A Million Tears by Paul Henke Read Free Book Online

might be going down with a cold see. So . . . so she stayed behind to . . . to sew or something.’
    I said nothing. All I managed was to nod for him to follow the others. A cold. My cold. All mine. I was blinded by tears as I stumbled to the side of the road and sat down, sobbing. I suppose the whole event, the original fear, the joy at knowing they were all right and the unspeakable sickness of discovering that Sian was still in there, was too much emotion for me to handle. I only stopped when Mr Price came and sat besides me.
    ‘I saw Sion,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought . . . I thought Sian was there too. When I found she wasn’t I felt like you.’ He put his arm around my shoulders. ‘But I can’t cry, not properly. I guess I’ve seen too much suffering in my time. Been through too much myself. You’re shivering. Come on, let’s go and see how they’re getting on. The men from the mine have arrived. Come on.’ He pulled me to my feet and I stumbled along behind him.
    Now the scene was different. The mine foremen had taken charge. Six teams were steadily digging their way across the playground, not far short of the school walls. As they went they put up side timbers, brought with them, holding back the black ooze like Moses’ passage across the Red Sea. The women had been moved to one side and now they stood with the children, a silent crowd watching the men.
    I did not recognise Da for some time, the men looking so alike, wet and filthy covered with sludge. Then I saw him briefly in front of the gang going for the door. Hurry Da, I told him silently, hurry. Go straight to the last classroom Da, the last one. That’s where she is – in the last one.
    The one storey building was of grey stone, thick and solid. Inside the main door was the cloakroom where we hung our raincoats. Through swing doors was the corridor. Three classrooms on the furthest side had taken the brunt of the collapsed slagheap, and Sian was in the end one. On this side were the assembly hall, another classroom and the headmaster’s study. Two classes had gone on the nature ramble. My class had gone with the younger children because our teacher was home ill.
    I imagined Sian sitting at her desk, alone, when the darkness enveloped her. Sewing. My cold. I bit my lip, trying not to think, concentrating on the men’s progress. Da’s gang reached the door. I heard them shouting but did not understand what was said. Then the door was pulled open. The darkness inside, the overcast gloom of the day and the surrounding slag made it impossible to see whether the way in was clear or not. Everyone was breathless, watching. If the men walked in then there was a chance. All other work stopped. Da began digging. Moans and sighs escaped the men and women and we knew what we all thought but had been afraid to admit even to ourselves.
    Another shiver ran through me, and Mr Price took off his jacket and put it over my shoulders. It hung to my knees, filthy from the slag but not too wet. His arm was around my shoulders and when I shivered again he pressed me close to him. I knew I should go home to bed, he knew it too. But he never even suggested it, for which I was grateful.
    There were further shouts as two of the gangs reached the walls and started breaking windows. The setting sun broke through the clouds and lighted up the scene for a brief second. I thought I could see the slag, as high inside the building as it was out. Hope dropped to a mere flicker, though it was not completely extinguished. Human nature, I learned that day, never gave up until the bitter end.
    In those days we went to school at the age of six and stayed until eleven. Even though the school was used by three villages and there were only four classes, thankfully they were not big classes. There were twenty-four children in mine, about the same in the others. Two classes were safe. Forty-eight children plus Sian could be in there, I thought. Why did it happen? How could it have