A Million Tears by Paul Henke Read Free Book Online Page A

happened? Forty-eight little children dead, just like that. No, not dead, not yet, I persuaded myself. We don’t know they’re dead. There’s always hope. The corridor was full but that did not mean the classrooms were affected too. I latched on to the idea, excited by the thought. Why not? If it was only the corridor it would explain why we had heard no noise. The slag in the corridor would prevent the children getting out and stop any noise they made. Possibly they were keeping silent to preserve their air – except Sian of course. She had plenty, being alone. She would be frightened; very, very frightened. Don’t worry I told her, Da will be through soon Sian, very soon.
    Da and his team were through the doors. More of the men attached themselves to his gang as they worked through the filth. Those at the windows were digging into the nearer classroom and the furthest team had reached the headmaster’s study. Word was passed back. The study was filled with slag.
    At what point did hope die? It’s impossible to say but I think for me it was about then. I knew she was dead, along with all the others. I prayed I was wrong. There was still a tiny part of me that refused to acknowledge in the weirdest way imaginable, the reality of the sludge, the evidence of the men digging through every filthy, stinking, heart breaking inch.
    I was surprised to realise it was nearly dark. The men were lighting their helmet lamps, the flames flickering yellow in the gloom and against the black background of the slag. Mr Price and I sat in a corner, his arm around me while I shivered from time to time.
    Two of the bosses from the mine appeared with offer of help. Luckily for them they caught our mood and left before the scene became too ugly. They were the focal point of the people’s hate, anger and frustration. They were blamed for what had happened. After all, it was their slag; they ordered it to be dumped there. If they had not the men would not be crawling through that filth, trying to rescue their children.
    In the days that were to follow they would argue they were not responsible for the rain which caused the accident and that the slag had been dumped there for years without danger, or even a hint of danger. Even so our dislike of the mine owners turned to hatred that was to persist for a long time and lead to further deaths.
    The men organised themselves into shifts after the initial frantic digging. One hour in, one hour out, they worked like demons, like men possessed. When they came out the women gave them hot snacks and drinks. Hardly a word was spoken and as time went on and as hope died even those few words dried up. Pathetic. That was the word that came to mind when they got into the headmaster’s study and found his body. They said he was still at his desk. Old man Williams had been a dry stick of a man with a sour outlook on life but he had been a person. Now he was nothing. That was what struck me most deeply as the body was wrapped in a blanket. It was nothing. A lump of flesh and bones covered with black slag and now hidden from view by a grey blanket. His wife kneeled by his side and wept. His? No, it was no longer his, it was its, nothing. The vicar ordered the body be taken to the chapel.
    I was shivering again, whether from the cold or my thoughts, I was not sure. Da was out now and with Mam and Sion came to find me.
    ‘Are you all right?’ he asked in a voice I barely recognised.
    ‘Yes, Da,’ I replied as he knelt beside me; putting his hand under the coat to feel my body.
    ‘You’re like ice, son. I think you ought to go home. Mam will take you and give you a hot bath and put you to bed. Sion will go with you as well.’
    ‘Not now, please, Da. Not now we’re so close to . . . to getting in there.’ I had been about to say so close to finding Sian’s body but stopped myself in time. We might all have thought so but nobody was going to say it.
    Surprisingly it was Mam who intervened on my behalf.