It was a cold morning.
The cloudy sky over Wigan was stained by the black smoke pouring from the factories.
Among the hundreds of miners making their way through the cobbled streets of Scholes toward Trema Colliery, Darcy Hallinan walked in silence.
With his hands buried in the pockets of his worn coat, he moved forward while the metallic clatter of thousands of clogs set the rhythm of the morning.
Suddenly, a hand slapped him familiarly on the shoulder.
“Thinking too much again?”
Darcy turned his head slightly.
“Hey... Morning, Henry.”
Henry Cogan walked beside him with a tired smile.
His face was so covered in soot that it was impossible to tell whether he had ever been blond, brown-haired, or ginger.
“If you keep walking around with that face, anyone would think you're heading to a funeral instead of work.”
Darcy let out a brief laugh.
He shook his head before answering.
“Is there a difference?”
Henry snorted.
“Depends on the day.”
Darcy pulled a pack of untaxed Wild Woodbine cigarettes from his pocket and took out two short, unfiltered cigarettes.
He handed one to Henry, who accepted it without hesitation.
Then he brought his own to his lips.
He took out a match.
He struck it against his trouser leg.
The flame caught instantly.
He lit his cigarette, and Henry leaned his toward the flame.
“Thanks, Darcy. You saved my morning,” he muttered as he took a drag.
“Is your sister still having trouble with that idiot who claimed to be her boyfriend?” Darcy asked, with little interest.
Henry forced a bitter smile.
He took another drag before answering.
“No. Ever since I broke his face, he hasn't gone near Nancy again.”
“Seems like she always ends up choosing the worst ones.”
“At least he won't bother my sister again.”
He exhaled a cloud of smoke.
Darcy simply nodded.
For a few moments, they continued walking in silence.
The only sounds were the constant clatter of clogs and the distant hiss of the chimneys.
As they turned the last corner in Scholes, Trema Colliery appeared before them.
The tall chimneys spewed thick columns of smoke into Wigan's grey sky.
Workers covered in coal crossed the muddy yard while others waited in line before the main shaft.
Darcy dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath the sole of his clog.
“We'd better hurry.”
Henry did the same.
“You're right. The old bastard'll dock half our shift if we're late.”
They passed through the large iron gate with the rest of the workers.
Mud clung to their boots.
The smell of wet coal and burnt oil permeated the air.
Ahead of them, the metal cage descended slowly into the darkness while a group of miners waited their turn in complete silence.
Darcy looked up toward the mouth of the shaft.
As every morning, he had the feeling that the enormous iron maw was about to swallow them whole.
“Another day in the same bloody shit...” he muttered to himself.
The cage returned with a metallic screech.
When the doors opened, the thirteen men stepped inside almost by instinct.
Each took the same place as always.
One miner struck the gate twice.
The operator answered from the surface.
The cage began to descend.
Little by little, the morning light disappeared above their heads.
The air grew colder.
More humid.
Heavier.
Henry broke the silence.
“The worst part is that this is the closest we'll ever get to Hell.”
Darcy smiled incredulously.
“We're already in Hell, Henry. The only difference is that the demons are watching us from above.”
Henry slowly nodded and looked up.
“It's true... After what happened to your father... This is nothing to you.”
He fell silent for a few seconds before continuing.
“How's your aunt in Ireland? I read that the Black and Tans are making a mess of things.”
Darcy's expression hardened slightly.
“She wrote to me a few days ago. Says they're still resisting. Every week is a punishment. They've burned homes, shops... They even killed a neighbour who lived just a few houses away from hers.”
The atmosphere grew heavy.
The men who had been talking among themselves fell silent.
No one said a word.
Only the constant rattling of the cage remained.
Henry sighed wearily.
“Bloody British...”
The rattling stopped abruptly.
A sharp jolt ran through the entire structure.
The cage came to a halt.
The operator opened the gate, and the thirteen men began filing out one after another.
A gust of air laden with moisture and dust struck their faces.
On either side of the tunnel, dozens of carbide lamps barely managed to pierce the darkness.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Henry adjusted the strap of his helmet and gave a tired smile.
“Come on, Hallinan. If we keep talking politics, the coal isn't going to move itself.”