. Jimmy’s story is that he was taking extra caution over the air on his own initiative. No one believes him. Prospecting for gold in Company time is more likely, they mutter. Somehow Jimmy had wandered into an air shaft and come out above ground safely, while the two Scobies were trapped, looking for him.
    â€˜Well, yes,’ said Jimmy to the crowd of silent miners who came down from Burnett’s Face next day to confront him, ‘I felt something — the ground