A Reluctant Conscript 1944-48 Part 5

The cage finally landed and the contents of my stomach resumed their normal position after the yo-yoing received at the hands of the 'kindly' winding man. Urged forward by the 'eager' miners I made my way into the bright lights of the pit bottom.
Following the queue, I found myself at the time keepers office with it's chin high hatch in the white-washed wall where all miners presented their other brass tokens, each one to be hung on its particular hook.
My 685 token brought an immediate response, I was called into the office and asked the question -- "where do you want to work lad,
do you want to work in this time office?"
This prospect was not at all inviting, I wanted to be where the action was and said to the Deputy, "I had been directed to work as a miner so could he please find me a job in that department" He smiled.
I was shown the way to another white-washed room which by now was full of miners - some standing, some sat around the walls on their heels, the miners favourite position.
It was here that I was placed under the wing of Harry Wilkinson, one of the best men I have known.
I accompanied Harry the half mile along the seeming maze of dark tunnels to T Unit, a long wall coal face.
This was to be my work place for the next four years and the scene of many long dusty shifts.
Not at the coal face but at the loader end of a conveyer belt, I was to become one of the crew that served this, up to now, silent beast.
Colliers at their allotted stints at the coal face so things began to happen --- the conveyer motor was powered by compressed air. The tap turned on, the motor began the whine and the belt began to slowly move, more air and the whine turned to a shriek and the coal began to drop into the waiting tub.
The noise deafening, the dust blocked out most of the meagre light from our lamps - hung on various timber props supporting the protecting overhead steel girders.
Being the new boy I think drew the short straw, I was given a rough lump of chalk and directed to chalk each tub as it was filled with a number. Starting with one and finally 520 finished the shift.
The prospect of being a number chalker did not fill me with enthusiasm and after a week I managed to prove an unreliable mathmatician -- complaints from the weighing office at the pit top came to my aid. My stratagem had worked, I was moved to more congenial duties but there was no escape from the daily diet of coal dust, every orifice blocked and blackend from head to toe.
I was a dusteater.
For the next two shifts I suffered the idignity of being sent to other remote parts of the pit to obtain various comical objects, always meeting with the reply " Nay lad, tha' better see 'old soandso' at the pit bottom". I knew I was being exhibited as that new lad with the funny southern accent from T Unit.
What did I care, at least I was learning my way around.
dusteater

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